Hey gurrrl, heeey! I haven’t written lately cause I’m getting over a cold, a rough election cycle, and the nearing loss of a dear friendship. I’ve even already started the mourning process. I did not have on my BINGO card, “Be Besties with an Oldman” when I moved to Palm Springs. But nonetheless that Oldman has been a big part of my Palm Springs experience, and it has been (mostly) great.
So, I moved here a little over two years ago and was introduced to a 79-year-old white man (at the time) by his daughter. Since then that bitch has aged against my advice and turned 81 (and I always tease him that he’s 82-85). He’s going to be moving to Utah this Sunday to be closer to his family and because he’s reached the point in his life that he needs a little more care than he has right now and that’s going to be a loss for me. (But it is the next phase of life for him.)
He’s been an anchor or home base for me here in the desert, in a time when I didn’t know anybody. So maybe I latched on a little too tight to the first person I met? Maybe just like a baby duck he imprinted on me? Or I on him? I don’t know but the results proved to be worth it. It turned out to be love… I know he cares about me, and I care about him.
Utah is where I came from. Yup, I was born and raised in Utah and my parents were born and raised in Texas. (Just putting it out there should our immigration status ever be challenged in the future.) I come from a family with proud Texan roots. Let’s hope our American lives are not further disrupted by the hate of others. I digress…
Rhonda Rae and I have been out and about hitting up his favorite spots for “one last time”. I’ve taken a whole bunch of “Last Night at the ….” pictures. His favorite place is the Roost, and we’ve had a many of great evenings there and the other day was only slightly different then so many we’ve shared before. We talked about what guys we had a crush on at the bar, just like normal. Checked out crotches and butts, just like normal. Drank a little too much, just like normal. Laughed a whole bunch, just like normal. And Ron called out some bad toupees, just like normal. But it wasn’t a normal night- this was our last night there together.
He usually sits across from me at the table, but his little pretty blue old man eyes are always looking around the room and not at me. He’s a people watcher and a shit talker. It makes for a fun evening. On this night, his blue eyes weren’t just looking around like they normally do. He was takin it all in. I could tell he was taking mental pictures in his mind to take with him on his journey. In his long blinks, I could see sadness and relief as he looked around to see a bar full of gay people- just like him. He was at home. He was present at that moment and he was enjoying it.
To my surprise, that old crazy lady actually paid the tab that night and for lunch the next day. (Better late than never gramps.) Although I complain about getting the tab a lot of the time, it’s worth it for me. I’m a person who needs to love someone- it doesn’t have to be sexual. And he’s proven to be my family out here when my own is very far away. He’s been someone I can love safely, and I soooo needed that. Besides if we were ever to get chased by a coyote, I only have to outrun him. It is a safe friendship to be a part of.
I asked a server at the Roost to take a pic with Ron at the end of the night, they are all so sweet there and accommodating. I really never predicted having an 81-year-old as my primary source of friendship here in the desert. If I think on it too hard it may not make sense to the outside world, but it does to me. He makes me laugh, we argue, and it just feels really good for someone to look at me with love (even if I have to remind him that we’re just friends). It feels good to be loved and it feels good to love.
Sometimes I think he forgets that he’s 81 and sometimes I think I forget he’s 81. I’d asked him a long time ago if he wanted me to treat him like an 80-year-old? He said, “Hell no.” I think my reply was something like, “Well good bitch cause I see you Rhonda Rae.” I may also be guilty of forgetting to acknowledge that I still have some life left in me at 41… fine- 47. I just struggle with finding balance between work and play and not letting play fuck up my ability to put a roof over my head. Like I’ve said before, I finally feel like I am getting a chance to thrive here for the first time in my life and I don’t want to fuck that up.
Ron told me the other day that he talked to a nurse at his new Assisted Living Facility and told her I was his “boyfriend.” I smiled and realized although sometimes it does feel like I am married to an 85-year-old man – I’m not. “We are not boyfriends. I love you and if I was your boyfriend, you would have been paying for everything that we ever did. EVERYTHING! You didn’t. You’re cheap and I love you old lady. You are my best friend here.”
Here’s the real truth- it sure does feel like love …it also hurts like love. My heart breaks cause good byes are not something I’m great at. Our friendship and love feels just like any other deep kind of love that I’ve ever been privileged to feel. It feels good sometimes and sometimes it hurts. That’s love isn’t it? Sometimes that old bitch says the wrong racist thing and we talk about it, and I get over it.
Most of the time he’s so grossly cheap it annoys me and then I realize that the cheapness is where he gets his dopamine hit! Saving a few dollars is where his dopamine button is. Why would I deprive him of that joy? It’s bad for me but it brings a smile to that old man’s face.
Regardless, we aren’t boyfriends but there is love. When I did ask the tarot cards last year about our friendship, I pulled the “Lover’s Card.” At that time, I thought, whatevs crazy tarot, but today I know that it was right, I have a lot of love for that crazy old wrinkly …saying the wrong thing all the time…cheap hoe.
My goodness, I’ve been in the hospital with him time and time again. I’ve shampooed his bodily fluids from his rug. Picked up food and medicine for him when he couldn’t. And I’ve given him my time and attention. Went with him and his friend to spread their husband’s ashes on a beautiful mountain and his husband’s ashes flew back into my open mouth. I commented as I was spitting the ashes out of my mouth, “I think I just blew your husband.” (And they laughed). So many phone calls and sentiments of love and friendship. I’m going to miss him.
Taylor Swift sings, “I can do it with a broken heart…” and I just want to say so can I and I have been. I realize that I’ve been doing it with a broken, mended, and then rebroken heart for years. We homos are no stranger to heartbreak or trauma. Yet, we insist (for equality) and persist (in love).
I came here with a broken heart because my adopted son chose a different path instead of being in a family with me. And I so badly wanted a family back then and it broke my heart. I also had a broken heart for so many shared reasons like many people in our community, but I persisted. I came here feeling like a political refugee because Utah became full of mean-times, and it just didn’t feel safe like it once did. That was heart breaking.
So even if there is another break in my heart for him leaving, I am still a better person because I did step out of my comfort zone and made a cheap, cranky, funny, naughty, old man my bestie. I win because in my longing for a family- I found him.
When we break down friendships to the rawest form, isn’t it about feeling loved, safe, and accepted? I felt that with Rhonda Rae and if you aren’t doing enough to welcome older people into your circles then… well.. then I think your missing out. You should.
In Friendship & Acceptance
The Happy Homo
PS And I’ve cried throughout the week and yesterday, the last day that I believed I was going to see Rhonda Rae. Then I realized after being sad throughout the day, that my own life is starting a new chapter. What is that chapter going to be? Who is going to be in it? Why am I all the sudden so horny? Will we survive the apocalypse?
PSS In our last hug we shared an “I love you and am going to miss you.” I rolled my tear filled eyes and said, “Give me your hand.” He did. I put it on the outside of my pants – on my junk. “There, you happy? Now you’ve felt me. You old dirty bird.” He smiled. 🙂
PSSS We are all capable of doing great things -even with a broken heart. Don’t let heartache stop you. Love can come in so many different forms and ages. He deserves love just like I do. 🙂 So even if we enter into some mean-times as a country- don’t let your broken heart keep you from loving and trying. Let it be your motivator.
PSSSS Ugh, now whose glasses am I going to barrow to read the menu when I go out? Greeeeeeeat- now I’m going to have to start taking my glasses with me? Ugh. The pic is him wearing my glasses for once. I’m gonna miss that crazy old lady!
