Meanhood Rogues Gallery: The Ex-Boss

6 Jul

I have a weakness for the weak.

It is the cliché that we all know about, give me a broken man and I can fix him.  It isn’t as literal of a feeling as it’s explanation, but ultimately I know almost whimsically “here I go, my heart is warming up because here is a bird with broken wings who will need my help to take flight.”

I blame my grandmother who regularly used to rescue bees in that same fashion.  Although like broken boys bees also have stingers, and while I was scared of the stinger my grandma assured me that the hurt honeybees she rescued from the burning concrete would never use their stingers.

How wrong she was.

My predilection towards ones needing therapy has led to a rogue’s gallery of exes that would rival Batman’s in terms of socio-pathology, garish evil plots, and eccentric costumes.  I hesitated to write about them before, but I no longer care (and have moved blogs) therefore the first of our villains.

The Ex-Boss

I was invited to a party by the Ex-Boss this fourth of July. I arrived with friends in tow and was greeted by him.  He stands 6 feet and 5 inches.  He had lost ten pounds but had previously gained around 40, he seemed nice if not bug-eyed as was usual. The story of our first encounter will be written about at another time but know that it involved lots of alcohol and some cocaine.

“What- you- are- wearing is indecent no-w go- home- and change,” was his greeting, he pointed at my tank top as I was wearing it and shorts because it was 100 degrees out.  I hugged him as a hello and presented him with beer.  The reason for our breakup happened when he became three things in quick succession: Fat. Mean. Unemployed.

Ex-boss lead me to the booze and to his friend who grabbed my head and inspected my sides.  I was thinking that since I hadn’t seen his friend in a while that he would be wondering about my new haircut.  He surprised me when he said, “you don’t have white hairs like Ex-Boss says you do.”

Awhile back a few of us went shopping after work and the Ex-Boss unceremoniously showed up. Once we walked into a store he looked at me and in his bizarre cadence shouted while pointing at my head, “HAH wo-w you have-lots-of-white-ha-irs now! Look look,” he clasped my head like Hamlet clasped Yorick’s skull and probed my scalp with roving chameleon-like eyes. “See he-re and he-re…”

I scoffed at the Ex-Boss friend, “what can I say, he’s a hater.”

This was a party however, and I came to do just that.  I met some interesting people and when the fireworks fired up the sky it was time for me to bid adieu.  The following day one of my coworkers said, “I lolled when I said ‘I was surprised to see Kevin wearing a tanktop’ and Ex-Boss said “yeah especially since he isn’t summer ready.'”

On my way home I wondered what it means to have an ex like this.  This was my deepest and longest relationship, 5 months (1 year in gay years) with no official proclamations of love until AFTER the break up where I received several belatedly sent texts saying that I was–and I quote– “missed!!!!!!!!!”  (and those were sent after Ex-Boss drank an entire bottle of rum by himself).  I then wondered about divorce and how prevalent it is in this country, and by turn, how utterly broken we are.  It’s like the line in one of my favorite Arcade Fire songs: Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.

And honestly, I’m a little jealous of Ex-Boss.  You see, my heart was torn when I was 18, and I think his heart is torn up now, it is a fresh heart at the age of 29. My heart-however- remainins filled with nothing.  Maybe I’m not allowing myself to be hurt.  Damn, I think I’m closer to my mother than I thought I was.  She was the ice queen that toppled men with gratuitous passive aggressiveness.   I want to be different from my relatives though, I want to be awesome, but does part of that mean I should...

…give a shit?

The reason I put up with this from Ex-Boss?  I can smell his fear.  I’m no Jessica Rabbit, but you could always tell when Roger was freaking out over her and that’s all this was, freaking out. Plus my mother did offer a piece of advice that I think is useful and I will treasure to this day:

“Hater’s gonna hate.”

Well that was the gist of what she said anyway.

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