Rugburns and Rhetoric

Rugburns and rhetoric. That's how I would describe this Valentines day. You know what? For a secular holiday honoring America's commercialism, and disposable trinket culture, this VD is about as welcome and garish Grandma's Elvis shrine.

"GAAH! Grandma! What's that?"

"It's a porcelain cast of his naked pelvis. Commissioned by the Franklin Mint dontchaknow."

Apparently my Grandmother is from Wisconsin. I never knew.

My distaste has nothing to do with being divorced, or being alone, but I would so like to thank the entire blogging community for reminding me of these things. Why it was just 2 days ago, in my confusion, I thought I was happy!

"Hey Rob, we're the Honorary Unified Bailiwick-Bloggers Upsetting Bloggers. We wanted to remind you that today is Valentine's Day."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, you're alone."

"I know."

"It's Valentine's Day."

"I got that."

"You're alone."

"Got that too."

"Here. Look at these puppies. Know why they're cute?"

"No."

"They're not alone."

"I see."

"You're alone."

"Yeah."

"Here, have a chocolate heart. Lonely people like chocolate."

"Thanks, but I'm not lonely."

"Of course you're not. Lonely people always say that."

"I'm no-"

Here. Have a Kay's Jewelers brochure. Look happy couples. You're not one of those are you?"

"No."

"Sucks to be alone huh?

"If only I could be so lucky."

"What does that mean? Know what today is…"

Can we just sweep up all this Valentie's crap and throw it on one page, something like www.DoYouFeelLikeAPatheticLoserYet.com? Don't click that. I know you want to, but don't.

Sigh…

Fine, go ahead. Just another holiday scab for you to pick at. Didn't go anywhere, did it? Neither does all this Valentine's crap. How could we manage to take a simple gift card footnote and turn it into a 2 week death march? It's all anybody talks about. I swear, if you check your history books, you'll find VD is what led to the siege at the Alamo. Santa Anna declared that Mexico was not satisfied with America's "Be Mine" greeting policy. It may also be why in February 1861 Texas voted to succeed from The Union. "We will not participate in this cardstock confederacy."

Me, I live in California. My state embraces all things VD. It's the only day you'll flock to films you've avoided like a case of the crabs 364 other days this year. LA needs money! For the love of all that's holy, go! Watch Fool's Gold! A more appropriate title for the holiday propaganda does not exist!

See, here's the thing. I know you either love or hate Valentines Day. I get that. But it's just like your cousin in Kissimmee, if you keep pointing at him, he's not going to go away. IGNORE HIM! I don't care how many "Pick Me!" boogers he flings. Let it go.

Now I'm leaping on this bandwagon as it rolls past, and I thank you. I didn't want to be part of this tirade parade. This honorary holiday was thrust upon me by some kung-fu cupidistas. Now, let's just endure it till it's over. Come midnight, it's over. Next holiday: Easter. Can I spend that one alone in peace please?

"Excuse me, I'm part of the Easter Bunny Battalion..."

Sigh...It's gonna be a long year.

Aside from That, how was the Play?

An aside. It's a theatrical, or sometimes literary tool. In the theater it's an actor taking a moment from his tragic life to talk to the audience. He drinks a whiskey drink and says something like "Can you believe my lead actress? I mean she's easy to look at, but what a prima donna!"

In literature, the author brakes from his story for a page or a chapter or two to make you believe you're an insider. Really it's just a ploy and something he tells his agent to raise his word count to keep her happy. I'm telling you, you can't trust writers. They'll say anything to make you read. If I were a writers, we wouldn't be able to talk like this. Luckily for you, I'm just a guy. I'm just like you (unless you're not a guy, then neither am I). I like this thing we share; this personal moment where I can bring you into my world. I can really relate to how you feel...

If you have friends having marital differences, it's what you don't want to choose: a side. That's why I stood silently as my friend began talking.

"You know she's not living with me right now don't you."

I shook my head, trying to jar an appropriate answer from the shelf. "No, I didn't." seemed safe enough.

"Yeah, she's staying with her sister in San Diego."

I nod. I don't know his wife. I only know him, and he's a nice guy. Still, I don't know the facts. He continues to talk like whatever the problem is, it's her fault, but he still doesn't tell me what that problem is. I don't ask.

It's not my place. I've learned that. I love to help friends with their crises and their relationships, but sometimes that means standing on the outside, and listening at the door. Ok, bad analogy, because it's better if they know I'm there. Otherwise, who does it help? So I'm not at the door. I'm following them around like a stalker. Every time they stop for breath I "Uh huh." It's not nearly as creepy as it sounds, in fact I've heard my chin stubble on the neck can be quite soothing. Ok, I've never heard that, but I'm sure it does something inspirational for somebody.

"We're going to counseling. I talked her into that."

Nod.

Ok, now I do more than nod. "Does she want to be there? Cuz unless you're both into it, it ain't gonna help." Some things are helpful without picking sides.

"Oh, yeah. She want's to be there. Definitely."

I don't believe him, but I "ok" him. You don't call a friend a liar. It wears on the relationship. Especially if I don't have proof that he's lying. If she doesn't want to be in counseling he'll figure it out pretty quick.

This is an aside moment for him. I am his audience, and I'm waiting for him to tell me about the prima donna. Within moments he says it. Not the same words, but he's there. I don't even nod. I listen. It's what I've learned from my own marriage and divorce. Outsiders are only an audience, even if they are invited.

I need to be that audience. The guy who's pulled me aside was really there for me during my divorce. I rarely confided in him, but I'm not much of an aside guy (I trust you know what I mean). I like to know that there's somebody there, out in the audience. I'd even like to bring them up on stage, but chances are I'm not going to ask them to recite any rehearsed lines.

"I know how you feel."

No, you don't, but thanks. Have you met me? I'm Rob. I'll be your strutter and fretter this evening. Only I know how I feel.

"I know how you feel."

Whatever.

I don't want to be that for my friend. So he talks I listen. It's what I've learned: to try and be a good audience. It's a shame I had to go through a divorce to learn this, but for my friends sake, I guess it's ok. I can't really think about that. I'm the audience, and this is his opening. When he's done, he bows. I clap his back. He leaves the stage. I don't know what happens next; I only see the curtain close, and then I'm set aside again.

Almost Sharing Almost Famous

" Is he on the roof yet?"

"He's on the roof."

Welcome to last night's conversation. I'm tapping words into my computer, and it's replying. The miracle of modern electronics. That worried me most when MyUnwife left: talking, and my lack of it. I love to share ideas. When MyUnwife left, I lost my outlet. That's right Let's all take 20 seconds or so to glare at her for the evil she's wrought.

Ok, I'm sure she's crispy now.

I have 3 really good friends from pre-MyUnwife days. They're all at least 300 miles away. Kinda sucks. Even worse, two of them think their families are more important than I am! Harumph!

The other acknowledges my importance, but gave up her internet service the day I told her MyUnwife moved out. Coincidence? I think not! Yeah, think on that for a moment. She gave up her internet? It wasn't stolen from her by some Bill Gates' Stormtrooper. She let it go. That's like waking up one day, rolling over and saying, "I’m giving up food." Who does that? Who does that When they have a Rob in need? Can you say irresponsible? I'd call her and tell her so, but her husband is home and he always takes her side in these things. He's a big ex-military guy. I'm just a scrawny ex-nerdy guy. Ok, not so much ex. Either way, I guess I should be grateful for 300 plus miles.

That's the other thing. Do you notice a pattern? All my friends have families. I mean one of them is divorced, but he's got a pic-nic basket of daughters he's responsible for. That's three women to my none. I don't feel bad about it except when I'm whiny. When MyUnwife left, I felt really whiny.

I work at home, It's not like I have a social life, and yet I'm a SoCal social creature. Can you imagine Paris Hilton in a vacuum? Can you imagine Paris Hilton holding a vacuum? I too need people to adore me! Where would my next adoration fix come from? Yeah, there's my dog. His heart's in the right place, but his lauds palpitate with dog breath. It's Not quite what I'm looking for. I like my conversation like I like my Cheerios: Floating above, and spilling out all over. Dogs spill out, but we don't call that conversation. We call that drool. I need real conversation too; My dog speaks only in my dreams.

"I want you to kill…"

I thought I'd die the first months. MyUnwife gone, I bounced around the house just to hear the sounds echo from the walls.

"The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"

It didn't fall. Over time, I met people I never dreamed I'd meet. People living different lives in different parts of the world sharing ethereal connectivity through an Ethernet connection. Little lexicon icons calling "Hey Rob!," culling loneliness.

So I'd recommended Almost Famous to one of my new friends as "the most unapologetic 'I love music' movie I've ever seen." I did so, because, well, it is. It's also on my all time favorite list. Hey, what do you want? I'm a music snob not a movie snob. I liked Robocop too; sue me. What surprised me, is my friend actually took me up on my recommendation, even knowing I liked Robocop. They rented Almost Famous!

"You like me! You really, really like me!"

Last night we bumped into each other online. I was getting ready to go write in the mall, but when I heard the words "Almost Famous" I stopped. My writing could wait, my friend was watching my movie! That rocked. I grabbed my copy (cuz ya know I own it.), asked where they were in the movie, and popped it into my computer.

Pseudo-syncing was a trick:

WebNerd: ...yup. So where you at?

CoolFriend: Russell and William are at the house party in Topeka

WebNerd: Already?

CoolFriend: I think there's acid

yes there's acid…

We got close.

I'd never done that before. No we couldn't share popcorn, but we didn't share my smelly toes either. Those ten little gems of joys were all mine. Rocking back my office chair, I floated away in a movie and chat with a friend. What better way is there to spend a Monday night?

"I am a golden god!"

Robby the Pooh, and that Queasy Feeling Day.

Have you ever woken up and noticed something isn't right? That was me this morning: semi-conscious and drool crusted with an id-carrot dangling just past my frontal-lobe. Rolling over, I thanked my sleep-Freud, and returning my wooly dreams.

"Tell me about your childhood."

GAAAAH!

Ok. I'm awake now. No, my childhood wasn't bad, at least not compared to anything I've experienced as a kid anyway. I just don't like where this is going. It's an oily Slip n' Slide slaloming through my Slinky-cuffed past. It's all Chutes and ladders baby. Still, this isn't the source of my unnatural feeling. What is the source?

Uncomfortable and unanswered, I got up, and start my coffee. I'm up 15 minutes, and I'm done with all my Valentine's shopping this year. Well, how long does it take to turn on a computer and hit PetSmart.com?

"A stuffed thing? Cosmo loves stuffed things!"

No, he doesn't. He's quite terrified of them really. It's the weirdest thing I've ever seen. A friend of mine bought him a stuffed tiger chew toy. It was a terrifying tiger in a Calvin and Hobbes kind of way. Yeah, oo-oo "rawr," ah, pretty scary. My dog thought so. Not only wouldn’t he touch it, he wouldn't come near me when I touched it. Maybe it's an ancient stuffed-critter curse talisman I'm not aware of. It would explain this nagging feeling…

So no. No stuffed toys for Cosmo. He likes food. I give him treats, he practically humps my leg. A dog after my own heart. He is my sole Valentine's Day shopping soulmate. The alpha and omega of this holiday tour.

"To our left you see the happy dog. Wave. 'Nice doggy.' Careful, keep your hands and heads in the car at all times. Don't approach him. He really is more afraid of you than you are of him. Thank you, this concludes our St. Valentine's tour. Please stop by the gift shop on your way out."

It's cool, he and I have an understanding. There's male bonding, even man-boy/boy-dog cuddling, but nothing too extreme. We're ok to express our feelings, but our feelings stop at "Hey pup! What a good boy!" That's our heavy petting. No confusion.

I have to admit, I do miss other levels of affection since MyUnwife left though. At first, Cosmo wouldn't accept treats; he was afraid I'd hump his leg. It was ruff. Ok, bad joke, but I'm allowed. I haven't had one this week, and this is the week that things finally collapsed in my marriage.

Something isn't right…

Now a year later I'm still romantically unattached. It's been a long year. Last September I bounced around the house pretending to have fun. It was my anniversary. I was on vacation. I needed an outlet. I tried to fool myself, and who knows, it might have worked. There's one born every minute and I believe that minute was mine. I've blocked that minute out now though. Well, I've blocked out that whole month really.

Yet, here I am today talking about the past and coming up on the first Valentine's Day of my future—alone. So how do I feel? Not bad really. Two weeks ago, I was sitting down. I do that. Anyway, I was also eating dinner, another one of my favorite hobbies. I'd made some homemade salsa, and grilled a salmon fillet. The day was busy and it was my first "ahhhh…." moment. I'd just plopped down: fish on fork, beer in hand and--Do you know how you get those lonely pangs? The ones that are like a little kid tugging at your sleeve.

"Excuse me, mister? The lady who used to live here, she asked me to bring you this basked of raw emotions." Then he holds out his palm expecting recompense for the wonderful comeuppance array he's dumped in your lap.

Yeah. Like that. I didn't get that. Instead, I got this little girl. She's all dressed up for Easter when she shuffles up in her high gloss black shoes, and touches her finger to my arm. I look over, she blushes and smiles, stepping back. After a few seconds of this exchange, she props up on her tippy-toes, leaning in, hand cupped around her lips. I lower towards her so she can whisper, "Uhmmmm…you know what? You're happy."

Holy Shit! She's right! I am happy!

I'd forgotten what it felt like. It had been dark for too many months. I needed the sun to blind me for it to dawn on me. I am happy! This week is Valentine's Day. Nobody asked me to be her pheromone pincushion, but I'm ok with that. Maybe another year. It's still a nice holiday. What's more, I'm on vacation this week. I'm going to do little more than nothing. Oh, maybe I'll get some things done, but I have no intention on being productive. I've taught Cosmo this cool trick where he pops the top off the beer and brings it to me. Now if I can just teach him that I want the bottle and not the top. Still, It's good, and I'm ok.

I think I've even found the source of my nagging feeling: I'm happy. I don't know how to cope with that.

Collaborative Divorce: The Friendly Half-breed.

"I know he's a sonofabitch, but how do you feel?"

That's right, today we're covering the newest breed of divorce in the "get-out!" shop window. See it wag it's happy tail? That's because it's the closest thing to friendly that you'll see this side of 2 lawyers and a 1 independent mediator. It's also the hippest thing since glow-in-the-dark "Flush me" fish.

Pet your new divorce. It's pretty. Iit's shiny. It's gonna cost you. Oh, it's not as bad as a purebred, but this mutt is still store-bought, and you'll pay more than you would watching your neighbor dog jump the fence just to jump your dog.

This is the collaborative divorce. It even has a special breed of lawyers and all kinds of independent "experts" to consult on everything from financial assets to children's rights. That's right. Come one come all. Watch your lawyers work together; an act only predicted by apocalyptic scholars.

You like the sofa? He needs the TV? Cool! No stains. No static. It's all good! Step right up shake hands and you both can get what you want.

Just sign here, here, and here.

You both want the old Chevy sitting on a cinder block pedestal in the back yard? Not a problem, that's why the lawyers are here! Oh sure, only one of you is not going to get the car, but if it's really important you can probably shake out the fuzzy dice you dearly love. All it takes is a little compromise.

"Roll over!"

That's why we bring in the collaborative lawyers. Don't trust lawyers? That's why there are boutique expert add-ons as well. Hell! We'll even throw in an espresso bar and a box of Kleenex. Look at the sweet face! Who couldn't love this divorce?

See that's the great part about the collaborative divorce. You're walking into a room where everybody knows that you're self-absorbed, and it's ok, cuz so is the person you're divorcing, and nobody's going to tell you it's all in your head! There are a gaggle of experts to squawk you through this. That's the thing that makes this easier than the friendly divorce. That and you don't have to pretend to be nice. Want to plant an ax in his forehead? Give the ax to your lawyer. They'll make sure he trades you something for it.

Sure, you do have to be willing to compromise, but you can lean back and "LALALALALALA" out the other person as they speak. Let your lawyer do your talking for you.

What's more, Collaborative lawyers love you for your money and your mind. This is as touchy-feely as a divorce gets. Sitting across the table makes the whole thing very therapeutic, driving the healing process along. It's a little bit like a loveable Labrador meets a determined Terrier. Throw a tantrum and watch them fetch it!

Collaborative is the best of both worlds. You have someone to speak for you, but it doesn't cost as much as a traditional divorce, because it's all sorted out before you go to court. There's somebody there to work through your assets and tell you what's a fair split. You can even call in an expert on children and custody to help decide what's best for the kids. What's more, if you have children, the collaborative divorce is a great exercise to teach you about getting along in front of them. Not bad, especially since it's something you're going to have to do for the kids anyway.

"Play dead!"

Here's the deal: collaborative divorce is the way to go if you're not out for blood, but just want out. Even if it's still too difficult to deal with your partner, you can lean on your lawyer. It's simpler than the friendly divorce, and less cutthroat than the traditional divorce. If you think you can compromise just a little longer, maybe this dog will hunt.

The Traditional divorce: Dante's Unmentionable Ring of Hell.

"in one corner wearing He-Man boxers and a smile…"

That's right, today we're gonna skip ahead to the "beat down in the courtroom!" I'll come back to the cooperative effort later. I think I want to show the opposite extreme first. Just think of this as the Friday Night Fights blog. Today, I'm I traditionalist. Today I'll discuss what you can expect from a traditional divorce.

But Rob, you had a friendly divorce? How can you know about a traditional divorce?

Ah, dear reader, how can any of us know unless we've stared into the gaping maw ourselves? I can only tell you what friends and family have told me. Which isn't much Nobody returns and talks about the gaping maw, not without lots of liquor and a bottomless bowl of salty snacks. Lucky for me, I have a hot and cold running keg and a whole lotta nuts.

I also have a good friend who went through the traditional divorce. He enjoyed it so much the first time, he came back for the second. Yeah, poor guy. He's a good Christian, he really is, but for a while he was poured through the Biblical yellow pages in the Bible-back for God's direct smite line.

"Cavemen had it right."

"how?"

"Club her."

"Oh, you don't mean that."

"Shutup and pass the cashews."

Yeah, he was a ray of sunshine for a while. He's getting better, he doesn't growl anymore. He turned to the dark side because his wife signed no mutations treaty and unloaded with every Jedi mind trick she could fit in a blaster barrel.

I know, you're saying, "but Rob, blasters shoot energy beams You don't load—"

Shutup and read. You're taking my Star Wars metaphors too literally. I know less about light sabers and clone wars than I do about divorce. Ok, that's a lie. Whatever, pass me the cashews.

See and that's how most of them turn out. It's even worse because too many divorce lawyers are chum-frenzied.

"Gonna need a bigger boat."

"I can get you one, all you need to do is sign here, sue here, oh and pee in her mailbox here."

It's dark ugly and costly. Especially if she's rigged an electrical current to the mailbox. I speak from experience. It's shark infested waters, and usually the only person who swims out with all appendages is the one who navigates the water daily: the lawyer. Unless you can score some "Shark-Off" or strike some kind of treaty, neither one of you will leave happy. Which in some divorces, is exactly the part that makes both parties happy.

See, the traditional divorce is like putting 2 hurt tigers in a room and saying "Play nice." Then you add a few guys with whips and chairs and $300 briefcases to lash them into a frenzy, and now you've got a divorce circus.

This is also the most expensive approach. According to national statistics I've just pulled out of my butt, the average divorce costs about $17,000 per person. Now understand, there are some extreme celebrity divorces spiking the curve, but you get the idea. Every time you have to step into a courtroom, the cost wheel whips around like Pat and Vanna prop on turbo drive.

"Oh, bankruptcy! I'm sorry."

Not all Divorces have to be that way, but it takes restraint. Do you have restraint, or do you microwave a Ken Doll effigy every night when you get home from work? Restraint is probably the last thing you want to show. Like the tiger's torn flesh, it's seen as a weakness; our instinct is to fight with all we have. Sometimes you just have to numb yourself through it. Remind yourself it will be over soon. When you separate and fall back into your perspective corner, listen to your coach as he squeezes the water bottle of Hershey's syrup in your mouth. Eucalyptus and aloe your cuts and broses, and inhale the coconut/vanilla smelling salts. Rest up for the next round. It's going to suck worse. While you pull yourself together, think of what you want to take with you. Try to keep pride and dignity high on that list, even though in order to keep them you may have to show a little forgiveness and humility.

"Shake hands…"

Now that's the spirit.

Friendly Divorce Primer.

See Rob Dance.

Dance Rob! Dance!

Oh, no it's not the happy dance of celebration. It's the tentative minefield hop of a friendly divorce. Of the three options discussed in yesterday's blog, this is the maneuver MyUnwife and I chose to be our last waltz.

The friendly divorce is called "friendly," not because of the frat party abandon shared during the process, but because of the ice dance synchronization required to succeed. Each step, lift, and smile, is calculated, cold, and planned.

Spin her over the mine, slice left, now wave…

Skate Rob. Skate.

That's why it's not for everybody. You have to be getting along well enough to work through the compromise. If you're envisioning their head on your trophy wall, go ahead and skip the rest of today's blog. No hard feelings.

MyUnwife and I had hard feelings. We also had hard heads. Still, we put them together. It's something we were always good at. Oh, the final product may look like a pre-school Mona Lisa, but we always worked well enough together to complete the project.

So you need to be able to work together, if you want a friendly divorce. You also need to live in a "no fault" divorce state. Ok it's not a requirement, but it's really tough to be "friendly" when you're reamed by 20 quires of accusations. In a "No fault" divorce you can silently seethe at each other with a spit-wad of blame pressed into your cheek. Remember when you were 7 and your sister tattled on you for sneaking into the cookie jar without giving her any? You're Mom's sense of justice involved sticking you both in a room until you could "get along?" This is the same thing.

"I'm not touching you…"

Yeah, that sort of takes on a new meaning now. Sure, we're all adults. Whatever.

The upside to the Friendly divorce is it's the cheapest, and possibly the quickest, of all your options. If you can slug through this (sorry, poor choice of words. Slugging voids the "friendly."), then you can get out and on your way within 6 months (depending on state laws) without spending much more than copying costs and filing fees. It's much cheaper than hiring 1 lawyer, per player. Actually, it's cheaper than hiring 1 lawyer period.

If you're uncomfortable with legal forms, and are worried about completing them properly, there are tools to help you. MyUnwife and I used www.completecase.com. Complete Case is much like Turbo Tax. Both you and your partner sit in front of the computer, answer questions, and then print the forms.

For us, it was worth the 250 bucks. Making sense of legal forms would have been just one more long car trip without a map or a bathroom break: both of us pointing at pointless offramps and baffled by meaningless intersections. By the end of the night, she'd have come at me with the red Swingline 747, while I tried to knock her out with my paper punch.

Run Rob! Run!

No, one less stressor was worth the money. That does bring us to the downside of the "friendly" divorce. You have to dance like a team for one more song. Each move equal give, equal take. She spins, you hold. No matter how tempting it is to let her fly into the hutch full of china she's so determined that she's taking. Even though it was a gift from your Great Uncle (who's now dead) given to both of you. Crashing and breaking, each shard—Sorry, you get my point. Hold on to her. Let her have the hutch. Let's face it, you’re a paper plate kind of guy, and nobody's around to wash dishes anymore anyway. Take something useful like the refrigerator. Where else are you going to keep the beer?

My house…2, 3, 4…dip…your car…3, 4…and bow at the door…

Everything has to be this way. It's methodical and tedious, but chances are, you'll get more of what you want, if you compromise. I was never about the stuff, but I got what I needed. There were things I felt were mine, and I got most of those. I think she did too.

In the end, we're as happy as we can be, and still use the words "divorce" and "happy" in the same sentence.

See Rob smile knowingly.

Smile Rob Smile.