"...drank a toast to now …"-Dan Fogelberg

Somebody said "Have some soup." I thought that sounded like a good idea, so I did. Somebody said, "Toast in the New Year, because how you receive the New Year, is how it will be." I thought that sounded like a good idea too, so I did. Nobody said, "careful how you toast the New Year, Rob. You might want to remember at least part of it." So I didn't think about that idea, and well, I don't remember what I did.

Ok, that's an over exaggeration. I do remember. I'm just not sure from this side if it was a good idea. I try to forget the bad ideas. Maybe I need more alcohol to do that. No, no, I don't think that's a good idea either.

Here, I'll start at the beginning, with the good ideas. I've been trying to shake this stinkin' cold since Santa dripped it in my stocking. So far, it's been gnawing at me like 5 year old after a downed piñata beast; I can't get rid of it. I've tried store bought soup: that didn't work. Last night I loaded the big guns: I resigned to make my own chicken noodle soup. Good idea! I even got kind of excited about it. I copied down all the ingredients I didn't have (like a whole chicken), made my list, checked it twice, and climbed in the car.

All the while, I'm remembering something somebody else said, "I hope you're well enough to toast the New Year."

Me too, I thought. Then something else happened: Phlegmy brain receptors introduced synapses that had no business talking to each other. You know how almost every New Year's eve you meet somebody, and you've regretted meeting them within a week? Then you spend the next 12 months trying to shake them like a bad cough?

Because how we receive the New Year, is how it will be…

That's what happened in my brain. Watch as I break into a dramatized reenactment: Thought Process A (TPA) will be played by Zooey Deschanel. Thought Process B (TPB) will be played by Colin Ferrell. Got that in your mind? Good. Here goes:

TPA sitting at a bar nursing her velvet crush, talking to TPC (unpaid extra who just wanted screen time): I know! Since this is our first New Years Alone, lets buy a new bottle of champagne!

TPB, grabbing TPC by neck and throwing him over the bar: Is this seat taken? (not waiting for answer, he slides in really close) May I make a suggestion? (not waiting for an answer,) let me buy you a drink and we'll talk about this.

TPA looking like doe a waiting for a tractor trailer: Okay!

TPB (or tractor trailer): I gotta say, buying a new bottle of champagne, that’s a great idea. (Finishes drink, orders another for both of them. TPA is trying to keep up.) What if I made it better?

TPA: How?

TPB: You drink a new bottle in a new glass for the new year, but first, remember the bottle you got when you were married?

TPA: The one the hotel gave us?

TPB: Exactly! Drink it! Drink it in one of the complimentary glasses the hotel gave you! The one still sitting on your shelf!

TPA: That sounds like a great idea!

Light fades, the couple continues plotting, nuzzling closer and closer…

See? I didn't stand a chance. Even my favorite cashier gave me a 2 handed wave. I thought she was really excited about wishing me a happy New Year, but in retrospect it was two hands waving "DON'T GO DOWN THE SPOOKY PATH--WHERE 15 PEOPLE HAVE BEEN MURDERED IN THE PAST 4 SCENES--IN THE RAIN WITHOUT A FLASHLIGHT!" I didn't see it. Thought Process B was just too charming…

So I made my soup. That was great. My nose opened up, and said "Thank you!" Then I opened the old Orleans champagne circa 1999. I should have been a little leery. The cork was plastic. It was also sticky: it had leaked a little over time. After 15 minutes of trying, I put the bottle down, and rested. It was like a childproof cap, but there were no secret press points. Resolved, and refreshed, I went back at it. This time it popped. Ok, it didn't "pop" it sort of fell off. Like a hairy clog passing from a pipe.

Mmm…tasty….

Still, it was a process, and I had to move on. I toasted the past: the memories, the people, the plans that were. I said goodbye, and I drank. The champagne was sweet but hollow and flat. I'll let you work your own marriage metaphor here. I'm just the guy drinking the Kool-Aid.

11:58 I pour the remainder out, open my new bottle, and grab a new glass. I hear Dick Clark croak out the last 5 seconds from my office as I quickly pour. "Happy New Year!" I toast the future, the unknown, and 2008. "Whatever lies ahead, here's to you!" I tip it back and fill it again. It tastes of good fruit, and bubbles with promise...

So I woke up this morning. My cold is gone. I think the all-out chicken and champagne assault sent it scrambling for safer terrain. My head hates Thought Process B, but I don't know. It was kinda cathartic. I feel good about 08. Now excuse me, I'm gonna go have some more soup. I gotta get my strength up for whatever Thought Process B has roped me into.

Oooooh sparklie

Happy new years!

From me to you: may 2008 bring all the joy of your dreams to reality.

"I'm gonna tell my son to be a prophet of mistakes …"-Liz Phair

I think today I'll fall into the mold. Not that green stuff under the sink; that stuff'll kill ya. I'm talking about the mold of a mundane blog writer; that'll only steal your integrity—I'm divorcing, I lost that months ago. I mean, here we are at New Years door, and what have I decorated it with? Nothing--not even the noose shaped wreath of discontent, bearing the berries of self-indulgence. Really? How can I show my face on the internet If I don't write in the traditional holiday format. Everybody takes this time of year to fill their lives with top 20 lists and show off their resolve to make resolutions they'll never keep. What have I done? Nothing noticeable. Nothing that screams out like "Rob's Top 20 ways Rob tries to forget his divorce." I can't do that list anyway, the top five aren't legal in the US and number 3 involves 2 olives, a Wiffle ball, a hamster, and cricket paddle. And a bathtub of green Jello. Can't forget the Jello.

Note to self, stop at grocery store...

Jell-Hello! I promise, I'll fall into line. I'll type my nubby tips to the drum-beat of conformity. I am Rob the blog sheep; hear me bleat! BAAAAA!

I already gave my writers' group their resolutions ideas for the year. I told them, "write." I know, call me Socrates. I am the king of other people's wisdom. Drop by, I dispense it like Pez. My life and divorce resolutions, they're a little tougher. They actually should mean something. They should somehow enrich my world, should make me a better person, should give substance to my green Jello, like tasty fruit.

Note to self, buy bananas...

My meaningless resolutions need to show resolve. They need to say Rob is more than a paragon of piffle. Yeah, go ahead, look it up. I'll wait.

Now aren't you glad you looked that up? You can add that to your resolution list: Look up words on Rob's blog. Hell, I'll settle for "Read Rob's Blog," but we all have to start with mini-promises if we ever hope to keep them. So why not start with "Keep display dictionary on desk." If it's a big one, it'll impress your friends, and give you a place to hide all the spouse-heads you've cut out of old pictures.

"Hey, I was looking up 'efface' and all these little heads rolled out…"

But enough of you and yours, back to me and mine. My resolutions for 08 include, "Trying to be more social." I suck at that. Since I work at home that's where I spend my life. I need to get out and expand my social network past my dog. I need to find my six degrees of Kevin Bacon. Why not give people reasons to love and hate me: spread the Rob cheer in everybody's life, like a phegmmy virus.

Another Resolution is to "move past my divorce." I'm doing good so far, but I need to be sure and confident. Right now I'm a little mouse, sniffing the cheesy trap, darting in and out of my safe warm nest. Every thought, every memory, every person isn't going to snap my neck. Or maybe they are, I dunno. I need to be a little Fonzie about this Honey Bunny.

I think I can keep this one though. The mood storms have calmed. I really think I'm much better. The problem is, every time I think I am better, another hurricane rolls through ripping out everything I've worked so hard to lash down and board up. Still, I've tied myself to the main mast and I'm ready for the next storm. If I'm tied up here, I should be able keep my resolutions, or at least not break them. Isn't that something? Could I ask you one small favor though? Could you push that tub of Jello just a little closer? Thank you.

"I'm tired. Sick and tired…"-Lilly Von Schtupp

Bleh! I hate you guys! It's your fault. You're the only ones I can blame. I haven't had any other contact with the outside world, and yet here I sit, coughing, achey, stuffy head...I'm a freakin' Nyquil commercial and it's all your fault. You're the only people I've talked to in the last few days. It's one of these computer viruses I hear all about. Thanks a lot.

Ever notice how big the world gets when you're sick? Right now I'm huddled in my fuzzy throw, like a gypsy fortuneteller, typing with as little movement as possible, trying not to uncover my hands. I got up a while back I needed coffee and OJ. I'll tell ya, it was like walking across a Las Vegas Casino to the cashier counter. There's like a strange old couple throwing dice at my kitchen table, and a gaggle of foreign tourist clogging up the foot path between me and the fridge. Hang on, the old lady wants a scotch—neat. I'll be back in an hour; she tips pretty well. Never in the field of human travel, has so many feet seemed like so far to so few! My hut feels huge! Maybe that's Thurston and Lovey at my table. I returned to my desk, slumped into the chair, re-wrapped myself, and then broke for breath.

Must breathe…

My nose is useless for that right now. It's betrayed me, but my lips can't get around the words "et tu" to accuse it. Instead they say something close to "ah boo?" Then my nose says "God bless you." Yeah, everything shuts down when I'm sick.

Then there's my mind. Do I even need to go into that? Maybe you should re-read the second paragraph again. Pay special attention to the strangers in my kitchen.

One of my single friends once said, "At least you have somebody around when you're sick." Well that may be true, but I'm never sick. In all the time we were married, I think I was sick twice. Oh that's not to say I didn't take full advantage of her during those times. See, I'm just like any other guy when it comes to being sick. We all revert to 5 year old boys. We want Mom to coddle us and nurse us back to health. And just like sick time at work, you can only accumulate so much before you lose it. I think a divorce means I lose it.

Do I get a raincheck? Can I call MyUnwife up?

"Hey, could you come over with a vat of chicken noodle and a tumbler of Nyquil?"

"No."

"Why not? I'm sick!"

"You're always sick. You’re a sick twisted man."

"You always liked that before? Besides this is a different sick."

"And you want to get me sick..?"

"Well you were always a sick and twisted woman…but no, I wanted you to honor these coddle-Rob IOUs."

"Oh, that's all? Well hold your breath. I'll be there before you breathe your last-er next."

Yeah, that's not gonna happen. So how bout you? You gave me this thing, any chance you can hook me up with some comfort food? I'd ask the old lady at the table, but she just put her cigarette out in my OJ. Yeah, my mind is slipping, and I'm feeling sick, not a good combo. 3 more degrees on the thermometer and I'm Princess Leah typing a message into the R2 droid... Help me, Obi-wan Blogreader you're my only hope. Help me...

California Winters and the bitter cold

So, where else does this happen in the middle of the winter? These yellow roses are about the only flower growing in my garden. I try to leave them alone. I'm afraid if I touch them they'll die.

"This is real this is now…"-The Men

My parents gave me a video game for Christmas. They're the greatest. They always give me some kind of toy each year. I think they do it to make up for all the socks and underwear when I was a kid. That's alright, I'll let them appease their guilt. This years penance came wrapped in an Amazon.com smile box.

The game is an RPG/quest type game. I always liked these as a kid. Even back in the days of Zork, when there were no graphics.

"It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue."

Yeah, I'm in the middle of a divorce. I've met the grue, and he is us. Zork: grues thieves and Cyclopes, oh my! My parents are more hip than that; they gave me a new game with moving images and everything. I had to replace my old Commodore 64 though...

The game still has a lot of similarities, I mean you still have to collect useless objects and give them purpose. It's a lot like real life in that respect. Especially since MyUnwife left. There are things like our old ugly couch. It hasn't had a real purpose since 2003. I think it's reason for living, the past 2 years anyway, was keeping a wall from looking bare. It's an important job, but can be done by something more aesthetically pleasing, like say a trophy case or a wooden door with strange gothic lettering.

When MyUnwife moved out, the couch gained a new life, an new puprose, a certain joie de vivre. Right after my office chair, and the folding chair at the dinner table, it's my primary seating location. Oh, it's still ugly as sin, but looks aren't everything, and well neither is comfort in the sofa's case. It's simply being there, and being useful. Yeah, my standards have dropped a bit since she left. It's the same way with some cast iron pots my mom gave me when I got my first apartment. I never thought I'd use those. In fact, I think the only reason we still have them is that we forgot to throw them away.

When half my stuff left, I found new purposes for all kinds of useless things I owned. Even more, I found that I needed a new purpose for me. My reasons for being the old me left in a cloud of dust. I didn't have the special trinket to bring them back either.

I could have chased after her wielding my legendary sword, but my homeowners association frowns on that almost as much as pink flamingoes. No, just like encountering the thief in the old Zork games, I just had to let it go, and review my new inventory to see what was left.

In my new life, I gained skills and found skills I didn't know I had. Did you know that if you ask the people at Home Depot where stuff is, they'll tell you? I had no idea; That was always MyUnwife's job. I'm still working out the purpose for maps, but I think I need to advance a few levels first. If I slay a few hundred more dust bunnies, that should give me the points I need...

Now I'm finding I'm changing into a new Rob. Is he better? Worse? I don't know, he's different, but the old Rob was kinda different too—at least that’s what everybody used to tell me. The new Rob is more of a scavenger, but he's a survivor. I'm a tarnished Knight now, but still essentially good. I find I'm more leery about which damsels I save too.

"I'm sorry, I can't save you. There appears to be excessive baggage in your ivory tower. A younger, naive knave should be along shortly though. Have a good afternoon…"

I'm still learning about this Rob. There are things I like, and things I don't, I'm still collecting data. I think I can get him through the game without killing him off though. I think that's important.

.