Tag Archives: Divorce

Contagious Hangovers

7 Jan

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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

You’ve Got Mail: The Text Edition

7 Sep

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When old acquaintances meet after a long spread of time, and play the “I remember” game…it kind of fascinates me how vastly the perspectives can change or how their past secrets and interpretations become revealed in retrospect.

History is a funny thing.

In the present tense, everyone is so very insistent to guard and protect their feelings, thoughts and intentions. Truth becomes the unspoken risk you never seem to take.  Which is asinine, because it is the only time that you are able to actually “do” anything about it.  But when you look back on a situation…after a certain amount of water has passed under the bridge, you realize how pointless it was to play your hand so close to the chest…to mistrust options or ideas…to hold back.

…Sometimes you miss out on things.

And yet, every once in a while, fate realigns you with a past opportunity (or person) from seemingly out of nowhere.  Suddenly, all the places that missed connection the last time, just don’t anymore. And what is exciting about that is skipping all the “crap parts” and going straight for the meat of the matter.  The conversation can get intense and goofy and real and wild and random…because there is zero judgement, expectation or care in attempting to be anything other than what you are, and where you are, in your life. 

“This is me, no holds bar,” you seem finally able to say.

Why is it different now?

Who knows.

…There is certainly no less baggage to carry. You’ve spent maybe the better part of a decade ADDING to the luggage set, not taking away from it. And there is no reason to assume that what might have happened once, will actually do so now,  just because a person writes another person out of the blue one day and says, “Hey, remember me?”

Of course I do.

…I remember the “you” back then, and you remember that “me.”

…And we will talk about the costume I was wearing, or that thing you said, or the party we went to…the other people around us at the time, and where their lives have lead to; like we are the oldest of friends and no time has really passed at all. You will tell me funny confidences. I will tell some of mine to you. And all the while in my head I’m thinking, “This might actually be one of the most bizarre conversations that I have ever had.”

“…It was that show, that’s when I thought that–”

” –You just liked the ‘boob’ dress is all.”

“…Whatever happened to [Him]?”

“–He got married…amazing woman…you’d like her a lot.”

“…And having drinks at that bar, after the other show?  My last one for a long while. The Ex never understood that whole deal…”

” There was a small group of us. Who-all was at the table…?”

” That was about five years later than the first show.  And about six before now.”

” …You were seeing that one girl at the time…”

” It was [blank], I think.”

“–I never met her.”

” Nice girl.”

” Then I heard you got married.  Had the boys and all.”

” And now…”

” And now.”

(Long pause.)

***

…Clearly, tonight has been a mind-fuck of “woa.”

…What I think I need most of all is a little bit of thoughtful perspective, here. I need to realize that though this is great, (catching up and all)…there is absolutely no reason that anything out of the ordinary, would somehow make anything “different” from where I was sitting yesterday.  After all, there are real ACTUAL obstacles that exist this time around, far larger than the scale we were playing with all those years ago.  Whole lives are in existence that were not, and relationships have ensued, and consequences must be dealt with…and all the things that life likes to throw at you when you are just trying to get through from one part of it to the next, are scattered all over the floors in both of our houses right now.

…Everything is so messy in the real world.  Which is a nightmare to people like me, who live with their “just so’s” of organized specificities. 

…And you CAN live like that. With the dedication of a Buddhist Monk.  I know.  I’ve practically mastered it.

…But what “if”…

…What “if” you feel like maybe…just for a second…you might not always want to?

…And what if, “Do you like wine?” is asked in total innocent and honest curiosity…because he knew you far before your pallet for it (and many other things) ever even existed.

“Ohhhhh. Yes…” I answer back via one of over 180 texts, now indexed just under his name.

“Woot!  I know just where we’ll go on our first ‘date’,” he says…waiting as to how I’ll respond to that.

…I’m sorta intrigued really, to find out myself.

…Will I “correct” him? Do the usual run-down of my philosophies on why I think “dating” is total complete shit? That it is an impetus for people to spend half their time covering up who they really are, pretending to be things they are not but assume the other person would really want?  Should I pick now to inform him that I also quite suck at “being a girl?” That I far prefer hanging out at the house in my pajama pants watching a movie, to dressing up like a hooker and joining in on the clubbing meat-market scene on a Friday night?  At what point do I bring up the fact that I refuse to be his mother (if he’s into that kinda deal)…that I’m really really stubborn, and sometimes I just need to be left the fuck alone.  Preferably with a book.  And why in the HELL is all this shit piling up and making me anxious just because of one word?

…One word.

It’s a word I avoid.  And always have.  At almost any cost. 

…And he said it so easily…just with a toss.  Like it took no effort in the least.  No anxiety of what the answer might be.  No worries on how I would take it, or what I would do with it, once it was “out there.”

The message just kept staring at me.

…Then I thought of the unbelievable balls it must have taken just to write me from out of nowhere to begin with.  Then make the effort to catch up with me.  Then listen as I tried to tell “amusing” anecdotes about people we know (or used to) and where they are now.  Then LOL at my stupid witticisms…and pretend I don’t horribly overuse the words “awesome” and “totally” and ellipsis in general.

This guy is STAND-UP.  HE: IS A MAN. 

…He has gone through God only knows how much of my shit from the “then” me, to the “now”…even in the last several hours.  And I think he deserves to get something out of all that, don’t you?

…But then I said, “I’m in,” anyway. 

…Because he doesn’t know yet, that me saying “no” would really just be doing him a favor.  And he might not know that for a couple of days .  But by the end of the “date,” I assure you: he will. 

…And THAT is when I will explain how sometimes, not getting what you think you wanted at the time, is really a “good” thing.

…However he responds after that, is when the real game actually begins.

Open bets. Any takers?

~D

The End Of An Era

15 Aug

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“Mawwage.  Mawwage is bwings us together, today…”

…Or rather, actually, it is what separates us…spikes lawyer fees, divides up all your friends and worldly possessions, pushes you through custody battles, and has you living on a couch in the garage or someone else’s basement.

Everyone I know is getting divorced. 

…That is a gross overstatement, but it feels like the truth, and is really bumming me out. 

I am of the age where we are demographically told this is all perfectly normal. “Depressing as fuck,” but “normal.” According to what everyone is “supposed to do:” Young twenties is for marrying, mid-to-late is for the baby-making, and once you cross the threshold of your thirties, you suddenly want to repeal all your past decisions…like a Politician…and start looking for exit strategies. 

I get it. 

Marriage is hard. 

I certainly couldn’t do it, and would never be dumb enough to try.

…But a lot of the yous are fairly good at it, seems like. It “wears” well on you…like a tailored suit.  All your little foibles and personal idiosyncrasies, (that might seem totally nut-balls to someone else), are accepted equipment to this person you’ve shared your life and bed with.  They’ve seen you at your pukiest.  They’ve seen you at your sexiest. They’ve been there for births and deaths, know all your secrets, and fears and pains.  The fact you survive this for any extended amount of time, and still come to the conclusion that “alone” is better?…That’s grim.

When I hear, “it just isn’t working out,” with regards to people I care about, it kinda stabs me in my closet romantical parts. I am too ashamed to yell “ouch” about it, cuz then you’d all find me out and stuff.  Instead, I’m sitting here with a current count of five knife wounds, seeping heart-ink.   Because I like you and your families and kids and crazy parent stuffs.  I admire your courage.  I think you’re all totally insane as well, yes, but someone needs to keep “society” moving forward, and better you than me.

…Also, I miss weddings.

I miss the “idea” of weddings.

…I miss the party that comes afterward; the many toastings of free alcohol, the vintage music, bad dancing, and inevitable squabble between new in-laws.  I miss flirting over the food tables, staunchly refusing to join the gladiator fight over the bouquet, downing more glasses of champagne than I intended to, and freely partaking of bad-choice decisions in make-out partners.  (Because everyone looks good in a tux…even your goober brother.)

In my head, it all plays like that movie: “Four Weddings and a Funeral.” Minus Andie MacDowell. (Therefore, only the good parts.)

…So now, not only am I losing my perfectly good matchmakers, crutch-couples, and default Holiday-families…I’m also not being given compensation prizes in the form of “replacement” weddings…which kills the best chance I have to acquire a decent date (and some side-action), for God knows how long.

It’s only fair substitution, really.  If you take one out, the universe should be prepared and obligated to replace it.  Otherwise, who’s going to take pity on all of the forever single friends? 

Who will have us as awkward “thirds” at parties, and introduce us to hot in-law cousins? Who will have tiny people to call us “Aunty,” which we are freely encouraged to hold and snuggle and corrupt, then hand back at day’s end?  Who will invite us for giant home-cooked meals in which it is completely understood we are only responsible to bring a bottle of wine? Or to house sit, and have the kind of two-person income that can afford all the good movie channels, (and maybe a hot tub?)

…Now they’re all gonna be back out here! In the cold, empty world! With me! How is that gonna help?!

…They know more things! They’re more adaptable! And intuitive!  They’re more reasonable people, with deep senses of responsibility and the fierce need to protect their young and rebuild a safe environment for them to grow in.  Now they are “friends” turned vicious Mama and Papa bear on the world…so it’s nothing “personal” or anything, but if there is any “good” to be had or any “decency”…at allwhatsoever…they’re gonna pounce on that shit!  And they will go all Lady-prison-B-movie, ape-shit, in order to achieve it.

…Which leaves me where, exactly?

Now I have no Holidays, no parties, no set-ups, no weddings…and now, even the “free potentials” walking around are gonna be sucked up by “professional” relationship-makers.

I am just screwed.

…And prob’ly never again, in the good way.

Thanks a LOT, inevitable early-thirties and your wishy-washy political exit schemes!

Thanks a lot.

~D

The Episode Where She Leaves Him

30 Jun

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You know how married people fight? 

…I mean the “epic” fighters…the real vocal-chord-shredding type.  I mean, like the Taylor and Burton kind of epicness?  Well, that has become the basic “norm” in the office in the past two months. 

…Boss sails in and dumps a bunch of shit on the two of us running the place, then books it to the nearest Happy Hour.  Even finding some that begin as early as 9:30 a.m. (Or so we are told.)  Basically, he has the manners of a dog…walks right up to your lawn, takes a GIANT dump on the clean carpet of green, and promptly leaves it for you to step in, then pick up, later.

…Also, he’s been yelling a lot. About everything.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU KNOW I NEEDED THIS WITHOUT TELLING YOU?! CAN YOU NOT READ MY MIND?!  WHERE IS THAT PAPER I HAD IN MY HAND TWO DAYS AGO WITH THE THINGY ON IT?!  WHERE IS THE TRUCK OF STOCK I FORGOT TO ORDER?! DOES NO ONE UNDERSTAND MY CHICKEN SCRATCH WRITING?! YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT WAS AN AUTOCORRECT AND WRONG! WHO STOLE MY STAPLER?!  WHY IS IT RAINING AGAIN?!  WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM WITH ME ALL OF A SUDDEN?! …I’M A VERY CHARMING INDIVIDUAL!! ASK ANYONE?!”

…Naturally, I yell back.

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DUMP SHIT AND JUST LEAVE?! HOW DOES FACEBOOKING FOR NINE HOURS CONSTITUTE ‘WORKING?!’  IF YOU DON’T ORDER THE STOCK, WE HAVE NOTHING TO SELL!  WHY AM I SPENDING THREE HOURS GETTING YOUR BONUS FOR YOU WHILE YOU DRINK JOHNNY WALKER ON ICE, DOWN THE STREET?  STOP CONTACTING ME AFTER HOURS! WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A GIANT DOUCHBAG?!”

We have an odd mechanic of a relationship, I know.

…Over the five years working with him, I have become so indispensable that I’ve been told to my face, even if I (say for giggles), decided to burn the place to the ground tomorrowhe would take the heat for it.  Because he knows very little (if anything) of what I actually do in a day.  All he knows is: it gets done.  All of the “it.”  The arrangement we have , goes something like: He never changes his ways, and after I reach a point where I cannot take it ANYMORE, I blow up at him, royally.  He takes it.  He leaves to find a bar.  I sit and keep doing paperwork. 

It’s not perfect, I grant you.  But it is our “system.”

…But the “system” has been cooking with extra steam since our last job contract came through, and now there is little, if any, reprise, ‘tween one fight and the next.  Our office marriage has become the most idyllic poster child for “divorce” that you have ever seen.  We just grip each other’s throats  and tear, on a nearly daily basis.

…Which is one of many reasons that I am now looking for a new place of employment.

…But, WHY the extra-oomph of hell at the office all of a sudden?

Among many reasons, a new one popped up, mid-yell over the phone yesterday.

***

He: …I MEAN, JUST MAKE IT FREAKING HAPPEN!  WHAT IS YOUR DAMN PROBLEM?!

Me: YOU!! YOU ARE MY DAMN PROBLEM!  I’M ALREADY ON MY FIFTH REPORT THAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING RIGHT NOW.  I’VE ALREADY DROPPED EVERYTHING I’VE BEEN DOING TODAY TWICE TO GET THIS CRAP DONE.  PLUS, I WAS ON VACATION LAST WEEK, AND AM TRYING TO FIX ALL THE SHIT YOU SCREWED UP!

He: HEY, AT LEAST I TRIED!!

Me: THIS ISN’T GRAMMAR SCHOOL!  YOU DON’T GET POINTS FOR NOT KNOWING HOW TO DO YOUR JOB FIVE-YEARS-IN, BUT FINALLY DECIDING TO GIVE IT A “GO” ON A THURSDAY AT 3:35 PM!

He: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!  WHAT IS YOUR DEAL?! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST DO WHAT I’M ASKING YOU?!

Me: I AM!! OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE OTHER TWELVE THINGS YOU DUMPED ON ME ALREADY TODAY?

***

…Etc.

It has become the kind of volatile atmosphere that breeds heartburn and migraine headaches (Me). And flagrant morning-alcoholism (He).  And we don’t even have to be in the same building to achieve it. But even though the stress and contracts and numbers have been a HUGE contributing reason as to why we have been pushed to the kind of stress we currently boil in, all day every day…it has gotten considerably worse.

At first, I thought I was rubbing off on him. 

When I’m good n’ pissed, I can be quite a bitch.  It’s true.  I kinda own it.  But he was never a cusser in the average day-to-day…and he yelled very little.  Now, he’s like a hydrogen bomb.  Which means, naturally, so am I.  So there we go, day in, day out, exploding like beach hits at Normandy…

***

He: …WELL, NOW I WANT YOU TO DO THIS ‘OTHER’ OTHER THING. SO DROP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND MAKE IT HAPPEN!

Me: LOOK, I’M ALREADY DOING THIS REPORT THAT I HAVE TO SEND TO YOU BY FOUR…SO YOU CAN WRITE YOUR NAME ON IT LIKE A HIGH SCHOOLER, AND TURN IT INTO THE TEACHER.  I DON’T HAVE TIME TO DO BOTH!

He:  SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW THEN, HUH?!  I NEED THIS THING!

Me: THEN I SUGGEST YOU PAY THE BAR TAB , GO FIND A PLACE WITH WIRELESS, AND DO IT YOURSELF! JUST THIS ONCE.  YOU’LL SURVIVE. I PROMISE YOU.

He: LOOK, I CAN’T HANDLE THIS!  I CAN’T HANDLE THIS! WHY DON’T YOU JUST DO WHAT I’M TELLING YOU?!

Me: I  AM!!!!!  I DON’T JUST SHIT REPORT ANALYSIS!  IT REQUIRES FIGURING OUT.  WHICH IS ACTUALLY YOUR JOB.  THIS IS MY FIFTH ONE I’VE DONE FOR YOU TODAY!  I’M ONE PERSON!!! ONE PERSON!

He: YEAH, WELL?!  WE ALL HAVE “PROBLEMS,” DON’T WE?!  I “NEED” THIS THING AND “DON’T HAVE IT.”  YOU HAVE THINGS I DON’T NEED, BUT WON’T GIVE ‘EM TO ME…!

Me: WHAT?! YOU’RE NOT EVEN MAKING SENSE NOW!

He: — YEAH, WE AAAAALLLLL HAVE “PROBLEMS,” !  EXCEPT SOME PEOPLE.  THEY HAVE EVEN BIGGER ONES…!!!

Me: –WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT…??!!

He: — OH GEE, YOU HAVE TOO MANY REPORTS TO DO…OH GEE, I’M BEING AN ASSHOLE TO YOU…WELL, AT LEAST YOUR WIFE DIDN’T JUST LEAVE YOU!

Me: — I DON’T HAVE A WIFE!  

He: — YEAH WELL, I JUST FOUND OUT: SHE DOES

(Beat of total silence.)

He: THAT’S RIGHT!! SHE LEFT ME!  FOR A WOMAN!  AND DON’T GO TELLING ANYONE! CUZ I DIDN’T MEAN TO SAY IT OUT LOUD!  AND NOW IT ACTUALLY FEELS EVEN WORSE!! SO SHUT UP ABOUT IT! AND WHEN THE HELL WILL THAT OTHER REPORT GET DONE, ANYWAY?!?!?

(The line falls to death on both ends.)

Me: I’m starting it now.

He: WELL, ALRIGHT THEN!

***

It’s probably the only fight in History that I have ever “thrown.”  Willingly. On purpose.  And immediately.  I figured, just this once, maybe it wasn’t essential that I “win.”

I feel it was the right choice. 

…Course, ask me again on Monday and it’ll prob’ly be an entirely different story.

~D

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