Pampers and Thongs

“I’m gonna go do my nails. You gonna be alright?” The Pirate Queen bounces out the door, purse in hand, thongs on feet. This is one last check-in, before she goes and pampers herself. Yes, thongs and pampers, quite the sexy image. We like to spice things up.

“I’m good, thanks for asking though. Enjoy.” Yeah, I know, it’s not the most romantic thing I could have said. Romance is like wine, and I still haven’t worked out what goes well with thongs and pampers. Rushing to the door, grabbing her in my arms and taking her in the doorway might be a little much. Besides, she gets complaints from her neighbors after I leave.

Knock-Knock!

“Yes?”

“Hi, it’s me again. From across the hall? Could you tell your boyfriend to leave his clothes on? The white light reflecting from the hall light, off his body actually turns the peephole into a laser. This is the second bird we’ve replaced this month. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes of course.”

“Good, now where can I get me a nice thong-pamper ensemble like that?

So, I decide to lay low. I recline in the couch and wave as she goes. She’ll be gone for a bit. It gives me a chance to relax and reflect.

We’ve been “together” since earlier this year, and she’s been in California for a month. It’s a good time for a reflection. It’s time to take a look at where we stand.

It’s funny, we’ll call each other all the special names, and yeah, we’ve even admitted to loving each other, but neither of us seem to be able to say the words “boyfriend” or “girlfriend.” I can only speak for myself, but I will say that it has nothing to do with the level of affection. I really do love this woman.

On the other hand, to identify what woman with trite terms I identified the schoolgirl ingénues of my life seems like an insult. The Pirate Queen isn’t a girlfriend. She’s a woman, who is very dear to me. Sure, I still carry her books, and play with her Barbies, but it’s different now. I stand in a place of reverence. I respect her.

Today in the car, she pointed out the window, “Look! Those are pretty dresses. Oh, wait! They’re wedding dresses. I’m sorry.”

Nope. We don’t stand there either.

We are in a place where we enjoy each other’s company. Last night we went to the observatory. It’s in the same park as the Greek Theater. The theater was running a weekend long Prog-rockers extravaganza. Prog rockers are creature that I had thought was all but extinct. They’re not. They’re like ants. They hide underground with their Rush and Genesis CDs until there’s a musical event, and then they all scurry out from the walls. I felt insulted because I wasn’t invited to this one. I had left my Rush CDs at home.

The park was full. Between the Prog-ants and people looking for the local fires, the rangers had closed off several roads. In fact, there was only one road to the observatory. Trust me, we tried several other roads to get there.

“This one dead ends.”
“I see that.”

“What does the map say?”

“It says that it doesn’t know where we are. Neither do I.”

“But you’re a local!”

“Only by proximity. The last time I was here almost 15 years ago.”

“Fine! I’m going back.”

“Uhm according to the guy with the gun and the Sheriff uniform that’s all you can do.”

I tried using the maps on my cell phone, but it’s amazing how close you can be to Los Angeles and still lose cell service. It’s one of those moments that define a relationship.

Define ours as flexible. We did well through the twisting roads of our afternoon, and although we arrived at the observatory in late evening, we also arrived in good spirits, and most importantly, we arrived together.

We had a good time looking at the stars, and the burning hillside. It was nice to share these experiences with someone. After going through a divorce, I wasn’t sure if I’d do that again. I’m old and ornery. That’s not something many people are looking for.

The Pirate Queen is a list-a-holic. She says it gets her kicked out of parties.

“Yes, three! Three wonderful bottles of Tequila!”

We both have our plusses and our minuses. The best thing so far, has been that we’re both comfortable enough with ourselves. I love that about her. I love that I can disagree, and she’s ok. She may not change her mind, but she’s happy with who I am too.

It’s why I’m sitting on her couch typing as she get her nails done. It’s two adults feeling comfortable enough to spend time together or away from each other. Whether it’s on a couch in shorts and a T, or if it’s in the doorway with pampers and thongs, we’re happy around each other. That’s the best reflection of them all.

I’d tell you more, but she’s home. Call me silly, but I’d rather spend time with her. She’s pampered up and ready to go.

His Story.

History never repeats. That’s what my old CDs say. According to the internet, if I don’t remember my past, I’m doomed to repeat it. It also says that if I don’t send some imprisoned diplomat all my money, drunken dwarves in lederhosen will overpower him and make him sing cabaret. I dunno. It sounds like the internet lies, or maybe the diplomat should give in and sell tickets; he obviously could use the money.

Aldus Huxley didn’t need the money. He spoke about history too. He said, “Nothing changes, yet everything is completely different.” He also wrote the “Doors of Perception,” and “Brave New World,” Showing that mescaline and optimism don’t mix.

Divorce and happiness don’t mix either. I mean you can have both, just not at the same time. Try it. It doesn’t work. And yeah, I would argue that it doesn’t matter which side of the slamming door you’re on, there’s no party on either face, and if there is, it’s only a celebration for their new friend, denial.

No, divorce sucks all around. Sometimes it’s a necessary evil. Nobody deserves to continue with an adulterous or abusive spouse, and yet the decision to leave usually comes on slow deliberate cat feet. Yeah, it’s like the fog, that way. Or maybe it’s Smurfs. I always get those two confused. My point is: to make somebody part of your history is never easy.

Yesterday, I read through my old blogs. The original ones. I looked at the old pains and conversations that flicked from the tips of my fingers. I can’t believe I actually sifted through a box of pictures back then. Wow, there are internet sites dedicated to people who love that kind of pain with their history. They usually cost money though. My blog is always free, and you get to watch…

ANYWAY. I wondered. Is there any difference between going back to my old blogs, and going back through my old pictures then? Either way, aren’t I just prodding old pains? Wouldn’t that be like watching a “Dude Where’s My Car” marathon?

Try it; go back to my old blogs. Read them. See? Isn’t that painful? Would you do that twice? I mean it’s painful for you for different reasons (think “the guy who brought you the Strawberry Shortcake’s Beach Blanket Sharkfest—“Wow! He ate her like she was made of, Oh, that does explain why she bloated in the water,”--now brings you blogs of joy and happiness), but that kind of pain never changes, it’s just completely different.

So why would I do it? I guess it’s like running for the first time on an ankle you’ve sprained weeks ago: I did it to see if I could. I did it to see if I was healed. I did it to see if there were signs of history repeating.

See, I’m in a new relationship now. I don’t want history to repeat. Oh, I mean I’m totally ok with the falling in love part. That’s fine. But I just didn’t like the way the first story ended. I want to move on. If history repeats, then why bother? I read my old blogs; why would I want to feel like that again?

I read the old blogs to see if there were a clue, a reason, an answer.

There wasn’t.

The problem is, that blogs and history are all biased by perception. There will never be real answers unless I had them to begin with. If I had all the answers, I probably wouldn’t be divorced.

So does that mean I’m doomed to repeat? I don’t know. After two years of blogging, I still don’t have all the answers, but I’d rather face my future, than quiver in my past. Right now, in my present, I have a Pirate Queen. I wouldn’t trade that for any history. Whether it’s that of an anonymous blogger, or the never changing Aldus Huxley.

The Ringing in My Ears.

I've learned a lot. It's true. I know everything about divorce--or at least everything that I want to know. The rest, yeah. You can keep that knowledge fruit, it doesn't taste nearly as sweet as the serpentine brochure claims.

Selective knowledge? Is that something we can aspire to? Is it something we should aspire to? If actions lead to knowledge, shouldn't we rush right one and slip our fingers into the 220v sockets of learning?

The landscape is littered with those who've tried. All you have to do is roll over the bodies to see the burn marks. For me, sometimes a little jolt is enough. Sometimes I can learn through other's lightning strike eureka moments.

"Ok, Ron, thunderstorm golfing, wasn't a good idea. I'll just take the penalty strokes now and meet you in the clubhouse. You win. Ron?"

If knowledge is power, there are enough people who've been shocked with enough power to light Los Angeles with the glow of bathtub toasters. Luckily they all live there. In marriage and divorce, some knowledge is good, but if you have to learn from experience, then not all knowledge is beneficial. Some knowledge is best taken on faith. Ask Adam and Eve.

Unfortunately Knowledge isn't the same thing as wisdom. Webster's describes wisdom as acquired knowledge, but I would argue that it's more than acquired, it's the ability to use it. A knowledgeable person can know that their house is on fire, but it's the wise man who stands out front and sells tickets. Trust me. I was wise in my divorce: I sold tickets.

But that's only one instance where wisdom paid off. There are other instances where it's hard to know how to be wise. Sometimes morality muddies things up. Moral calls can be the toughest to make.

I had to make a moral call. I didn't know that it was a moral call when I made it, but that's how things of knowledge, wisdom, and morality happen. They call; you answer. My call was a friend of mine. We'll call him Ro-…Ro-…Ro- Yerboat. Naw, lets just call him Daphne.

"Hey Rob, it's me, Daphne."

"Hey Daph, wassup?"

"I need a favor."

"What favor?"
"I need you to cover for me."

Suddenly my spider sense is tingling. Spider sense isn't knowledge, wisdom, or morality, but it does let me know when I'm gonna get squashed.

It seems that Daphne has been chatting with somebody online, and it's starting to get serious. This wouldn't be a problem, if Daphne weren't married.

"Nothing has happened yet, I swear. I just want you to cover for me, should my husband Shaggy see the excess of chats."

What do I do? Here is a eureka moral quandary, and I can hear the thunder. I know that the word "yet" is very dangerous. It would be wise to just hang up, because Shaggy is a kickboxer, and has big friends like Scooby and Velma. Me, I'm a writer. That ""pen mightier than…?" It's crap. It's something a writer wrote to make the taste of his own blood taste better. I know I don't like the taste, and I don't know what was said in these chats.

"What do you mean you like my wife's kitty? We don't own a cat!"

"Yes, but she does play poker. There was a lot at stake, and I lost."

Still Daphne is a good friend. I've know Daphne for years, and she's driven her mystery van through many of my dark and story nights--more than my other friend, Snoopy. So do I cover for Daphne, even though she's ignoring wisdom to gain the power of knowledge--and hindsight, or do I tell her no, and explain the rumble that she hears in the distance is her own ruin?

I believe that we make our way through life clanging the triangle of our heart. Sometimes we ring the beat to the side of wisdom, sometimes knowledge, or sometimes morality. Then there are the times where we miss altogether. That doesn't stop us from marching along, but it does make our tone hollow and empty, and all anybody hears is the silence of lack. That silence changes everything.

This is my moment of selective knowledge. I haven't lived what she's going through, but I have seen others. How do I do the select the best answer?

It's strange, I've found myself in a situation where there's no mystery. I know what's wise and what's smart, and I know Susan What I don't know is how to be the best friend. All I can do is pick my side and march. I balance my triangle in my hand and I start to ring, "Well, Daphne…"

Married People and Single Thoughts.

Married people. Who needs 'em, Right? When you're not married, they can be the HD TV highlighting the stubbly flaws in your life with crystalline clarity. I mean what's the deal? Right after my divorce, I felt lost at sea, adrift in an ocean of married couples--the lone divorced Rob flotsam drifting from my ex, Ms. Jane Jetsam.

And why is it that flotsam always has to have jetsam? It's never, "Look flotsam, no Jetsam!" They crash the same parities, they dance naked in the same swimming pools. Flotsam and Jetsam are like the peanut butter and chocolate of water wreckage world.

In my wreckage world, that would be MyEx and I. Well except the dancing naked thing. Ok we did that too, but nobody has pictures.

"Mommy! There's a whale convulsing in our pool!"

"No Timmy, that's just our neighbor, Rob, dancing. Go hum the Wedding March' at him. He'll leave."

Yup. It's true. Right after the divorce I would have left too, if the neighbors didn't have such a nice pool. It was the only place I could go to get away from the married people, and wallow in my own flotsam.

Don't get me wrong. I love married people. I was one once. But, after divorce, they're the last thing you want to see, and the first thing that all your old friends are. When you're married, you have married friends. When you're divorced…well, you start off with leftovers.

"Hey Rob, Why don't Suzy and I come over to cheer you up?"

I could think of a hundred reasons. The primary one for me was that being around happy couples felt like being smothered in a broken glass blanket. They smothered me with all the love they could, while cutting me with their happiness. I couldn't take it.

Now, it's been over a year since the state agreed to pull Jane's jetsam out of my flotsam. I'm in a different place, emotionally. Physically I'm in the same place, and I'm unemployed. Still, I'm happier. I've moved away from the pain.

I guess that's why I'm easier on my married friends. I see now that they were just trying to comfort me. Most of their hang-ups, were actually floating around inside of me. It was like my first break up in high school. After she left, every time I turned on the radio, they played our song.

A few months later, I tried the radio again. It was then that I noticed that the radio still played the same songs, but they were no longer ours. In fact, if I listened, they weren't even love songs. At the break-up, Every song was our song, because she'd become an experience magnet.

"Back on the Chain Gang! That was our song!" Really? If that was the case, then breaking up doesn't seem like a bad thing.

The same thing happened after my divorce. Married people were our people. Married people were our song. I couldn't be around them. It didn't matter if they were sitting on my couch arguing about who didn't feed the cats before they left, it was still "our song."

"OHHH! We used to argue just like that!"

Now it's been a while and I've started talking to married people again. They haven't changed. I have. Oh, I'm still not looking at joining their ranks anytime real soon, but I can associate with them. I've been pulled out of the water. I've left my bitter feelings and open wounds, flotsam and jetsam, and moved on.

Imagine Greater

Have I mentioned that I love Sci-Fi? It's true. I love fantastic stories of past and future, where everything is utopian or cataclysmic. It reminds me that things change. No matter how deeply we drag our feet, those mars in the earth mark the face of progress.

"To infinity and beyond!"

That's why I spend so much time on the SyFy channel. Oh sure most of it is crap, but still. It's something different than CSI: Port Austin High School. I mean I love clone stories, but I prefer the character to be a clone, not the story.

"Horatio! This wedgie has DNA!"

"Good. Get me a print of the skid marks. Looks like somebody will be staying after class."

Seriously? That's my Wednesday programming? Although I do love Sci Fi, it does have it's limitations. Oh it may change it's TV designation from Sci-Fi to Syfy to be furturisticly trendy, but it's still the same old crap, in a futuristic wrapper. Their new slogan is perfect though, "Imagine Greater."

I do, but they're still showing the same junk that was on last week--and pro wrestling. Now I know that pro wrestling is fiction, but where does the "science" come in? What's next "Harpo: King of the Space Mimes!"

"We're trying to make contact, but we can't hear a reply."

"Must be the invisible solar winds."

"Imagine greater."

We all do. When I got married, I didn't predict this future. I bought into the suburban dream. Blended and iced margaritas flowing from the tap, A white picket fence with the heads of my enemies skewered onto each stake, and a minivan with Scooby Doo and Shaggy in the back, ready to solve life's mysteries.

That's how I saw things. That's how they were gonna be. So now I'm sitting in my house alone with a bottle of cheap tequila, hiding from every bill collector with a speed dialer and no Scooby to help me solve where things went wrong.

"Imagine Greater."

I do. I even click my ruby slippered heels. I'm the optimistic type. That's why when things didn't work with MyEx, I got back out there. Of course being the sci-fi heel dragger that I am, I knew I needed to do more than imagine greater. I needed to figure out where I went wrong the first time. I mean we can't have utopia without a few social revolts and mysteriously disappearing revolutionaries, can we? But if we can't learn from them, how do we go forward without reliving the past?

Divorce is one of those weird time-space anomalies though: you can't learn everything from it. I mean some things are just personal. "You didn't take out the trash on Tuesday before 11:14" may be unpardonable to one person, but another may be more concerned with your toe jam collection.

"This one here? It's from my Aunt Margo. Kinda looks like an opossum, doesn't it? "

You learn what you can and step into the future. That's what I did. Still, I am haunted by my past. I'm with the Pirate Queen now. I'm imagining greater, but not knowing all the answers, how do I insure greater?

I know, now your reading quickly now, going, "Yes! Yes! Tell me!" I'd love to, but I don't have that answer, and even if I did it's just as personal as Uncle Freddy's talking butt: the words it speaks are foreign. You won't understand, and it will only cloud things up.

Each of us plot our own utopian future. That's why we all end up with different ship mates: We see different means to that path. For me, right now that includes the Pirate Queen.

"Imagine Greater."

That means different things to each of us. For some people, that means not dipping another foot into the tainted dating pool again, because you don't know who's peed in it. For me, I'm willing to risk a little yellow water for something better. The trick is figuring out what makes up your perfect future and stepping forward from there, because your perfect future belongs to you, and unless you know which way that leads, you'll always run rings around your past.

Once Upon a RobBlog

I just finished a book. It was fun and informative. Really quite the good summer read, and it took me most of the summer to finish it. Perfect really.

The one thing I didn't realize though, was that I'd started in the middle of a series. Or at least I didn't realize it until I started reading. Have you ever done that? Bought the fourth book in a series and gone, "Aw crap!" Then run back to the bookstore to figure out what you'd missed in the first three. Usually, that's when you find the second book is out of print.

Luckily for me I didn't have to do that. Nope. My book came with a summery of the previous books. It made everything else make sense.

"In the last book, we learned that the small hand was secretly the hour hand. Then we learned why the second was called the second hand even though it was the third. In this installment we'll find out why it runs so fast."

"Oh boy!" I love books like this! Action, adventure, and mystery!

That got me thinking though, "Why doesn't life have a quick summary?" I mean, somebody found my blog confusing the other day. Now there's nothing unusual about that. When I compare Dick and Jane to MacBeth, people are bound to run off with their heads in their hands, trying to tear out what the think they've read with each strand of hair.

"See Spot Run"

"Out, out damn spot."

Still, it made me realize. Much like Baby's first Biological Clock, some people need to know what's happened already. As impossible as it seems, my blog makes even less sense without knowing what's gone before.

So, here goes, back to before.

I started this blog two years ago. I needed an outlet. My wife of seven years had decided that seven was as much Rob luck as she wanted. There are lots of bitter quips I could make about her timing, and her reasons, but the reality is that those are just blog tools to make me feel justified in a failed marriage. Besides. I think I've already used them all in previous blogs. It's a little self-indulgent when I start quoting myself.

Sure, that hasn't stopped me from being self-indulgent before, but I'm trying to be good. This synopsis is for you, not for me. I'm well aware of what happened in my marriage. I just don't know why it ended.

I do know that there are treasure loads of blame to be passed around and we both walked away with our fair share of booty. I blame her. Yup, I still do…but only for pulling the plug. The poor quality programming? That was as much about me as anything else. Things were like a bad mixed metaphor about pirate's treasure and TV programming: It just made no sense.

Was she right? Yes. Not because I agree with her, though. She was right because a marriage is about two people making things work as best they can. When one person decides that they can't do that, then it's time to let go. I don't agree with her choice, but I know she didn't make it lightly. She was done. When she's done. We're done.

After that, all that was left was to decide whether we wanted to draw lawyers at twenty paces or slap each other with three day old fish. We opted for the fish; it smelled better.

There wasn't enough Captain and Tennille love to keep us together, but we squeezed what we could to make bitter margarita's of a friendly divorce. We lived together in the same house, and slept in the same bed for six months while we put things in order to move apart.

I kept the house, but only because the mortgage was in my name. There weren't any real power plays when it came to splitting the material things. There were too many exposed nerves. Neither of us wanted to become a minefield casualty. Keeping it friendly was as much about self defense as it was about keeping dignity.

She moved out. Almost a year later we were divorced.

I spent the time during my divorce alone. I didn't date. I just concentrated on being me. Even after that, it took a few months before I could look at a woman without growling, and no, not in a good way. I did heal though, and I started dating. I had a few good dates and a few bad, but nothing serious until recently.

Now I'm dating a woman I call the Pirate Queen. Why? Because she needed a nickname and it sounded cool. Because we became friends while she was writing her own D360 blog. She stopped writing, and we became more. Still, I wanted her to have her space, even on D360.

Since then, we've grown closer. We've both been through divorces, and we're both a little skittish. It's like starting over again as a kid, but not being nearly as invulnerable. It's like learning to tie your shoes again after having your laces replaced by barbed wire. It's like finding out you can't trust a clock, because his second hand is really his third…

That's the summary. It's like a really good book, and I can't put it down no matter how scares me.

To the Internet and Beyond!

I’m a backwards guy. Not the, “I wear my clothing in cool Kriss Kross fashion” backwards. No, I’m the, I’m a little slow to pick up new fangled technology. Ok, some times. I was drug across the rocks by the sirens call of the iphone as soon as my ship hit those waters.

“Death at the hands of merewives, there’s an app for that. “

Still, when it comes to upgrading old technology. I drag my feet. I was really slow at upgrading my internet over the telephone service. It’s not because I feared the technology. It’s because I fear me.

See, when I first upgraded to a cable modem, I went a little crazy. It was like moving from text to moving video. Not only could I talk on the phone and stay online but I could download files without calling the family first and letting them know I’d be out of touch for a few days.

Then I went mad with power. If faster was better, then I needed faster. My ISP offered blinding internet content at blinding speeds. I could download an MP3 at the speed of sound.

The reality is, I didn’t need all that speed. The things I did online only required I go at hares pace. That was really no more than the basic internet package. That didn’t stop me.

That’s about the time MyEx stepped in—in all things. She was the hand keeping me from diving over the ledge. Since my divorce, I’ve kept myself away from the edge. I’m playing without a net.

That’s why I was so disturbed last Friday. I tried going online, but the service was down. I would need to talk to the cable company and be strong. I called the Pirate Queen.

“Hold me.”

“Uhm, why?”

“I’m feeling weak.”

“Ok, weak in what way?”

I explained what I told her, and she understood. “You can do this Rob, call . Be firm. Be strong.”

I called. I didn’t need to worry about being firm. I got a computerized voice.

“Please state the nature of your problem.”

I’ve heard this one before. I hate it. The cable company’s computer rarely listens, and always talks down to me. The thing is, I’ve already done everything, she’s going to recommend before she calls. Eventually, she’ll switch me to a real person, but that’s not for a while. I could download Gone with the Wind over the phone before I get to talk to a real person.

“I don’t have internet service.” I speak slowly into the phone.

“You can’t access porn. Is that correct?” The voice asks.

“Uhm, no…Well, wait…Yes, that is true.” I look at my download already stopped mid progress.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand your reply.”

That’s the other problem with the computerized assistant. She doesn’t understand conflicting answers.

“Yes, that’s correct.” I’ll keep it easy.

“Ok, then let’s get your porn up and running. First let me try accessing your modem from my side.”

I wait, for what I know is coming, and sure enough, she says, “OK. I can’t contact you from here. Please unplug your modem. Please say ‘continue’ when you have done that.”

Now, I’ve already done this. If I were smart, I’d just say, “Continue” and let her go through, but no, I unplug it again, like this time it will do something special.

I tell her to continue, and then she tells me where to put the plug. I comply. Neither of us sounds surprised when that doesn’t work.

“OK. That didn’t appear to work. Please turn on your TV.”

I do. There’s a picture on there.

“Please say continue when your TV is on.”

“Continue.”

“Is there a picture?”

“Yes.”

“Please change the channel to be sure.”

Once again, I comply, but consider I should tell her where to put the plug.“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve changed the channel.”

There is a pause.

“Is there a picture?”

“Yes.”

Now I’m sitting still with my legs on my desk. At this rate I could have not only downloaded Gone with the Wind, but forwarded a copy to the Pirate Queen.

“Good. Now we’re going to look at your network. Do you have a Wi Fi setup? A Wi Fi setup is any network that’s configured to…” I tune her out.

I know what a Wi Fi is. I have Wi Fi. I’ve already unplugged my Wi Fi router, and removed it from the system. It wasn’t the problem, but I knew that even if I got a person, it would be easier to troubleshoot without the router. As far as the computer is concerned, I don’t have Wi Fi.

“…Do you have Wi Fi?”

“No.”

“OK. I want you to unplug your Wi Fi router.”

What? I said no. I try repeating, “I don’t have Wi Fi.”

“I do not understand that.”

“No Wi Fi.”

“I’m sorry, let’s try again. Please unplug your Wi Fi.”

“There is not a Wi Fi hooked to my system.”

“Please unplug your Wi Fi.”

Fine, it’s unplugged, “Continue.”

“Ok, now plug back in your Wi Fi router.”

Well, this wouldn’t be a problem, except my computer is set to ignore my Wi Fi. Plugging it back in without resetting the controls won’t work. I’m not about to reset the controls just for the phone computer to tell me it’s not working.

“I don’t have Wi Fi” I insist again.

“I don’t understand.”

“You know what? ____ you! Just put a _____ real person on the line so I can tell them my ______ problem!”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know! That’s the ____ problem!”

“Let’s try again, please plug your Wi Fi back—“

I’m pressing random buttons on the phone. I know something will get me a real person.

I find several buttons that don’t work. I find throwing the phone against the wall doesn’t have any results either. Finally I press some mystic combo and a get a new voice.

“Ello?”

It’s human! At least I think so. She sounds Canadian. How can I be sure that while the computer has kept me on the phone, Skynet hasn’t infiltrated Canada?

I have no choice but to trust her.

“My computer isn’t working. My internet is—“ I stop. I’m staring at a Google page. My internet is no longer down. How do they do that?

“Uhm it looks like I’m up again. Uhm, nevermind.” I feel like an idiot. I bet she thinks I’m lying, and my internet was never down.

“That’s good news! Well, while I have you on the line, let me see.” She pauses. She’s looking something up. “Mr. Boyd. I show here that I could set you up with faster internet service for the same price you’re paying now.”

My world folds in upon itself. I hear nothing but the word, “Faster.”

“Faster?” I ask. “How fast?”

“New super infinity.” She replies.

Infinity. I like that speed. “Please! Infinite me!”

“I also show that you don’t have a Wi Fi. I have a plan that could remedy that for you too.”

Yeah, so now I’m set up with the fastest internet known to man. I also have 2 Wi Fis cuz that’s better, right? I know what the Pirate Queen told me. Still I think she’ll be happy, I’m sending her this copy of Gone with the Wind I’ve downloaded.

Rob's Wii Gets Active

Last weekend I found a new love. Yes, the Pirate Queen knows. No she doesn't approve. I don't know why, my new love is clean, pristine, and come with a shiny box; she's all waxed and rarin' to go; what's not to love? This weekend I brought home Wii's EA Active, for some workout fun.

"You said you wanted to spice things up?"

"That's not what I meant."

Needless, but already said, the Pirate Queen was less than thrilled. If thrilled were a lake, then Pirate joy would lie on the bottom next to Fredo watching the dingy of happiness motor away.

I think she's jealous. That's right. I've said it. While I'm getting fit, she's wrestling the green monster. She not jealous of me and my soon-to-be rock-hard abs and walnut-cracking thighs. Nay, nay, she's jealous of my Wii and my alone-time with it's software.

I think she sees the games I'll play with the Wii as a wedge driven between us. Like any other trivial pursuit, I say that that is not possible. Still, I'll keep the peace. I'll only use the EA Active for the power of good when the Queen is not around.

Ix-nay on the ii-Way. I don't think she'll understand.

That's how I started my week: one box of secrets, and one controller to bind them. I wanted to workout. I am the hairy-toed hobbit of the flab, I needed to put the fire to the Shire and peel my Velcro butt from the couch. Monday I began my journey alone. The Active plugged in, the program moved me in ways I didn't expect. I learned what made her game disc so alluring. The Active spoke in a low sexy voice. Her screen avatar a brunette coach with perky breasts coaxing me through each position.

"Lets try walking."

I cowered in the corner. She scared me. She wanted me to do things with her I wasn't comfortable with. Slowly, her sweat pants of seduction coaxed me from my cubby. My dark siren coached me with her "come hither and give me fifty" voice.

Now if you've never had an EA Active, let me tell you, it's better than sex with a ceiling fan--or so I've heard. I'm not a swinger like that. You may disagree. That's fine. I can only answer for me.

My video workout affair began when bought the Wii Fit a year ago. I've been off and on the Wii Fit balance board ever since. I can tell you that I already like the Active program better. The Wii Fit has exercises and will step you through them, but I'm a lazy guy. I like my exercises laid out in predetermined workout plans. It's like being married: tell me what you want; I'll do it. Put me in a house with a lot of "unspoken" chore mines and I'm probably going to choose the couch. Wii Fit and I enjoyed plenty of couch time. EA Active give me lists to complete.

Active has several predesigned workouts that last about 30 minutes (and that doesn't include the time for the training videos. The videos is a great place to hide breaks too. If you like smoking during workouts, the training video is a great place to steal a few drags. "Maybe I should watch that again. I'm not sure I got it, and I'm not down to the filter yet.")

The programs range in intensity and you can set different programs daily, or settle in for a "30 day challenge" anti-nap, where you do a group of exercises predetermined a month in advance. I liked the 30 day challenge. It was a nice length, without asking for too much of a commitment. I've been burned by workouts before. I'm cautious now.

Although I like the Active better than Wii Fit, the really cool thing is with Active, you don't have to choose! That's right. Why have one workout partner when you can enjoy the ménage à trois de Triomphe! EA Active incorporates the Wii Fit into it's exercises.

That doesn't mean you have to do it. There's no pressure. You can enjoy a little one-on-one time, mano-a-machino, if you like it better that way. Still, in some exercises, it's nice to switch things up. It's the difference between punching a heavy bag, and adding kicking, kneeing, and clawing it into submission. For a guy recently divorce, I know which one I like better.

"How do you like that knee Mr. Lawyer?"

The down side of the EA Active is how it reads the controller. The controller is very precise on movements. Unlike Billy Blanks who says, "Good job! Keep it up!" even when you're butt buried into the sofa, feet propped on the ottoman, doing the Doritos curl, the EA Active senses your every move. It's creepy.

"I wouldn't do that, Dave."

"My name is Rob, though."

"One more Dorito and it will be Susan. I've electrified the controller in your pants."

No, she doesn't have me stick the controller in my pants, she does strap my nunchuk to my leg though. No. The Wii nunchuk. Sheesh! What kind of workout do you think this is? No, she's a little dominatrix but she doesn't do anything that. She likes to leave me with some dignity.

"Insert the controller."

"But--"

"That's right."

See she knows exactly what you do with the controller. That's how she makes sure you're doing the exercise. That means that she won't start unless the controller is faced down, and she'll scold you if it's pointed the wrong way during the movement. In this she's like an ex: she won't tell you what you're doing wrong, just that you're not doing it right. I see the sea of divorced bobbleheads right now. You all know what I'm talking about.

The problem for me isn't necessarily the lack of instruction. The problem is while she's yelling at me, I'm still trying to please her. When I achieve the position she wants me to, she continues with her lecture. That means I'm stuck holding the ruptured bovine squat and she won't proceed with the exercise until she's done yelling at me for being wrong to begin with. Yes, once again, if you've been married, you're familiar with this too.

The good thing about EA Active is that the exercises are good, and some incorporate sports: boxing, tennis, baseball, and even dancing. Yeah. I'm a EA Active dance master

"Watch me churn the butter!"

Ok, so I still need help there. The important thing is that I am moving and the EA Active is helping. That's good right? I'm getting a workout every night when I could be sitting on the phone with the queen.

And that is the problem. I'm with my active girl when I'm supposed to be with the Queen. What's worse is that I'm supposed to meet my Queen this weekend but my dominatrix has me tired and sore. I don't know if I can make it.

I woke up this morning and I couldn't move. My muscles are atrophied the size of rubber bands for braces. My new love has left me in a fetal ball whimpering for my mommy. Now I have to call the PQ and tell her so.

"Hey! It's me."

"Hi!"

"Uhm, I can't make it this weekend."

"Why not?"

"You were right. I'm sorry I've been working out. I know it made you mad when I got the EA Active, but I went ahead and used it. Now I can't move."

"I wasn't mad because you were working out. I was mad because you didn't get a second controller for me. I wanted to workout together."

And so now she's coming out to see me. I'm sore, and she's coming to nurse me. I'm glad I worked out, because now I've had my cake I get to eat it too. That's too many calories to swallow.

Still, I feel bad. It's something I do. I get so wrapped up in the experience that I forgot to share it. The Queen was right. My new girl has put a wedge between us. I'm suffering rigor alone when she and I could be suffering together.

"Don't touch me. I hurt."

"I can't. I can't move."

"Good."

Shades and Hughes

Last week John Hughes died. For those of us who knew John personally, he was a great guy, and he will be missed. For those of you who didn't, well that sucks.

What? Sure, I knew him, at least through his movies, and if you've seen his films as many times as I have, you could say you knew him intimately.

"John could we just snuggle? I'm not in the mood for 16 candles tonight."

That's the thing about writers--luminous screen or 20 pound paper types--they may not tell you much about themselves, but in what they tell you about their world, they tell you everything there is to know. And yeah, even bloggers open up after a few drunken posts. Me? I wear my blog on my sleeve. It doesn't take an answer sheet in the back of the book to connect the blog dots of Robfact and Robfiction.

If you watched John Hughes' films you know he was a romantic, a dreamer. Only a dreamer could give us clear cut characters.

a brain,

an athlete,

a basket case,

a princess

a criminal.

In real life, we're all little diamonds containing little facets of each of these. The lucky ones get to see my princess side.

"Rob, the pink chiffon really isn't you."

That's ok, I didn't think the pink dress looked good on Molly either. She'd have been greater in green. Still, John Hughes showed us a bit of who we really are, as well as who we wanted to be.

In many cases that included being whoever it took to not be alone. Some Kind of Wonderful was all about bearing loneliness to be with the right person. It's a grand concept, yet so many times we fail. It's just so intoxicating to be who it takes to feel loved.

It's easier. Look at Molly's boy hunk in Sixteen Candles. While he's talking with the nerd boy, he's sharing that he wants somebody to love him for who he is.

Really? Is this going to be a Brokeback moment? Of course not, because even brokeback highschool boys aren't all about feeling loved. I was in high school once. I remember it. Even the guys who had "feelings" only felt to get closer to the girls. That's not to say that guys can't evolve, but in high school, we were traditionally interested in one growth. Loneliness and feelings come later.

It's true. We all have our stories of loneliness and the people who brought us from the brink. I was reminiscing John Hughes with the Pirate Queen this weekend and I mentioned Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Not a favorite of mine, but I get choked up at the end. Every time I see John Candy alone on Thanksgiving, while Steve Martin puts the pieces together. I always see me in the John Candy role.

"Not everything is an anecdote, Rob."

Sure, it's mostly self pity, but don't we all share in some of that? That's another thing John Hughes showed us in the singing cry of Ferris Bueller's Cameron:

"When Cameron was in Egypt land...let my Cameron go…"

I totally identified with Cameron. In fact, I think Cameron was one baseball bat and a dark alley away from giving Ferris his final day off. In that John showed us that we Camerons need to free ourselves.

What does any of this have to do with divorce?

To my knowledge, John never covered the topic of divorce. Sure there were characters who'd survived it, but it was more of a character issue than a theme. Maybe that's what we need to learn: Divorce is a dark event in our past. If we let it, it can make us strong for our future. We learn and move on. Otherwise it paralyzes us and we're locked repeating the same mistakes for all the wrong reasons.

When I think of my marriage I see it as a John Hughes flashback with some timely bittersweet backbeat. A familiar song I've heard a million times and will sing again and again. The good, the bad, and all the stuff in between meld to the soundtrack of the ten years of marital outtakes.

My story doesn't go the way Iexpected, but it still has a happy ending. That's what I'd like to believe. I'm

a brain,

an athlete,

a basket case,

a princess

a criminal.

And I am a romantic.

Thanks John.