Oral Decay

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That's right! Today's blog is an extra special smile-tacular extravaganza! Say "hi" friendly dental lobby attendant. Ok, she's more receptionist than attendant; she isn't handing out any warm towels. She does have clipboards and pens though. Oh, and a nice smile--she also says "hi."

Ok gang, be friendly, say "hi" back. Good now smile and wave. Take seats. Good, good. Now go ahead and talk amongst yourselves, just use your "inside" voices, oh, and be polite, we don't want to piss off the dentist.

See, you're here to help me through this. I've got a good dentist, but his hygienist wields a mean rock-pick. I need you to keep her honest. When she blindfolds me and cuffs me to the chair, I need you to be sure that when I scream the safe word around spit tube and gum impaler, she honors my request.

I guess in that way, our relationship is just like marriage: it's all about trust. I mean in other ways it really isn't. There isn't any companionship or chair intimacy, but there are pointy-proddy things and lots and lots of trust.

Marriage, right?

Hang on, the receptionist needs me. Her name is Paula by the way.

One sec. Sing, Police "Wrapped around Your Finger" to yourself. That's what's playing here. It's perfect hold music.

"you'll be…"

…

"Servant is your…"

…

"Su-su-sudio ohh-ohh"

Sorry, that took longer than expected. It was a little more awkward than expected too. Paula wanted to make small talk. Oh, that part's fine. I'm good at small talk, it's where she went with it.

"So, how's work?"

"It's good. I'm making money. I do a blog now too. That makes a little money. Every little bit helps."

"Is your wife still working?"

My Wife? There's a computer whir as my brain searches for data. Wife? I have a wife..? MyUnwife? Didn't the dentist's office get the memo? I’m sure they're contacting her at her new address. She wouldn't have changed dentists. She likes this one. We both do. We agreed to split him…

"Uhm. I'm sorry, she's no longer with me." Oh wait, now they think she's dead. Not good. How could they not know? "She's moved on--she's in another place. She's divorcing me." I didn't mean to make her sound like the bad guy, but I didn't have any other words. I was panicked. I figured MyUnwife would approve of "bad guy" over "dead."

She'd call me in a few months and ask, "Do you know anything about why the dentist canceled my appointment?"

"Uhm, no, why?" I'd lie.

"They said you said I was dead." She'd continue, because she already knows the answer.

"Oh that, I told them you'd still show up. You'd just be less animate..."

"Dead?"

"Yeah, less animate."

So, no, I told Paula about the divorce. I didn't go into detail. It was weird again. Not because I want us together, but because I just expected the world to know. Isn't this like graduating from school? Everybody just "knows?" Like I said, I'm sure they call a different phone number for her and send mailers to different locations.

Maybe that's it. Maybe they're in the office going, "Why are they listed at 2 locations? Let's ask Rob. He'll tell us anything."

"Yeah!"

So they did. And I did. Now they know. I guess MyUnwife and I are being too quiet about this. Maybe that's the whole thing. Maybe we were supposed to be louder when it mattered.

Still, now it doesn't. I don't see any reason to get all Klaxon of Doom about this now. Speaking of Klaxon of Doom, here's the hygienist. Cover my back. I'm going in.

Remember, when she has me tied down, remind her that sometimes no means no.

What do you mean "no?" Why are you laughing..?

Confectionary Strip

A 19 year old in her underwear was abusing traffic. That's what the article said. I reread it, because I didn't get it. Maybe you do.

See this is where I came in. This morning's divorce news contained a story about a girl who'd gotten so fed up with her divorce that she took off her cloths and stood in traffic. She was mad as hell and wasn't going to dress for it anymore.

She wasn't completely naked, just down to her underwear. Still, I have to wonder. The article said she "abused" traffic. A 19 year old naked girl? Really? Abusing traffic? That sounds like the complaints of a married man to his wife in the car.

"She's abusing my eyes!"

"Sure she is dear. Keep you're eyes on the road."

"I must phone-in this terrorist act to the police."

"Yes dear, be sure to use your new camera phone, otherwise they won't believe you. Oh look, she's taking her bra off."

"Where?"

"The road dear. The road."

Abuse? Ok, I suppose. Or maybe she was attacking cars? It still doesn't seem effective, especially since she's standing in her underwear. No heels, no utility purse filled with WMDs what's she gonna do? Throw mood swings? Fire bust shots?

"…I looked over and Bam! There were breasts in my window. Oh the horror! I was just driving to work. The world has become a bad, bad place."

I'm having trouble with the abuse. Disturbed, yes. Abusive, no. I read it was her landlord who called the cops. Now if he did this, (and yes it was a he, the paper referred to him as "he") it either means he was stalking his tenant or she did this right out in front of her own house. I guess that does explain the "abuse." You don't strip where you live. Ask any pole dancer. The pay is always better when you do it for strangers. Mom and Dad aren't as quick to drop $20s in the G-String, or so I've heard. Mine wouldn't even come and watch me dance.

What? It was college. I needed the money.

And that's why you need to go somewhere outside the norm: if you do it at home, everybody get's complacent.

"Look, it's Bambi next door again."

"Yeah, I saw that while I was getting the paper. Did you notice the Wilson's have a new sprinkler system?"

"No! Automatic?"

It's easy to divorce yourself from the situation. It's all been done before.

The landlord told the police that she'd been divorced for a month. It was unclear which came first: the crazy or the divorce, but the article was leaning towards the crazy. Crazy can be good. It does fight the complacency.

See complacency is the enemy. When everything becomes "just the neighbor girl stripping in traffic again," that’s a red flag. What if Lady Godiva had only received a lawn yawn? Where would we get our fine chocolate? Whitman Samplers? I think not! And don't expect Russell Stover to climb on that high horse either. He's not a bareback kind of guy.

Complacency is the sugar free confection. Only the sweet stuff becomes tasteless and blah. The bitter bile continues to eat away your stomach. Complacency strips away all the good things that used to keep the bile down. Without it, it's all coming back up.

Because if you strip us down, we're just creatures looking for comfort, something sweet and something more--some way to make ourselves better. If we aren't getting better, then we look for ways to strip back to the original, or explode into something new. Sort of shrapnel butterflies I guess.

It happens to a lot of people. According to the news article, this girl was woman-three to do the car-tune strip. Woman three? Why doesn't that happen in my neighborhood? Complacency or not, somebody just give me a chance to get bored! Why didn't M. Night Shyamalan film about this happening? That's an R rating I could have gotten behind. Right now it's just me stripping on my lawn, and that my friends is abuse.

Rob's Happening.

My vacation's all but over 'cept the fat lady singing. Since I don't keep any around my house, I guess this is it.

What? The fat lady thing? No, I'm not saying anything, I don't keep any ladies around my house, fat, skinny, pleasantly plump, or notoriously normal, I'm all alone, and thanks for reminding me. One weeks vacation swirling around the toilet, undone in a flush.

Yesterday I went to see a movie. One last gasp if you will. If some fatty needs to sing, it looks like that fatty is me. I thought I'd take in a movie before warming up the chops.

"memememe…"

I had choices. They needed eliminating. Since I couldn't kidnap a small child, I ruled out the Kung-Fu Panda. That also ruled out the latest Narnia flick. I did hang out with the neighborhood ice cream man asking children if they wanted to see a movie, but when the clientele stopped rushing with cash for cones and the cops started creeping behind us, the ice cream guy asked me to leave. It was his van, I got out. No Good Humor here…

I didn't want to see Sex and the City. I’m not the target audience, and considering my current situation, I didn't see where a film whose title promised salt in my wounds was a good idea. Sex in the City? Isn't that like the last California gold rush for the single male?

"There's silicone in them thar hills!"

Yup, guys in convertibles rolling the streets with a Mr. Microphone. Little signs hanging from the sides of their wagons, "Double D bust or bust." I know. That's not the movie, but I'm a guy. Maybe it should be. I could identify with that better than 4 girls sipping cosmos and buying shoes.

I decided to watch The Happening. It had a title I could trust. Whatever happened in the film, I knew the title would deliver as promised. There indeed would be a happening, even if it was just a sucker leaving $10 at the cashier window.

I don't want to ruin the movie for you, but just so you know, by the end of the movie, a bunch of people died. The killer? The unfortunate abundance of death instruments without warning labels.

Warning! Tractor mower harmful if swallowed.

I was unimpressed. Not because this film didn't have a happening. It did. It's happening just wasn't any different than what I see everyday. It started with people becoming disoriented. Yeah. I drive California freeways. Please.

They just stood in place like mannequins. As any Costco shopper will tell you, this is normal. People stunned by free food kiosks, staring into space while you're trying to get to the frozen burritos is a Friday afternoon. Dazed faces knowing they have something to do but not knowing how to accomplish "walking" without detailed instructions. Yeah, let me know when we get to the spooky part.

Color me nonplussed. The death of these doped fools? Aww, now you're just teasing me.

Still all in all it was a fine escape.

I think my favorite part of the movie was the previews. I remember back in the day, when they used to target previews for whoever might be strapped to the chair. Last night, they really didn't know their captive audience. They were flinging ideas at the screen like monkey-poo.

New Horror! New Romance! Kids Film! Kids Romance! Adventure Film! TV Show turned Movie Film! All these and more! My favorite preview was for the new X-Files movie. Don't roll your eyes! I didn't say I wanted to watch the movie. It was just my favorite preview. Besides. I rolled my eyes too, until the got to the end.

They're flashing clips of Mulder, clips of Scully, clips of shadows. Music, movement, crescendos, quote, flash, "Watch!" Bam! "July 25th." Black. I'm thinking, "July 25th? What's that? Why is that familiar? What happens July 25th?" It hits me: Divorce. Final. Shadows. Of course. In that moment, the X-File's movie subtitle fades in.

"I Want To Believe."

I rolled out of my chair giggling. Yeah, me too, but I've got 350 pages of legal documents saying that "believing" isn't enough… People around me started scooting over extra chairs, putting a safe distance between them and the frothing Rob on the floor; the irony brick still wedged between his eyes. I'd had my happening. It was time for me to sing.

Memememe….

Wrapping up the Leftovers.

Can I have a 2 day birthday? Can I just stretch another 24 hours of joy before going back in the womb for another year? I'm sure it would be fine so long as it didn't mean another 24 hours of labor for my mom. In that case, she'd probably be first to say, "Sorry Rob, I'm afraid, 1 day of birth is all you get. Here, have this Star Wars toy you wanted when you were seven."

"But It looks like it's been chewed up by a dog."

"I know, you were supposed to get it when you were seven. The dog got it first. If it's any consolation, it looks like she enjoyed it."

Yeah, that's one thing that does change over time. Birthday gifts. When I was a kid I got toys and clothes. Now I get cards and cash. I think I like it just as much now as I did then. I get the same disappointments too. When I was a kid I wanted the Millennium Falcon so Han and Luke could take a much deserved vacation from planet Shag-Carpet, I didn't get it. As an adult I wanted that Benjamin Franklin bill so that Rob could take a much deserved vacation from planet Cheap Thrills. I didn't get that either.

That's not to say I didn't have a good birthday. It was great. I didn't do much. I relaxed, I blogged, I relaxed some more and then I renewed my drivers license. Birthdays are still good. I still like having my cake and eating it too, and I still like my candles blown out.

This year I found evidence I'm getting older. I had a hard time reading the DMV eye chart with one eye. Yeah, I know, right now most of you are making sure you don't live in the same place I do. Probably not a bad idea. I'm no different than every other easily distracted blind Californian.

"Oh, look a shiny object!"

"Run it down quick before somebody else gets it!"

Still, the lesson to take from this has nothing to do with pilotless self-indulgence. It's that I passed. I'm still in the game. I went home. I ate dinner. I celebrated. Not bad for a birthday. After dinner, my dad called. He wanted to wish me the best. We talked while Mom prepared his dinner. That's great! It wasn't even his birthday.

It was a good talk. Father son banter at it's finest. Ok, maybe not it's finest, but it was good for us, and that's what mattered. I think Dad-chat was a great gift. As I get older, Dad gets wiser. Our talks are always enlightening.

While we were talking MyUnwife called my cell.

Dad says, "I can let you go."

"No, It's fine. I'll call her back later."

After Dad left to eat, I called MyUnwife. I figured I'd get the machine and leave a message, but she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me, I'm returning your call."

"Oh, Hey!"

We talked for a while. It was nice. We were always able to talk. We shared the new events in our lives. Sort of like playing go fish, "Do you have any Queens?"

There weren't many events, but filling the gaps made me feel like the little Dutch boy plugging dam leaks with MyUnwife.

The truth is, although she occupies a different shelf in my life, I still care that she's there in the pantry. Ok, that metaphor makes me sound like Jeffery Dahmer. Let's just say I'm glad she called before somebody else calls the cops.

"Mr. Boyd, how do you explain these sardines?"

"I was drunk?"

"Inebriation is no excuse for bad taste."

"No, but it does make it easier to explain bad choices."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come downtown."

"Can I bring the sardines?"
"Don't make me break out the pepper-spray."

"Does it go good on crackers? Ow! My eyes! My eyes!"

"Yes it does Mr. Boyd. Yes it does…"

It doesn't sound like much of a birthday does it? Maybe not for you, but for me it was one of the best I've had in a long time. I'm renewed. I'm refreshed. I'm looking forward to the next year. Oh sure, nobody blew my candles out, but that just leaves something to look forward to next birthday.

Pin the Tail on the Conclusion.

"Hi! Happy Birthday."

"You're a minute earl--nevermind. Thanks!"

That was my first birthday wish this year. A friend called at midnight. It was nice. I appreciated hearing somebody say, "hey!" This is my second birthday since MyUnwife "left" so I'm already a trained expert, but still I liked call.

I'm sure MyUnwife is celebrating in her own way. I've checked the car for explosives and there was nothing there, so I think she's trying to surprise me. My front door was rigged to the power line outside. I think that might have some part in a surprise. I'll let somebody else check that to be sure.

"If you could just grab the door knob…"

I'm not worried. Today is my day, not hers. She gets Christmas. That was in the settlement. I used to give her a reindeer hunting license every year. She liked that. The neighbor kids were always a bit disturbed, and disappointed when Santa wouldn't land on their roof. Every Christmas they were snubbed. Uneaten cookies and milk sitting in the kitchen, reindeer meat floating in the pool. It was a birthday tradition.

I don't really have any birthday traditions except getting older. I do that every birthday. I tend to take birthday's on a case by case basis. During my marriage, I went out for dinner so MyUnwife wouldn't have to cook. That was our tradition. This year is a fresh year. This year is fresh traditions. This year I cooked for myself.

My meal is already made. I have a summer birthday. I prepared a summer meal. I made some barbeque pork, coleslaw and potato salad. I bought a good beer to go with it, and I'm thinking I may go out and find me a key lime pie for desert. That's a birthday.

When I was a kid it was all about the pomp and circumstance. Now I'm older, it's more about "oops" and repentance. It's looking to make my next year better than the last. What do I need to make that happen?

"I don't know Mr. Hand."

"That's a great answer Mr. Spicoli…"

See? It's just like the birthday games we used to play as a kid. Remember pin the tail on the donkey? Some idiot would spin you dizzy with a fuzzy tack in your grasp and send you out in search of some cartoon goal to pin your hopes on. Where you thought you were going, and where you ended up sticking were completely different. That's a life of birthdays.

The object is knowing that you probably will end up somewhere else, and make the best of it. Sure, the donkey is still tailless but your chaperone now has a distinctive limp and will think twice about that "spinning you silly" misleading thing again (yeah, and they always thought that was an accident. Sure it was. That and piñata bat riot, all accidents…).

My Dad emailed me. He wished me "relief on the divorce front." Yeah. That's a good wish. At this point there isn't much to relieve. The divorce is all but over, and there's nothing much either of us can do to alter it's course. Still, it will be good to see the whole thing in the rearview. That's a goal I can accomplish. That and enjoying this birthday. I'm going to do that.

If your donkey-tail leads you here, you can stop in for a bite. I have enough food to feed Sally Struthers for a week. Yeah, I know! I'm stocking up.

"Rob Stones."

The road of life is paved with Rob entrails. Well, I'm more the gum holding the paving together, but you get the idea. The sticky thing under your foot? That's me. Say hi.

It's true! It's not self pity, it's just one of those things I realize resting amidst the cobble stones. I put so much effort into things that may be good, but are they worth the effort? I don't know.

It's like no matter what I do, every step is a mini adventure. Anybody who's been married can attest to that. It sure would be nice to see that as an example where I'm wrong about the paving thing. It's not though. It's just something else to wipe off your shoe.

Another example is my latest video blog. Yeah, it's done now. I swear that thing took so long to make, you'd think I was refilming the Lord of The Rings. I'm not, no worries. This one clocks in at about 3 minutes and there's no awkward hobbit glances to make you uncomfortable.

I've been trying to do it since Friday, and every time I start it, something gets in the way. Last night I spent 45 minutes trying to buy Mentos. Yeah. You won't see them so don't worry about it. It was a scene that got clipped, but only after I'd filmed it. A great idea in my head that just didn't run. Now I know how Axel Rose feels. Like we believe Chinese Democracy will ever see the light of day. I think that's a sign of the apocalypse:

"…And behold there was a gangly red-haired tatooed white boy…."

No need to worry. It'll never happen. Still, Axel has seen the topside of life's road. I'm still amidst the cracks.

Is there like a Mentos embargo I was unaware of? I went to a grocery store, a drug store, and 2 convenience stores. No Mentos, not very convenient. I finally found them at a gas station. A guy traded them for a gallon of gas.

"Here, take my magic beans…"

No, it wasn't that easy. It was weird though. I go into a gas station I feel like I should buy something other than Mentos. So I'm maneuvering around 3 chest high aisles of junk food trying to find the perfect "thing." Chips…gum…condoms…chips...

I feel like I'm buying porn. "yeah, I'd like the toothpaste, the Neosporin, oh, and what the hell, give me that Playboy, third to the left, second row."

About my third lap, the little girl at the counter starts looking nervous:

"Can I help you?"

"No, I'm just looking." I smell her paranoia. I've worked fast food, I know the quiver in her voice. She's wondering if I'm going to rob her. I set her mind at ease, and grab a second thing of Mentos, "There I've got it."

Now she smiles as I approach the counter. I've given her the signal she needs. My words translate in cashier as, "I'm not robbing you, I'm just stoned." She accepts that with a "Have a nice day" and I'm on my way.

See I speak her language. That's the one thing about being me. I may not aspire to more than cobble-ook, but I do know about people. I take notes as they pass and smile when they stop and tie their shoe. Maybe offer suggestions:

"Chase the bunny through the hole…"

It's what I do. And yeah, it's not glamorous, but it's always an adventure. Now I have to go see about my flat tire adventure.

What's Black and White and Rob All Over?

"…To help prevent a bleeding accident."

Oh, my! It' sounds like a product for people getting divorced. Maybe it is, but it's not nearly as exciting as it sounds. It's Woolite. It's just for cleaning his grime from your white sweater. Yeah, we're not selling Kevlar T-shirts or even something to staunch the wounds from those dagger looks. Nope, they're only concerned with color bleeding here.

I'm concerned with what's on TV. I'm taking a break and I'd like to find something worth watching. I've got laundry in the washer, my barbeque sauce is simmering, I don't have any work, and I'd like to just relax for a few minutes before I start a big project like cleaning the house.

Right now I'm flipping through channels and I've got nothing. One of the channels is showing high school softball. I suppose it's better than a T-ball tourney. I shouldn't complain. Shouldn't, but that hasn't stopped me yet, has it?

Oh, and speaking of complaining, I got a birthday gift last night. The city didn't know what to get me, so they "invited" me to participate in 12 angry men. Well it's just the auditions. They should change the name. It should be called "12 people who couldn't gnaw their legs off fast enough to get off jury duty, but that's just me. I'm a hopping optimist, remember? Hoping? Yeah, I guess that works too...

I know I know. Civic duty and all that, but how many of you look forward to a jury summons? How many of you sit in the selection box and shout "Ohh, Ohh! Pick me! Pick me!" big red #1 finger in the air, blind justice face paint, showing your support for truth, justice and the American way. If you were supporting the American way, you'd be over with me with your list of excuses signed by Mom, doctor, lawyer and Indian Chief. The butcher and baker are no help.

No, the best way to handle a summons is the truth--at least for me. My employer won't take care of me if I'm on jury duty. Oh, Employ-a-Rob pretends they will, but I've seen their jury plan in writing. The words say "Rob gets screwed."

Still, just like my divorce, I'll go down, do my thing. If I have to follow through, I'll do it to the best of my ability.

I'd planned on going out for coffee last night, to celebrate the city's gift, but my car gave me a surprise birthday present too: a flat tire. Yep. I got a few blocks from my house, hit a bump, and the car dropped even further.

Pulling over, I checked it out. Sure enough, the street gave me a flat. Luckily, it didn't unwrap it, so maybe I can take it back and tell somebody I don't want it. Yeah, I know, but it's worth a try.

So now I'm rethinking my birthday wish. "Lot of presents" isn't turning out quite what I planned. Or at least the first 2 have kinda sucked. I mean I'm not trying to piss on the gift horse (he charges extra for that), but something new might be nice. Something that doesn't cost me time or money.

I know, too picky. You know what's worse? As hard as I try, I still haven't ruined my vacation. I mean I'm trying--really hard-- but it's still good. Yesterday I took a friends advice and got birthday wine. That was a total mistake. I mean I got out of the house, and bought wine! How is that going to screw up my holiday? Why is it that no matter how hard I try I manage to have fun. Maybe this high school softball will set things back in order.