"Hope You Remember Me…"-OLP

The fans have spoken. According to the poll on your left, this is the final post. It's been big and it's been grand. I started this site to reach the one reader who wasn't there, and now it's time to let go.

Peace and God bless

Rob Boyd 8/23/08

"And it's about time..."-Martin Gore

Well, 17 minutes to be exact...

My bags are packed!

So...what kind of travel are we talking about?

"Open up my eager eye…"-The Killers

August 22, their day. They think they deserve a parade. Why? Because it's a day the stork worked overtime to feed his family of storklets. Chicks? Gosslings? Signets? Over easy-lets with a side of bacon? I don't know. Whatever. My point is, too many people were born this day, and I blame the stork.

I know 2 of them--birthday people, not storks, c'mon! Keep up. If a stork can do this, so can you. Ok, back at the birthday ranch, I sent one celebrant an email, and called the other on the phone. Both stork-droppings were spending time with family. Good for them. Families and birthdays are like cake and ice cream. They go together great, and once they're gone, you can wait another year before seeing them again.

The one I called said that she and her husband took the kids to the state fair. She lives in Minnesota where apparently a "fair" is the state activity--careful. "A fair," two words. The single word variety, although practiced worldwide, is only celebrated in California. Anyway, all summer long the Minnesotans cram in as many fairs as possible. I guess that's cuz in the winter they're too busy cramming logs on the fire to go to a fair. Well that, and it's kind of dangerous.

"In fair news, today three men were impaled when ice-sickles flew off the till-o-whirl. A fair will be thrown tomorrow in memoriam…"

Yup they love their fairs. My friend says that’s how they stock up on their "food on a stick" for the winter. She say's she's got the freezer full of gator sticks now. Now I'm not an expert on sticks or gators, (cuz I'd never let a gator close enough to put on a stick. If he's getting there, he'll get there of his own volition.), but I do know that Minnesota is not the first place I'd think of sticking a gator delicacy. The things you learn when you phone a friend. I guess Regis was right.

My friend thought it would be a good idea to talk about divorce. Yeah, I told you I didn't want your stick and gator, stick to the birthday, thank you. Still it's her birthday. I understand the fascination. If we're not talking about my divorce, we're talking about her getting older.

Fine. Happy Birthday…

"We finalized it last month."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So how ya doing?"

"Well I was great until you wanted to talk about it. So what's 41 feel like?"

Yeah, we've been friends for 20 years. We can say that kind of stuff to each other. She did give me some interesting insight though after she told me her special birthday words:

"So it's a new beginning?"

"Yeah, that's what I tell myself."

"That's cool. Did-ja get a crowd on your lawn with a wreath and roses to welcome you through?"

"Well no."

"That would have been cool though, right?"

"Well yes. It would have been cool. 'welcome to you're new life Mr. Boyd.' I get a key and a handshake from the mayor. That would have been awesome. I didn't get it."

"Yeah, they probably don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

"It makes divorce look fun. Everybody'd go. Like a fair."

"Yeah, that would be a problem. I could see some sad housewife sitting around saying 'Well I've been at this 20 years Where's my key and my new life?"

"Could start a riot."

"An epidemic."

That's when the conversation turned to the divorce witness protection agency, and how it would be great, to run one. You know, get a divorce, they take you into hiding and give you a new life doing something else: Floyd used to be a pretty accountant for his wife, but after the divorce we moved him to Mayberry and made him a barber.

It was a great idea whose time hasn't come. Just like the stork-o-pult baby placer, the world just isn't ready. It is ready for a change though. At least I am, and my friend was right. I may not have gotten the fanfare and a parade, but it isn't too late to go down to city hall with a gun and demand one. Ok, well maybe that's not what she meant. She's getting older, she talks in riddles.

This is clear though: this is the time to take stock. This divorce thing is like a birthday. We don't really want it, but once it's here, we might as well take a closer look at where we stand. Celebrate or not, both are times for choice. Either you continue as you were, or you change for the new. August 22 is not just their day. It's our day. Today my friends and I celebrate our day in our own ways. Each of us taking stock and looking for the best way to step into tomorrow. Me? I'm gonna go build me a stork-a-pult. It sounds like fun. Maybe later I'll go demand my parade.

"The folly of men…"-Blue Oyster Cult

Let me start by saying, "Yesterday sucked."

Thank you. Thanks for coming; have a nice day.

Ok, wait, I've roped you in, there's no need in letting you go that easily. Tell you what, if your yesterday sucked, crush your monitor! Well wait. Uhm first off, if you're rushing for your lizard tank stop if you can hear me. Please stop? Simon Says, "Stop?" Oooh. Sheep man: 1, captive nature: 0.

Sorry bout that little guy. Just another victim to man's rampant crimes against reptiles. A bunch of tailless lizards know how you feel. Ok, well death-no tail, not the same. Still, they hurt. It's how the dinosaurs died off you know. Yeah, we ate them. We found out they tasted like chicken and had more meat. Thus ended the Great Lizard era. Look it up. Fred Flintstone will yabba-dabba tell ya. Dinos were really good cooked in boiling tar with mutton in their mouth. Cave women made great dinosaur. Check your cave art. Fat cave dudes pulling away from etched tables of good eats.

It's also why the Godzilla movies were so unbelievable. Nobody in the movies ever looked at his crushing foot and yelled, "Bet that tastes good!" Maybe they did, but not in the English dub. I guess the Japanese conversations could have been more real:

"General! Godzilla is here!"

"Quick, Call Sally Struthers. Tell her, 'problem solved.'"

The reason Godzilla never landed on the California shore line? He didn't want to be chewed up and spit out by the system.

So I know what you're thinking right now. "What does Sally Struthers have to do with your divorce, Rob?" She doesn't. She doesn't even have anything to do with why my day that sucked. That was my bosses fault.

Yeah, we're not getting along again. His idea of a helpful email is, "You suck and you don't care about your job. Love, Dan" My idea of a devoted employee reply is "A team is only as good as their leader." After that it becomes cruise missiles of diversion. Neither of us aims at the real problem: we don't respect each other. Beyond that it gets worse. As readers you know me. You've read my blogs. You know that I have no idea when to shut up. I'm the Energizer bunny of verbage. I keep going and going, and all the firepower in the world isn't stopping this monster.

So our emails progress until we're one step away from a slap fight or a nuclear war. From where I sit, it's hard to tell the difference until the first blast comes. Then it's quite obvious. Then it's too late.

Now I know the score: even if I win, I lose. So now I've got to take a breath, and swallow my pride, dignity and sense of reason, and write an apology. It's like watching the Mission Impossible films--twice: when you're done you just feel dirty and used. It's Godzilla not moving to Los Angeles time all over again.

"Let me see you stripped down to the scales."

Even worse, I swear it's just like my marriage. Nobody says the things that need to be said. And now that it's come to this point, it doesn't matter. This forces me to ask another question about my marriage: Was it really me?

Aww crap! I don't want to ask that!

Thanks Dan for bringing my marriage into this! This email apology is so going to be the worst ever.

So I push the thought aside cuz it's bigger than an elephant in the room. It's a monster. I concentrate on Godzilla. What would Godzilla do? If he came to California, would he eat the Japanese food or would he prefer Mexican? It's a long way to come for just sushi.

I know, I've already said he'd never come to LA. Speaking of which, I was at my writers' group last night and I thought I saw somebody from my past. No, not Godzilla. Just a girl I knew. It wasn't her, but I hate seeing ghosts. They leave me feeling creepy.

Speaking of creepy, I think I crossed the creepy line. I'm standing at the counter trying to figure out what I wanted. I'm in a coffee shop and I can't decide between "coffee" and "coffee." How absurd is that? I know, absurd, but still not creepy. That's coming, you can hear the rumble of big feet. There was a cute young girl waiting behind me, and it just made no sense to make her wait for the second coming of my first clear thought today.

"Do you know what you want?" I ask.

"Uh…yeah."

"Oh, then go ahead, I'm still trying to figure it out."

She looks at the one item menu board and then back to me, nods "yup crazy" and steps up.

"I'll have a coffee, please."

I wish I could tell you I dissuaded her, and converted her to the faith of Rob, but that's more Godzilla fiction. The problem is that I'm still wrapped in wrought thought about my wife/boss and his inability to see the value of our relationship. Oh, and now I'm starting to think this girl looks familiar. That's another problem.

So now I'm staring at the young girl, who is a good 5 years younger than the girl she reminds me of, but I'm convinced it couldn't be her. Ever seen a blind man stare? It's kind of creepy.

Let me put you in the picture. You're at home, you've grabbed a glass of wine, you're sitting down to relax. It's a beautiful night: mid 70's barely any humidity and a slight breeze. You decide to enjoy it all from the front porch. Grabbing glass and bottle, you wander out kick back in the wicker chair, and prop your feet up on the table.

Inhale. "ahhh…" Right? Great.

The wine's a good Sauvignon Blanc, crisp and light, the night is clear and starry. There's a brush just at your shoulder. You whip back to see what touched you and bump noses with Marty Feldman.

Crash!

"AAAAAH!"

Yeah, I figure that's how this girl felt, cuz I'm staring, she whips around with her coffee, sees me with coffee lid eyeballs, and speeds out without stopping for sugar or cream.

"Miss, Your change!"

"Keep it!"

"But you paid with a hundred!"

Gone.

I inspire that in people. Me and Pepe LePew. I'm ok, at least there was a good reason this time. Well, for her running, for me staring, not so much. I don't know. I'm trying to make the most of things, and sometimes I make it worse.

I think it's how Godzilla felt when he crushed his first train. The train was so slick and beautiful, he didn't mean to ruin it, but there were all these tasty Raisinets inside. It was a bad day, he did what he had to do. For me, add that to the picture of the burning Tokyo of my work life and the whole island looks like it's in flames to this raging reptile.

Sure All Godzilla has to do is return to Monster Island for a break, but when your standing in the fire with a maw of fuzzy sheep, spitting wool, and all your world smells like burning chicken. It's hard to walk away. Still it's what we need to do. We learn to walk away from the fights we can, and try not to scare away too many natives. I'm not good at that yet, but I'm trying.

"You don't know me…"-Ben Folds W/ Regina Spektor

I gave in. I admit it. I'm also a little ashamed. I feel kind of dirty. Almost as much as the time Mom caught me hosting the Care Bear fun-time orgy.

"What's Cheer Bear doing to Grumpy Bear?"
"I dunno, but he doesn’t look grumpy anymore."

No, their poly-fuzz was always a little matty after that fur pile. Maybe it was the oil, maybe it--nevermind.

Still this was different. No bears were abused in my latest adventure. It was just me, alone, in my office, with my computer.

The light was low. The monitor glowed with promise. Sirens called from the rocky crags of Bose speakers. Defenses down, my fingers swam the key strokes to shore. Filling in all the pertinent criteria.

I was a creator. A madman looking for a way to make a mate.

"Bring my creation to life!"

Speaking of life, I really need one. Any man who can fill out a eHarmony questionnaire in one setting has way too much caffeine in his blood and plenty of time on his hands. Oh, don't worry, I'm just going to jitter and sit on my hands; I'm not going to do anything but submit the questionnaire. I'm window shopping. I do that when I'm lonely. I needed a computer to tell me that there was a match for me somewhere.

I know, pathetic huh? Wait, grab your popcorn, turn off Lifetime, and get your scroll finger ready, cuz this gets better.

First, for the record, I don't believe in dating sites. It's not that they can't work, it's just that they're not for me. It's like blind dating with cam pics stapled to your fingers.

"Where is thumbkin? where is thumbkin?

"Here I am! Here I am!"

"Run away! Run Away!"

See I'm supposed to fall for somebody who sends in a picture their cousin snapped, because he shoots models (well their pictures anyway. He was acquitted on the other charges). But that's just a glossy mock up; it has nothing to do with the subject.

There are also the girls who can't operate a camera and post the mustache nostril shot from the bust up.

"What knockers!"

Maybe so, but she can't manage a camera, so if you're looking for something long term, she's probably not carrying the brain gene you desire for breeding stock. It may not be a problem, but if you're like me and find Family Guy thematic and poignant, then maybe you should be picky about your partner's brain, unless you aren’t worried by the thoughts of kids confounded by Ziplock technology.

"Abby someone…"

Anyway, these captioned pictures really don't say a thing about who you really are, just what you want me to think. I study people. I like people for what they say, think and feel. I need a whole image not two dimensions of your best side. No matter how endowed that best side may be.

I think authenticity is an recessive trait, but something to be desired. I can't find that in fluffy cameo. I need to see and talk and mentally touch. I'm a tactile learner. Yeah, that got me slapped in 5th grade too.

Sure, I hear you now. "The dates are for learning, Rob." Listen to my reply, "Have you read a word I've written?" Go back and read the older blogs. That's not what Rob dates are for. Rob dates are goal oriented. Rob dates are miles past cursory evaluation. Why would I sit across a table and stammer like an idiot with my voice wavering in and out of "dog whistle" territory for that? If I'm dating you, you've passed the first weeding round. We're now on to Double Jeopardy where there's more Rob stake; you're almost through the hard candy shell. Weeding is handled in the "Hi, My name is Bunny" round.

So I don't do dating sites. Still I do enjoy free samples. I like knowing that somebody finds my generic picture-less profile appealing. Like last night, I got a "flirt" on singlesnet. Apparently a flirt is somebody seeing your profile, and clicking the "flirt" link. That sends you a "Hey! Look at me!" message.

I'm a sheep. I pulled up my flirter's profile:

I dream like all people do. You know that mind blowing wild kinky sex. That lets you explore where you just cant wait to touch that man, Where you have to have him now. I have so much I long to do. I have alot I have never tried... Looking for that sexy younger man that just makes me shake all over. Who wants a Taste of Honey!!!!!

I like to play the following sports:

Equestrian.

"Frau Blucher!"

Yeah, I don't think we all do dream the same way. An interesting addition to this story. Her profile says that she's 29. her blurb says she's looking for a young stallion. What's she mailing me for? I may leave lots of blanks in the profile, but I didn't lie. It says I'm 40. I'm one hoof in the glue factory, and if her profile is anywhere near accurate, I think she'd ride me the rest of the way in.

Now I don't want this to reflect on the site. I did receive another flirt from a woman I did have something in common with: Neither of us posted a picture. She was also an artist who loved exercise. Now, I do exercise, but I don't love it. If you're looking for a workout partner past "pass the salsa," then keep power walking cuz you're probably not looking for me. Exercise is a necessary evil, just like tweezing chest hairs. Ok, that's a lie. I do that for fun.

Now some days these "flirts" and ads for Best Buy are all I get in my emailbox. So when I walk to Outlook, and find only Honey the love filly, and Felicia the energizer bunny I start feeling desperate. Is there somebody out there? Somebody for me? Maybe these sites know more than I do. Maybe Honey is the girl for me. How kinky is "kinky?"

"Put the candle back!"

So I decided to see who was in my free eHarmony file. I spent the night filling in their profile. They asked me about everything. I especially loved the, "Do you have trouble controlling your anger," and "Do you find I need to lie to impress others." questions. Now on the latter question, no matter how I answer, how do they know I'm not lying? That's ok. They never did ask me about the strange long mounds in my backyard...

So I wade through the interrogation to find my perfect match. I feel dirty and pathetic for filling it out, and what's more, I think I'd have jumped through fewer hoops if I called Honey. When I'm done they show me the name of my perfect match. What they won't show me is her picture. Why? Because I'm not a paying member. That's ok, I'm not a paying member and I didn't put in my picture. So there!

I'll just accept that they've given me somebody who'll love me unconditionally, no matter what my faults. I decided to go to bed with the song of love in my heart. In the morning I'd get up and find out about my true match.

This morning I get up and check my mail. I've received a message from my perfect match! Now I didn't send her anything, so I'm touched that she looked in and said, "Oooh! My love!"

I open her mail, and it tells me I've been blocked. She doesn't want to hear from me, ever.

Why?

"Because there are no photos posted/I couldn't see any photos. "

I figure I'll send her a finger puppet to staple to her finger as a consolation prize, because that's apparently what she needs to find love. Still, I'm ok. I knew it wasn't right. I was depending on someone else to make a mate, and they made a monster. It's back to the drawing board for me.

So I continue to try and build the perfect mate from nothing. They tell me I'm mad. It's ok. I'd rather be crazy than to divorce again. I'll get it right this time, even if takes forever. Just lock me in here alone, and no matter how much a beg or plead, don't let me out until I get it right.

I will get it right.

"It's neverending, as far as I know…"-The Trews

"Can I ask you a question?" I feel like a high schooler. I swear this was supposed to be easy but now I'm stammering with my vowels and consonants. "ahahah-uhuhuhohoho…"

"Sure, whatsup?" Sure, she's confident. It's like she owns the place. Well, maybe not, but she owns the moment. That much is true. Somebody else owns my dried swollen tongue.

"I…Uhm…" Yeah, I'm smooth. She's the only person I can talk to locally and I'm fumbling for words. Great.

Her smile is bright, her eyes are questioning moons. I don't know what she's expecting, but I can tell that when the words launch from my mouth, their combined phrasing landed unexpectedly.

"I'm taking a vacation in a couple of months. Where should I go?"

"I…Uhm…" Oh yeah! Now she's speaking my language!

That's not really my question, but that's really what I asked. Oh, I'm not trying to date my barista. She's cute and friendly, but she's too young; She's still in college. She hasn't seen what the real world will do to you outside the daily grind. Give her time. I know that one of the things it'll do is make a guy come out of his house on a Monday afternoon hoping to talk to somebody, even if it's for $3.50 for the first cup of conversation.

Now I know I've picked up a few new readers. Let me help you catch up with our story so far.

Hi, I'm Rob. I'm divorced. I'll be your crazy blogger for the next few minutes, or at least until you hit the back-page but--Ah, there you go. Everybody wave goodbye!

Anyway. I've been "divorced" for almost a month, but MyEx left over a year and a half ago. I work at home, and my job keeps me on a short nylon tether. The tether doesn't matter too much, because before MyEx left, she was my social life; I'm used to a social shock collar. It might have helped if she was more social I guess, but she wasn't so now I spend my social life at home. Oh, my dog says "Hi!"

Oh, don't feel sorry for me, I do that enough for both of us. I promise you, I get more than my RDA of self pity. My last doctors visit, he informed me I had a healthy dose of self doubt. I told him if he needed some, I had cases full of mason jars brimming with the stuff in the cupboard next to the peaches. I could spare whatever he needed. I wouldn't run out anytime soon.

"No, you won't be doing that, that's for sure…" he agreed and offered me a smiley lollipop.

So I work. I live at home and I try to get out. Well, scratch "try," I need to get out. If I don't, I start feeling like a caged animal in an abandoned zoo. It's so easy to do too. And if I miss it, the loneliness crashes down on me like a tsunami.

I spent the last two weeks alone.

Oops. What's that rushing sound?

The last 2 weeks passed and I limited myself to my usual coffee excursion. I was too busy and I didn't even make it to church. Last Saturday I tried to get out and enjoy dinner and a movie, but it was too late. I needed an adrenaline shot to the heart, and being alone in a crowd was just a splash in the face with tepid water.

And what kind of word is tepid, and what is it doing in my face? Dripping. That's what it's doing, but nothing else. I enjoyed the dinner. I enjoyed the movie. I wasn't real keen about being alone. I went to buy groceries, but halfway through the supermarket I thought, "Mmmm…Cheese, crackers, and wine sounds really good." That thought was closely followed by "Oh, but I'd be eating them alone. Well that sucks."

FWOOM!

Splash!

"Brad, tsunami aisle 5, tsunami aisle 5. We need a clean up."

Yeah it hit hard. What's more I'm a guy. We don't reach out, as Martian John Gray will tell you, we go hide in our cave, and we just expect you to know. What they don't tell you about the cave though, is it's a lonely dark place. For me, the hardest thing about being isolated is that when I feel isolated I need to prove myself right.

"Hi"

"Don't talk to me, I'm feeling alone."

"uhm…ok…"

"No I mean it. You're in my space. Go away."

Because how can I bundle up the burlap sack of self pity and start beating myself with a steel pipe if people are watching?

"Oh that? It's just laundry. I'm agitating."

When this happens all I can do is ride it out. I curl into a fetal ball, and let the waters crash around me--alone and isolated, because that's how I've planned it.

I guess the good news is that I don't need to rely on anybody to recover. When the waves ebb out, I get up, grab a towel and dry off. I look around and say, "See, I survived," and it's business as usual. You think I'd learn, but like Yogi, this seems to be my favorite pic-nic basket.

On the bright side, this is something exclusively my own, and not something I can blame on MyEx. See, now that she's gone and I've put away her baggage, I found my flotsam and jetsam baggage floats around me, marking my space. It's everywhere, and every piece has my name on it. See, that's one thing you assured to keep after the divorce: your baggage. Now that I'm done dealing with ours, I get to deal with mine. That's ok, I've got plenty of time to sort through it alone.

So the water shifts the sand under my toes and I'm looking at all this junk. I told somebody recently that people withdraw all the time. It's kind of a self defense mechanism. I said that the real friends were the people who stood still when you pulled away; that way you knew where to find them when you came back. So let me say "thank you," to all of you still standing outside my cave. I still wonder what I'm doing about my vacation...

"I don't know," She said, "I haven't been anywhere outside of the state. I hate to travel alone."

Yup, and it looks like I've got plenty of company when it comes to being alone.