For some reason, I thought that once Boss got a steady girlfriend, he would start to calm down.
…He strangely enough, actually picked an age-appropriate one, so I got some silly idea that a grown woman just wouldn’t put up with his mid-life-crises-boozopoly-of-ridiculousness, insisting he suck it up and stay somewhat in control. So far she hasn’t been much in the way of positive influence. He’s not getting any worse, so at least there is that, but it’d be a damn feat of major achievement to sink lower on the scale than he’s already resting at…in the direction of which his personal life of woe has taken him.
To be fair, his wife DID leave him for a woman.
…If you weren’t here for that episode, by all means catch up here.
I find, (after years of careful study), that when a man of a certain age who has been married forever, all of a sudden finds himself wifeless once more…he’s gonna do either one of two things:
1) Revert back to his early College years of never shaving, showering, changing his underwear, doing laundry, eating anything not out of a fast food bag, and walking around smelling like a distillery all the time.
2) Revert back to his later College years of bathing in Aqua Velva, buying ridiculous man-toys (usually in red, with rims), sporting sunglasses (even when it’s raining, and dark, at 7 a.m.), wearing his hat all the time (only backwards), to cover thinning hair…and dressing in tracksuits (with the crotch down to his knees) with blinding white trainers…like he thinks he’s Lil Wayne, and not a 260 lb-plus, bald, white man.
…Boss took the second option, threw in a case of energy drinks and a lot of cheap whiskey, and ran with it.
It’s been a very disturbing ride to have to witness.
I don’t think he owns actual “pants” anymore, for instance.
…Certainly his Dockers and belts have gone by way of the Caveman, now that there is no one to pick out his clothes for him in the morning. I suspect that the new line of track suits he’s been living in ever since the break up, are actually servicing as both PJs AND day-wear, as most days (when or if he actually comes into the office…at or around noon or later) he looks like he’s just rolled out of, if not “bed,” at least directly off a counter top, or couch or the seat of his truck cab, and walked in the door.
You can’t hide the perpetual hangover look, even with Oakleys and ten gallons of aftershave splashed on to attempt it.
…Then there is the potty mouth.
I have ALWAYS owned the title of Absolute Curse Master, here at the office. Always. This has never in the history of ever, (going on it’s sixth year), ever been disputed. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into it. Almost no one, outside of David Mamet, could out “shit-to-the-asshole-pissing-dickface-sunofabitching-pigfucker” their natural inclination to get verbally, offensively, pissed off…with more power…than me.
…But Boss has been trying.
…And it sounds ridiculous.
…Because these words do not come to him with the natural poetic fluidity that it does to one who has studied it as an artform…so it is forced and heavily repetitive and wholly without imagination or love of the language and musicality of it.
You have to fucking respect the goddamn structure of a correctly pissed-off sentiment, for shits sake. You don’t just throw “fucks” around at random, every third word. Unless you’re from the projects, a gang, Boston, Scotland, or Ireland.
EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT.
…Basically, his current lifestyle, (since snipping free from the Lipstick Lesbian who has been training him on how to be a human for the past I-dunno years)…has become a wincing, sigh-inducing, train wreck…leaving us nearly perpetually without an authorizing signature when we need things, a WHS Pimp at his wit’s end without any building report projections, or correct Inventory accumulations, literature and sign prep…a thoroughly pissed-off contingent of Contractors still waiting (since November) for authorization on expense checks and Hotel per diems…and a me…getting yelled at for the 11th time, cuz the “who-de-haw” on that one build STILL hasn’t been repaired, due to the fact that we STILL haven’t gotten a fucking truck order in as yet.
…And this is just ending the “slow season.”
This Friday, we will be opening THREE road shows at the same time…which coincidentally, is ALSO my show’s Opening Night.
…And Boss KNOWS this…
…As I have been reminding him of it DAILY for two weeks.
…So, as my sleepless, perpetually line-running brain, arrived at work at 7:52 this morning and was told by WHS Pimp that Boss wouldn’t be in today, because he didn’t want us to catch his hangover…cuz he’s thoughtful that way…I sorta, a little bit, lost my shit.
It was really a pity he wasn’t here to hear it.
…Cuz I feel it would have grown his cursing lexicon of available string-theory vocabulary, significantly.
And I feel really bad about that.
~D
