Blow the whistle it's YABB-DABBA-DO! time! I'm on vacation! I already hear the questions:
"What are you going to do, Rob?"
"Are you going somewhere?"
Shhh! Don't ask, I'm on vacation.
"But-"
Don't ask, I'm on vacation. Did you get the memo? It said:
To: All
From: Rob
Rob. Vacation. SeeYa!
That's right, right now is Rob time. Oh, not to worry, I'll vacation blog. You'll all get your Rob fix. That's not to be confused with getting your Rob fixed. There'll be none of that on my vacation.
So what am I doing? I don't know. I don't care. I'm not working. The end. Ok, maybe a little work, but it's only small Pomeranian ankle-nippy stuff. I'm not doing any Great Danes. And no, it doesn't matter how you read that sentence, I'm not doing it.
I have a few house projects. They need done. I need to work the big earthen poo piles in my yard. When the guys walled my yard, they dug a ditch for the base. There are piles of dirt and cement globs everywhere. The piles must go.
I need to fix my sprinklers. I have flower bed sprayers that shower the sidewalk. Although it does keep solicitors down to the desperate and soggy, I've also got the pizza boy thinking twice. I can't have that. Pizza boys aren't supposed to think at all. They're here to deliver.
"Your light looks like something from Krypton."
"Yeah, thanks."
"No, really. You know Superman, right?"
"Well not personally, but I've heard of him. Yes."
"That light looks like it comes from his Fortress of Solitude. Is this your Fort-"
"Shhh. You had me at 'Pizza!'"
Sad but true: That's based on actual pizza boy dialogue. I've tried not to talk to them since then. I won't have my inner comic geek outed by a pizza boy with Kryptonite conversation.
My birthday is this week. I haven't decided how I'll spend that. I won't be having pizza. I'm thinking about making some pulled pork, and homemade barbecue sauce. I'll have sandwiches. I know, it sounds cheesy, but there'll be no cheese, and I make good barbeque. It just takes forever to cook. I'm thinking I deserve the treat, I'm special. I'll make it for my birthday.
I usually have extra sauce too. I'm thinking if I do, I'll make some wings and toss them over the fence at my neighbors.
"What's in the pool?"
"I don't know but here come more! Duck!"
"No, I think they're chicken."
Yeah, I know. It's my vacation. My sense of humor is outside getting a tan. You're left with Rob-shell digging blog poo. You can expect more of the same quality for the rest of the week. It should be nothing if not interesting.
I'm looking forward to this. I'm looking forward to my birthday. Last birthday sucked.
"What did you get Rob?"
"A do it yourself divorce kit."
"Oh.."
See? It was pretty bleak. MyUnwife still lived here, but she'd already left, so even the non -birthday days were uncomfortable. The birthday? It might as well have been just another day of working around each other pretending everything was what we wanted.
Birthday's shouldn't be that much work. I'm thinking I should go to the beach this birthday: there's no work there. I love the beach, I haven't been in years. I'm still not sure though. With the price of gas being the same as a weeks worth of groceries, I'm not sure I'd find the beach as enjoyable at the starvation end of hunger week.
"There's nothing in the fridge, Rob."
"I know, Rob, but I still have sand in my toes."
"I hope you choke on it.
"Thanks Rob."
Starvation? That's the following week. This is my week, my vacation, and my birthday. I've got places to go, and people to do. Ok, so maybe not the second thing, I'll save that for a special event after the divorce is finalized. Right now I've got to got to see my neighbor. He's complaining about water wings in his pool. It appears I'll need to go swimming. I hate vacations...
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