"You promised me everything you promised me thick and thin…"-Dire Straits

So, guess what we did tonight?

Well it started by getting drunk. That can be a great start for several things. In this case, it just led the way to where we were already going.

What did we drink? Let's see…a six pack a piece…how many 1800 margaritas? I dunno, but we'll qualify them as "a lot." I guess that's one more bottle of liquor we won't have to split in the divorce. I think the triple sec is shot too. Hang on I'll go check.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Yup, It's gone.

After that, well, we talked about our divorce. We decided we weren't as far from an understanding as I had thought. I told her how I felt, and I explained how I thought she felt. She said "Yeah," and she didn't mention what she thought of me. Then again, I haven't been real hidden with my emotions, and she hasn't been too hidden with her lack of love.

That was our evening. What else? Well…oh yeah, we filled out the paperwork for a divorce.

Yup. Did the http://www.completecase.com paperwork. Which , by the way is quite easy. I'm not recommending it for all occasions (for weddings and bar mitzvahs

it's pretty much a downer.) but it was appropriate for our drunken evening. I recommend a nice Zinfandel, it's strong, but otherwise, outweighs the bitterness.

We have more to do, but filing at 1am is pretty taxing. No wait, that's the other forms…

It's funny, cuz earlier today she gave me a list of music she wanted from my collection. Why is it funny? I have no idea. I've been drinking, everything is funny. What does she want? Well I'll tell ya,

AFI: Sing the sorrow, and Decemberunderground

My Chemical Romance. The Black Parade

Killers: Hot Fuss, Sam's Town

Korn: Korn

Blind Melon: Blind Melon

Green Day: Dookie

Collective Soul: Hints Rumors and Allogations

Butthole Surfers: Shame Of Life

Stone Temple Pilots: Core

Offspring: Xxnay On the Hombre, Smash

Modest Mouse: Good news.., and We were dead…

Barenaked Ladies: Gordon, and Stunt

Metallica: pretty much all of them

Filter: Name of Record

Queens of the stone age: Songs for The Deaf

Linkin Park: Hybrid Theory

Lou Reed: Best Of

Jane's Addiction: again, pretty much all of them

Foo Fighters: One By One

Velvet Revolver: Contraband

Outkast: Stankonia

Tesla: Best Of

Prince: Purple Rain

Johnny Cash: Best of

Replacements: All for Nothing, Nothing for all

Pearl Jam: 10, Vs.

Violent Femmes: Self Titled.

Nirvana: All

Carol King: Tapestry

Beth Orton: Best of

Limp Bizkit: Significant Other

Clash: London Calling

There were more on her list, and yet I listed too many. Forgive me, it was cathartic typing. MyWife is leaving me. In our drunken conversation we concluded that as easily as we concluded our marriage. Also, we concluded a statistic I wasn't aware of until recently. Apparently guys relate sex with love more than women. That's right. She said we'd still be having sex if it weren't for the fact that it meant something more to me. You know what? She's not the first woman I've heard this from. I had no idea! Is this true? I mean, yes, in my case, that's how it really is. MyWife was right. It's just interesting, that from what I've heard, in marriage, more guys associate sex with love than women. Feel free to dispute this, I'm really curious!

Sorry. I'm short on words. Call it alcohol, call it dancing with the death of my marriage, call it whatever you want, I'm too tired, too done, too…yeah just too.. Whatever you call it, I'm cutting it short. I'm outta here. I'm gonna go and..I dunno. Something that requires no thought but allows complete catharsis. Any Ideas?

"Who of us can tell what these dark days will bring…"-David Usher

I hate indecisive people.

They're a pet peeve for me, right next to flakey people. Ok, I think indecisive rates higher. At least right now, for the sake of this blog, indecisive people are the bane of mankind. Write it down, there will be a test.

The California roadway: Home to indecision. I think there's a troll or something hiding under every overpass stealing peoples ability to make decisions. He used to take goats, but nobody travels with a goat these days do they? Too impractical, and they eat the damn seat cushions! So the trolls have combed over their hairy little toes and hatched a plan: Feed off people's ability to make up their mind. The plan does have one fatal flaw though: this is California, and the mental pickins are slim. The trolls have left our roadway as one huge parkinglot laden with dumbfounded idiots.

I mean really how tough is it? Pick a path, and run with it. Accelerator right, brake left, steering wheel: the big circle in the middle. The clutch is only for advanced participants. Just drive! Unless proven otherwise, assume you're path is right. It's easy!

Yesterday, while driving to my dentist appointment, I was reminded why I'm glad to work at home. I love people. They, wonderful and unpredictable, but that's never a good thing when you put them in a car! Then you add the indecision, let it sit in the warm California sun, and you get Rob Blogwriter shouting at his windshield "Move your freakin' ass" "Go! Go! Go," and my favorite of the day "For the love of God, who suggested you should drive?"

You wouldn't believe this but I didn't actually use the word "freakin'."

You may not believe this either, but I usually handle stress pretty well. I'm the go to guy when there's problems. Pick a course and run with it. It's the best way. Others don't do this. Others (non-Robs) spend more time worrying about what you (the other, other driver) is doing that they freeze up, what the hell?

I know I know, defensive driving and all, but remember "What's the best defense?" That's right: a good offense. So push the right pedal and lets go!

See? I'm a joy to travel with. That, by the way is the true test of any relationship: Take a road trip. The longer the better, and It has to be longer than a day. That's when people's real personalities come out to play. I'd tell you a cool story about this but I don't want to digress further. Notice, I added "further…"

See? That's what indecision does to me. Right now I'm frothing at the mouth. That may just be the toothpaste, but I don't care. There's froth! That's why it infuriates me when I find one of the most indecisive people in the world is me!

Yesterday as I was thinking about writing this entry. (Yeah I pre-think these thing. I know, they my seem plot-less, self-indulgent, and off the cuff, but I have to at least consider the cuff before I start writing otherwise it's this sleeveless atrocity of misdirection...Am I the only one that thinks my metaphor tangent just took a detour down some lost Arizona highway where the locals are waiting to filet some California tourist? Yeah, that's what I thought. Back to our story. Ok, I'll wait for you to reread the first sentence. Ready, O-K...) I was feeling so bitter, I couldn't think straight. That "better or worse" thing catches in my throat every time. I said it, I meant it. She said it, and well, 'worse" appears to be somewhere short of where we are now. Maybe we should have qualified "worse" in our vows.

Pastor: "Do you promise to love honor and cherish, for better or worse?""

MyWife: "How worse are we talking?"

Pastor: "Well, really hard times."

MyWife: "how hard? I can do papercuts."

Pastor: "I think probably harder than that."

MyWife: "Flu?"

Pastor: "Good start, go deeper."

MyWife: "Life threatening illness? I could probably deal with him dying."

Me: "Wha?"

MyWife: "It'll happen. If you do it quickly, I should be here."

Pastor: "I don't think that qualifies as worse"

MyWife: "What if it's hideously disfiguring, and not something quick like, say…poison."

Me: "Wha?"

Pastor: "OK I could see that as worse…"

Set the parameters early. That’s what we needed. See and I'm still here, and I can't think of anything "worse" than your partner trying to divorce you. And let me repeat, I'M STILL HERE!

So this morning I flipped. Indecision set in and I wasn't bitter anymore. Oh sure, I'm still here, but as we stood in the kitchen joking over ways she could sabotage my shower, I remembered why I love her. She reminds me that someone as dark and devious as myself exists. I like that. It's not the only reason I love her, but it's the only side I get to see these days.

So yeah, now I'm frustrated at myself, yelling into the mirror "GO! GO! GO!"

That's ok though, I have made one decisive move. I've purchased a re-keying tool for the locks on the house. When you're out, don't expect to get back in. I've made that decision.

"So open your eyes child, let’s be on our way…"-Rise Against

I woke up with the weirdest feeling this morning. I was thinking about my wife--no great shock there--but something hit me. I still feel the same way about her I've felt since the day we married. Far less oooeygoooey (yes it's a word, look it up! No, use MY dictionary…), but still companiony. That person I signed up for "till death" still haunts my head.

I know when she gets home, I'll see her slouch into the office and all that will change, but I think the feelings would remain if she didn't slouch. The slouch is her feelings towards me. You know, sometimes when I say something to her, and the air around her waivers. Really! It's as if it's all an illusion, a façade to hide her disdain. It's momentary, and if I blink I miss it, but it's there. There was a movie like that once. What was it? It bothers me that I won't remember until after I've posted this, but what can I do? Just pretend I've offereed the perfect analogy. Smile, laugh and go, "you are so right Rob." It's what my wife does.

But maybe that's it. I don't want this to sound like blame, but no matter what she tries to point to, maybe it's as simple as this: She's changed. Not in a good vs. evil way. Just like ice to water or water to vapor. They're all chemically the same, but they're reactionary properties are different. Some great Electrolysis switch in her head has flicked, and "Rob love" fell through the vapor. I don't know.

I had a dream the other night. I dreamt that we were arguing and she turned to walk away. In my dream I reached out and grabbed her from behind. Wrapping my arms around her I pulled her close. I said the magic words that made her cry, the ones that made her stay. Then she helped me build a fence. We painted it green, and it kept the neighbors out. When I woke up, I couldn't remember the incantation.

What's more, when I thought on the dream later, I thought on the dream MyWife. Although she wore the "MyWife" nametag, the character was all wrong. It's like the old soap opera voice over "The part of Sarah will be played by Tom Jones." No, it wasn't Tom Jones, and no, don't worry about why I watched old soap operas, neither of these points are important. What is important is this: the character in my dream--the dream wife--wasn't MyWife. MyWife is not the person I could wrap my arms around, draw in, and change. Funny that's part of why I love her, but it's also why I'll have to let her go.

Ok, I've got to keep this short today. I've got a dentist appointment. Some dental hygienist is gonna make my touch dreams come true. That's right I'm gonna have 2 touches in 1 week! I'm in heaven! She promised if I say the right words she'd give me a root planing.

Oh Beverly, you say the sweetest things!

"Does everybody else get that feeling..?"-Tism

She presses the softness into my palm. I watch her lips form the words "Squeeze."

I do.

I'm lying back, prone. I'll do whatever she asks.

Leaning over, she begins massaging my arm. Flesh on flesh, fingers gliding over inner elbow, caressing small delicate circles. I look to her, she smiles. "You don't need to flex."

"I'm not." I lie.

Laughing, the girl pulls away. Sunlight radiates through the window: a runway of light ready for her return. When she does, she moistens my arm and slides the needle under the skin. The blood had no trouble choosing who it likes best; it flows into her container without ever asking why. Obedient, I continue squeezing the red stress ball. Well, it was actually more stress heart than stress ball.

Ahhh…a woman's touch. I've missed this. Once I'm divorced, is this what It's going to take to get a fleeting moment of companionship? Does this make me a blood donor whore? Girls will start talking in the back room "Yeah, I've drawn his blood before. He's a little weird but he's harmless. Just smile like he's joking when he asks you to pinch him. He will finish quicker though if you tickle him with a feather."

After she's taken my lifeblood I return home. Sitting at my computer I began my work in the quiet dark.

***

When MyWife arrived home, we stood in the kitchen and talked. Pressing the chicken breast into the pan with a spatula, she said, "So what weekend do you have off in August." I heard the breast scream as it's juices touched hot oil.

Leaning against the sink I said, "None yet, I have to request it." She crossed towards the sink with a pitcher. After I move towards the microwave, MyWife filled the pitcher with water. I continued, "Tell me when you want to move, and I'll ask for it off."

She set the pitcher to the side, pulled two potatoes out of the basin, and shook them off like she was going into holy convulsions. Any moment now she'd speak in tongues. "It's nice that they flex your weekends like that."

Careful with the sarcasm my love, it'll eat away the potatoes. "Yeah." I lie just to play along.

Dropping the potatoes into baggies, she moves toward the microwave. I cross to the table and she sets the timer. The potatoes cry out in anguish. Back to the water, MyWife fills her coffee pot, then drips the remainder into the cat dish.

"I'll let you know when I know I need you off then."

I squeeze the table lip like a stress ball. "That'd be great."

We eat and then it's out to the living room to watch a little TV. Sitting on opposite sides of the couch, the great rift of middle cushion separates us like the Mason-Dixon. I pour through A Heartbreaking Work… while she channels the power of the remote, stopping on a Scrubs rerun.

Satisfied, she lays down the remote and scoops up a passing cat, "You look like you need a squeeze! Yes you do! Yes you do!" Fur flies in all directions then relaxes as it drifts lazily to the floor. The cat tries to look like he'd gouge her eyes out if only he had claws. But he wouldn't, he's a slut for the attention. I know, cuz I've tried to sell him black market kitty claws. He refuses; he's just a big pussy.

Then again the two cats are getting far more touch than I am I'm in my "time-out" corner of the couch feeling only the cold smooth dead cow flesh.

"Are you flexing, you lazy cat? Yes you are! Yes you are!"

Alive, purring and getting just what he needs the cat looks to me, his eyes a haughty squint, "Sucks to be you, dude."

Your telling me...

"Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away…"-Everclear

Shopping. It's about freedom. The freedom to say "Hey! I want this! You there, hired underling! Examine my piece of pressed plastic. I will be taking this item here. It brings me great joy." That dear friends is what shopping is about, freedom and superiority. That's what our founding fathers fought for. Wow, maybe I should save this blog for next Wednesday. Don't worry, I'll do something cool then; this blog doesn't end quite as happily as the American Revolution, but the body count is pretty close.

See, my shopping freedom has been suspended. There is no joy in Robville for MyWife has shadowed me with doubt. See that? She's compromised my hunting gathering skills, and left me to slaughter American classics. Yeah, that was me pissing all over Casey at the Bat. Didn't recognize it? I understand, it's just as well…

Sigh…

Shopping and freedom. Here's the thing. We're not rich, but together we do pretty well. We can go out for dinner without worrying about the electricity being turned off before we get home. Alone, we're a mess. I've reworked my new budget so many times; it still laughs at me.

"But I'm just paying mortgage utilities and buying groceries."

"Not gonna happen." See? My budget talks…so do all inanimate things in my life. I suppose that could explain the divorce…

Scrawling a number on a piece of paper, I slide it toward my budget, "What if I spend this much on food?"

It lifts the paper's corner and rolls out of it's chair.

There's a pause while it laughs.

More laughing.

More pausing.

Ok, it's better now. "Look, you'd have to return groceries to pay for everything else." Budget slides the paper back. Try again."

"What if I hunted my own food?"

The budget lifts it's brow, "you're not a hunter."

"No, but I can learn. Starvation sets a rigorous learning curve."

"This is California, even the tree squirrels are protected. What are you going to hunt?"

I think for a bit. It's a good point. Then it hits me. I have an idea, "Strays."

"pets?"

"no, strays."

"I don't think your neighbors' kids are going to see the difference between unloading a firearm at 'Fluffy' or 'anonymous poodle.'"

"I wouldn't do that. Poodles don't have much meat. Besides, I'm stealthy. I have a spear!"

Shaking it's head my budget just stands and walks away. Looking back, there's a tear in his eye, "I remember when you had dignity." He turns and leaves.

Dignity, that's something else I can't afford anymore. Do you know I now have to regulate what I buy by "can I consume it before she leaves?" Is that dignity? Last weekend I stood in the grocery store liquor aisle thinking "Pomegranate liqueur? That sounds tasty! Oh wait. I'd never finish it and then WyWife will just take it with her."

I told you before, it's not about the stuff. She can take what she wants, but I'm not buying her any more gifts. I was in Target looking at pizza cutters thinking "I need one, but so does she. I'll wait." That's how I shop now. I can't buy anything she might want to keep. It has nothing to do with what I need; it has everything to do with not wanting to give it to her. I'm paralyzed with spite. Even the hired underling is laughing at me as he tugs on the quart of Jack he's not splitting with an ex-wife.

Yet other shopping that used to be fun is now a necessity. Yesterday I went out and bought a new cell phone because we're on a "share" plan. She's said she wants the phone number, I said I didn't care. So I went shopping.

It's been a few years since I bought a phone, but things have changed since I've been gone: when did cell phones turn into the Swiss army knife of the electronics world? Do you know what I need my phone to do?

Make and receive calls when I'm not home.

Know what else my new phone does?

It takes pictures.

It holds mp3s.

It'll sing to me whatever song I want when somebody calls me.

It's got a colander.

A flash

A spot for a memory card.

Support every Bluetooth device known to man.

It slices, it dices it—

you get the idea.

All those features were on the freebie phone. I didn't get the freebie. If I'm gonna get a phone I might as well get one I like. One that say's "I'm Rob" in great glorious glowing letters. Not in a "Dirk Diggler" kind of way; more like tasteful, man about town type thing. I may be broke, but I don't want to advertise it. If I waited until Friday, I could have bought an iphone, but $600 seems a little steep to say "look what I got."

No, I got something with some cool, but nothing too cool. When I found what I wanted, I clapped my hands, calling to the servant girl saying, "You there, hired—" I stopped. Her left hand supported a small but tasteful diamond. The type that says "young newlywed."

"Excuse me Miss, could I please have get this phone?" Those were the words from my lips. The words in my brain were these: May you never have to alter your shopping habits for the dire whim of another.

My first phone picture! Say "Hi" to my pony pal Pokey!

"Enjoy your ice cream..."-Tin Foil Phoenix

I made my stand. Two feet firmly planted into the cement email, I dropped into unknown waters. "Doors have been shut," I said. "Our best bet," I suggested. Each bubbling breath drawing me deeper and deeper. Needing an end, any end.

Saturday, I received my reply. She didn't say anything, just went about her Saturday business. Her new Saturday business, the business that became routine after she set aside the role of wifedom. This includes doing nothing really, but doing it in a room where I am not present. She used to sit with me, and we'd read the paper together. This Saturday I read the paper, she wandered through the house making a list.

Saturday is shopping day, and she had a big one planned. This trip was so big, so gigantic, that it would require we split up. I know, we're already doing that, but she wanted to practice with groceries as well. Baby steps I guess. I'd do the Costco trip, and she'd hit Target and Vons. That was her plan. My plan? I didn't have one, I was still trying to figure out what she wanted in the larger scheme of things. Who was getting toilet paper and who was picking up rat poison for the ice cream was furthest from my mind.

Rat poison? Ice cream? Was that on her list? I need to check! We don't have rats and I do like ice cr-wait a minute...

After my paper, I showered. When I was done, she was gone.

"Hello?" No answer. I had to be sure, I'm alone so much these days I'm afraid I'll start taking it for granted. In this case, She was already at the store. Before I left to do the same, I thought I'd check my email. Maybe she'd replied to my line in the sand.

How many clichés can I pull out for this? Just wait and see.

"Welcome! You have mail." Sure enough, the only email in the AOL account is from her. Opening it, I was dazzled by blank space.

She did reply, right?

Blinking twice, I checked the screen again. Yes! Yes there it was! Sparse blue text floating in the sea of white space: her reply.

It read:

This does appear to be a very reasonable option. Good find.

That's it. No signature no nothing! What does that mean? I mean yeah, I speak English I know what the words say but it's the volumes it doesn’t say that bother me. It doesn't say, "let's look over this next weekend." or "Are you sure?" or even "you’re an asshole." it just says "reasonable." Oh yeah, and she closed with the compliment. Let's not forget that. What the hell?

If you make a stand in the middle of the ocean and nobody sees it, is it still a stand?

At the bottom of her email was the little AOL ad; their fee for using their e-postal service. We delivered your email, you read our ad.

I'm a sheep. I read it. It said:

See what's free at AOL.com.

And all I could think was: "apparently not answers."

"Let's just call it, call it, call it what it is…"-Incubus

MyWife,

You seem convicted in your march towards divorce, and I seem inept in my ability to communicate. So here's an email, because Post-Its don't stick to our fridge. I spent half the night trying, and they all slid underneath. They're still there; I ain't fighting the dust gibbon over them; he bites. I tried writing you with refrigerator magnets but there wasn't alot I could say with "languid," "frantic," and "ubiquitous" that hasn't already been said.

Then again, so many doors have been shut between us, that there isn't alot I can say anyway. If a divorce is really what you want, may I recommend you look into this:

http://www.completecase.com/

It appears to be the Turbo Tax of the divorce world, and is much cheaper than dueling lawyers. Well, much cheaper than even one lawyer. If we're going to be "friendly," this may be our best bet. Filing costs aren't included, but those are at most $350, that's still not bad, and would leave money for both of us to restock necessities.

It's just a thought,

Rob

I feel like such a coward. That's what I just finished writing. But she doesn't listen when I talk, and when she does, she interprets this whole world of neurosis into "pass the butter." I needed this to be clear—no interpretation. I think I wrote what needed to be said immediately; now it's in her hands. Well this thing has always been in her hands, but I digress.

By the way, thank you for the advice Azhira. After a little consideration I decided the Complete case thing may work best. MyWife is more the quick solution type. Pouring over actual law documents smacks of more time consumption than I'm worth. Ok, that was only a little self pity, let me brush the remainder off my chin.

Ok, back to the email.

I feel like a fifth-grader waiting for a fight. You remember how that worked? Some kid would do something to piss you off and you'd go "You're dead. At recess..." He'd glare back, translated as "It's on!" Then you'd spend the next half hour watching the clock tick towards recess, wondering if his spitting a jellybean on your desk was worth risking bodily harm.

What if he's got a knife?

What if somebody else jumps in?

What if I wet my pants?

These are all grave fifth grade concerns.

Tick, tick, tick...

You're locked in now, there's nothing you can do. That's how I feel. I'm locked in. I've pressed send. She knows I know she wants a divorce.

Divorce. I don't think I've even said the word aloud to her. I think saying it will expose the elephant, make it real. It is real. Like it or not.

Tick, tick, tick…

I wrote a poem several years ago about a girl I dated once. I reread it tonight. It's more about this now, then about that then. I'm gonna share. I know, you're all diving for the first clickable link. Anything but reading somebody else's bad poetry. I'll tell you what, squint. I'll change the font color. When you stop seeing red, poetry is over. Ready, here goes:

Waiting

I’m waiting for the axe to fall,

‘cuz I’ve got an axe to grind.

I’m waiting for the world to end.

I hope that you don’t mind.

Your eyes were once a beacon

I used to guide my soul.

Now in the dark my ship lies scuttled;

I’ve relinquished all control.

But oh! That words were flowers,

I’d still pen you a bouquet.

Yet neither rose nor prose will save me,

and my heart has lost it’s rhyme.

And yet I wonder, as I look around,

“What was all of this?”

A quick caress?

A coital mess?

A carnal alloy forged into a ring

of electroplated bliss?

I wore the ring , a talisman.

I displayed it on my hand,

and now my hands are green with envy

to a memory of days of dreams and plans.

But there was a moment.

Oh! That moment,

when you were love incarnate.

The seconds of sensation

where wonder and infatuation

were passionately intertwined.

But for the toys of Christmas and I

Time is not a friend;

the cheerful peals of laughter we wrought

we’ll never hear again.

For even the most loyal of toys

can’t overcome a child’s boredom in the end.

So I’m waiting for the axe to fall,

and I will no longer flee

I’ll put my neck upon that block

if that’s what sets me free.

Ok, I'm done. Sorry. Just being moody. I still have to wait for her to reply. Will she reply or will she just file it? Would that be worse than if I got up in the morning and found both our chairs in front of her monitor, and a cup of coffee waiting for me? Her smiling gleefully, tail wagging, the divorce page pulled up and ready to go, just like how we used to solve Myst puzzles all those years ago.

She can sit on my email for a while if she wants. I think that'd be easier to take.

Now it's all up to the wait.

Tick, tick, tick...

"Dead disco Dead funk Dead rock and roll…"-Metric

Have I emphasized how important music is to me? Have I given you a clue? It's big. It's waking up in a bathtub of ice without a kidney big. I'm constantly checking, making sure my music is there, I like to involve it in everything I do on some level. "Hey music! We're making dinner! Whatcha got for that?"

Let's not get confused: I am not a musician; I play guitar with the prowess of a three-toed sloth. That doesn't stop me from pissing off the neighbors from time to time though. No, I'm a music lover as a spectator. Even now, I'm bouncing back and fourth between XM Radio, iTunes, and Pandora.com. I just created a new radio station there and I'm trying to tweak it. Check out my Pandora stuff sometime:

http://www.pandora.com/people/grphter

Hang on it's getting a little mellow…

Cool! Some old X! That's better. Anyway…

My first job? Record store. Ok, no, that was my second job. The first one was fast food. No, wait, the second was department store...retail...But the third! That's right, my third job was a record store. I was good too. I could tell you what song you were looking for within first stanza of "la la la la." I could also tell you who else you might check out later when you were feeling experimental.

I wrote a novel, it's unpublished, but it involved music. It was a coming of age thing—think High Fidelity meets Book Of Joe set in the 92 LA riots. Did I mention there was music?

Anyway the protagonist is kind of like me (go figure): he identifies everything through song, and files memories according to artist and track. I do that with people too.

Sure we all have relationships with "our songs," but I also include breakup songs too.

My first girlfriend, our song was "We Belong" by Pat Benatar. Our break-up song? "Don't Leave Me Now" by Supertramp. When it comes to break-ups, I'm a sucker for melodrama.

The first girl I had sex with? It's funny, she's kind of an exception to the rule. I don't remember "our song." I think I've blocked it out. I remember it was something sappy-schmaltzy, probably written by Kenny Nolan ("I like Dreamin'", "Masterpiece in You," and many many more sentimental sonic Hallmark cards.). What I do remember is that the first time we had sex we were watching Bambi. OK, maybe I should expand that story before somebody calls the FBI and Children's Services.

We were not watching Bambi because she couldn't watch "R" movies. We were watching Bambi because I owned it, and she thought that was cute. I'd long since learned that where other guys could rely on burly machismo, I needed to rely on disarmingly cute. The problem is that I'm not that either, but in this case, Bambi was enough to get me by. I was told later that Encino Man would have done the same thing, but I'll stick with what I know.

I do remember our break-up song: Bonnie Raitt "Have a Heart." It's probably the only true break-up song I've had, because it was the only one that played on the radio while the girl broke up with me.

Actually it started out as The Cure "Friday I'm in Love," while she said, "I just don't see where this is going."

Song fades.

"But I love you." Yup, that's the Band-aid to everything.

In the meantime Metallica comes on with "The Unforgiven," and I reach out, click another preset. Her preset. Yes that's right, I gave her a preset. That's a sign of true love isn't it? A preset on your partner's car radio? Her preset was the local "lite hits" station, and yeah, this is where Bonnie Raitt comes in. 'Cuz within moments of "…I love you" leaving my lips, Bonnie answers:
...But sooner or later your love is gonna make me bleed.

I wish I were joking. It took me years to find that funny. That's how I knew I was finally over Bambi-lover.

There was a girl I met online back in the days of MOOs and MUDs. The first time we talked on the phone, was the first time I saw the video for Marilyn Manson's "Sweet Dreams." Things just didn't work out after that. She scared me.

Then there was MyWife. The first time we talked on the phone, MTV was playing Sublime "What I Got." The first song I sang to her was Jewel's "You Were Meant For Me," accompanied by Jewel herself, thanks to a VH1 simulcast. That became our song. I think I sang the chorus to her every time we got off the phone. Pretty disgusting huh? We used to laugh, because it was the type of stuff that grossed us out in other people. The song that played most when I visited her the first time? Probably a tie. Matchbox 20 "Long Day" or Blur "Song 2" or the "Woo Hoo Song" as some people like to call it. Those people would be incorrect.

We already have our break-up song too. It's official, we've both latched onto it. It's My Chemical Romance's "Famous Last Words." Something about the guttural/ borderline maniacal intro of:

Now I know, That I can't make you stay. But where's your heart?

It an accusation we both understand.

Music was one of the things she liked about me. That and she thought I was sarcastic. I don't know, I don't see that. Me? Sarcastic? Whatever.

That'll be one of the hardest things to cope with though. All the songs I lose because of her. I've attached so many tracks to her being around me; every time I hear The Flys "Got You Where I Want You" a mental slideshow will pop up inside my eyes of our little apartment in the desert. She hated that song, but the radio loved it, and since there were only 2 tolerable stations in the desert, that's what we listened to. That was our "getting to know you" phase and I'll get to relive it for three minutes forty-nine seconds whenever that song plays.

How can I tell her she can't take my music? I like these songs! Most of them I would have listened to without her, she can't make them hers! Why isn't there some way to sanitize a song, to burn the impurity from the contaminated audio? Can't I attach it to somebody else like a refrigerator magnet?

Here Bob478, you can have Days of the New.

CrimsonQT, you take the Porcupine Tree. Don't like them, well what about In Syn—Oh, sorry, that was supposed to be hidden with the porn. Take The Korn, bud don't let MyWife know, she likes that a lot.

Where is everybody going? Why are you running away? I have so many memories to give away! Just knock me out, put me in a bathtub of ice...

"If I had the money honey would you love me love me love me…"-State Of Shock

It's the raining Amazon here!

No wait, that's not right, no "the."

Try again.

It's raining Amazon here. There, that's what I meant to say. Every day I step outside there's at least one new cardboard box with a black smiley placed on my porch. MyWife is exodus stocking. I expect camels caravans loaded down with dry goods and moist towelettes to show up on the lawn any day. When they arrive, maybe I can run them with Christmas lights. You know, make 'em festive.

She's got pallets of new toys plastic wrapped and piled in our guest room, and our guest room isn't even that big! Even worse, she hasn't opened one box yet. How frustrating is that? Open them! See them, feel them, touch them Tommy…ok, slight tangent, sorry. I'm telling you, I might as well be the one with all the new stuff. I'm dying to go nutty with a box cutter and check things out. It's like Christmas! Maybe if I could just pry up a corner of packing tape…

NO!

If I want to know, I can log onto her computer, then go to Amazon. They'll let me see what she's looked at most recently, and that would give me an idea what she's bought. I don't want to do that though. It's cheating. It's like ruining Christmas. Not that her leaving is a celebration; I just like surprises.

I want to be able to wander the house and discover newness after she moves. Maybe I'll look like the Monopoly guy on the "Bank Error..." card when I say, "Hey! She left the book cases." or "Oh man! she took all the cutting boards!" I guarantee she ain't touching my clothes. That'll make this a Christmas without socks and underwear. First time in my life! Maybe things are looking up.

I know what's in one of the boxes: Knives. I'm kinda glad to see she hasn't opened that one yet. I notice she keeps eying it though. I really hope they aren't pre-sharpened.

I look at all the money she's spending on "Preperation" and go "Where's she getting all of that?" You know something though? I know where.

I paid bills the other day and noticed that for the first time, we're going to have money left over this month. That's the first time since we've been married. See, after the re-fi all our bills disappeared. Well, not really disappeared, I know where the bills went, but still, you get my point. There aren’t anymore credit card bills, student loans, or car payments. These have all gone the way of the dodo, and we can actually save for the cool things we used to sit on the porch and talk about wanting: swimming pools, big screen tvs, a cooler porch on the front of the house, a trip cross country, whatever. We now have the means; we just lack the desire.

When we split, money will be tight. It'll be worse for me, because I've got the mortgage monkey on my back. She'll only have whatever new bills she accumulates, and whatever her new found friends and Amazon can convince her she needs. We'll both be alright though. I know my limits, and as long as she watches her spending, she'll be good. I still worry about her though; She has a tendency to spend outside her reality. But I might as well pack that worry into a corrugated cardboard container, tape it up, and toss it on her pile. It no longer belongs to me. That's just something else she'll take with her.

"You're telling me you don't want no more…"-PWEI

So what fresh hell rushes forth today? Well one of MyWife's work buddies came into town for a visit. A gathering was planed, and executed. A fine meal was had by one and all. At least that's what I suspect happened; I wasn't invited. Wanna hear something funny? I was kind of pissed at first. I thought "Hey! I know we're getting a divorce and all, but I hang out here and wait for you." Well that and all my friends live in other cities.

Then again I might have been pissed by the way she brought it up.

It's Monday night, our now familiar couple stands in the kitchen. A chicken breasts are cooking on the stove.

MyWife: (leaning against the sink) You have a choice.

Me: (Eyes widen, astounded and awed at the prospect of a choice. Any choice.) Really?

MyWife: Yes, Friend #1 will be in town tomorrow. I'm meeting her for dinner.

Me: Ok…

Mywife: (twisting faux ring) I can cook the roast tomorrow, so you can have that, or save it until Wednesday, and you can forage for yourself Tomorrow.

I opted for foraging. Maybe Yogi could hook me up with a picnic basket. I was still mad though. She didn't even bring me as part of the equation, Except the labor of creating crock-pot roast.

Then I remembered, I had a bible study on Tuesday, so it didn't matter anyway. Yeah, no need to point out the hypocritical aspect here; I think I got the point. What's more, her dinner lasted longer than my bible study. She walked in and her demeanor sank as her body dripped into her computer chair. It was like Cinderella remembering she was just a maid.

"So How was your dinner?" I tried to help.

"It was good, I had the shark steak."

When preditors eat their own, film at eleven…And See? That's why I sit with my teeth clamping my lips most of the time.

Breathe…

"Sounds good, so you had a good time?"

"Yeah."

Silence. Apparently that's all we're going to say about that.

"So how was your evening?" It's her turn to try awkward conversation.

"Well you know, I did my bible study."

How much further do I go? She doesn't like my church. What else can I say without boring her to tears?

"Uh huh…"

Too late. This conversation has reached it's expiration date.

I don't know what to say to her anymore. Ask anybody I know, I'm a conversationalist, a talker, but anytime I start to talk about something, she looks like she's weighing the joy of listening to me, against jamming a pen through her inner ear. Listening wins, but I'm not sure the vote's a landslide. Somewhere a voice is still coaxing her brain, "Sign language can't be that tough to learn…"

So why bother? I know she's gone.

I nearly gave in to a horrible temptation today. I had just worked out frustration through hard labor on the treadmill. The weight-room air cloyed like in a sauna; my T-shirt sopped all the sweat it could devour. So I headed to the shower. While the water ran, I stood by the hamper removing my clothes, and had the strongest desire to lob my shirt at her pillow.

My arm rolls forward like underhand softball. The shirt sails, missing the ceiling fan.

"Here's something to remember me by." Smack! Osmosis begins.

What? Of course I'd remove it before she got home, I need the pillow to dry. That's when she'd find my special gift. MyWife would start to snore, and roll against her pillo—

"Oh dear God!" Jolting up she'd wonder at the phantom death smell. Was it just a dream?

Sniff. Sniff. The air smells ok…

Lying back down she'd struggle back to pre-doze comfortable, catch a faint whif—

Wait!

Pillow to face

Sniff. Sniff.

AHHHHH!!!

Yeah, I lead a vivid fantasy life, and no, I didn't do it. I just put the clothes down to wash. But these types of temptations are getting tough to avoid. If I'm gonna stick to the friendly divorce, I'm gonna need to wrap up the friendly soon.

I Googled "No Fault Divorces" later. I found out that if we play nice, we can get our divorce online. How trendy is that? I'm seriously considering it. Like I said, we're not fighting over the property, and we don't have any kids, so why not? What's a lawyer going to do for us that point and click can't already do? I gotta tell ya, the cost is like a 10th of a local lawyer, And chances are if we go the "representation" route, we'll end up with his and hers matching money grubbers. No, I'm thinking online might be right. And it's just pretentious enough I think she'll go for it.

Check this out

http://www.completecase.com/

If you actually go check that out, you have to watch the Good Morning America clip. They did a piece on the website. It spotlight's a specific couple who took advantage of the service. But wait! There's more! Amid quick shots of wedding albums, b-roll of their first married kiss, and computer screen clips of divorce in action, there is a man and a woman. It's so sad. The guy looks so lost. I think it was her idea to do this. You think I'm transfering? Probably, but check it out anyway, you'll see.

They even get them into the GMA studio so that they can relive the whole experience.

I think I'll show this to MyWife and see what she thinks. I'll wait till the weekend. It'll give her time to celebrate. Apple-tini's anyone?