Earlier this week I read Boomer's book Perfect I'm Not about eight years after I should have and it definitely gets my endorsement. If you know anything about David Wells, it's about what you'd expect. His co-author did a fine job of letting Boomer's voice and attitude shine through. As I mentioned the last time I wrote about Wells here, I've always been a fan of him, even when he wore pinstripes; I find him so relatable. As a young adult, he experienced periods of homelessness, a situation I've been in a few times in my life. As it turns out, I'm there again. The day I began reading this, I had a home; the next day when I finished it, I did not. As is the case with most of the less than desirable scenarios I find myself in, this one was of my making- or at least mostly. One of my roommates, a disgusting, loudmouthed, self-centered ogre who I had grown to hate more than life itself decided it would be a good idea to talk a bunch of mess behind my back and when confronted on it be a snotty smartass. I just left at that point. When I came back later that night after a few adult beverages and a lot of stewing, all it took was one little cutesy remark to set me off on a year's worth of angry, hateful ranting. I said some things that a human being should never say to another, regardless of how true they are. I guess I threw the term "drug-whore" around a good bit and concluded the whole thing with something to the effect of "Every morning, I wake up and want to die! Well, now I have a reason to live. I want to live as long as it takes so I can one day piss on your grave!" Yeah. Not pretty stuff. Needless to say, that was the line-crosser and I promptly found myself out on my ass. Like Boomer before me, I was provided shelter by my friends. I really do have the best of friends, both those here whom I've known most of my life and those across the country that I have yet to meet in person. I love you guys; without you, there would be no me.
