My little desert bestie Rhonda Rae (Ron) officially turned 80 years old last week. He’s old as fuck! I’ve always respected my elders, for the most part and now I’m surrounded by old fucks. They are everywhere, I love it, it’s glory hole… I mean glorious. I just never imagined these old mother fuckers would be so much fun to hang out with, make me laugh so much, and that they’d steal a big piece of my heart. I never envisioned bonding or befriending an 80-year-old who isn’t a family member. It just happened that way and I’m happy about it. He totally ducked me, no that’s not a typo (you dirty birds). I mean he imprinted on me like a baby fucking duck and I think vice versa. Were a couple of QUACKERS! He’s just an 80-year-old quacker!
My adopted son used to say when he was younger, “I caught feelings….”, when he liked or cared about a girl. Well, I caught the feelings for Ron too. They are not romantic feelings; they are chosen family feelings. He’s my chosen family here and we seem to lean on each other for support. I care about that old cranky bitch. I also care that he doesn’t die a miserable death from Covid.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that old perv wants to bury his face in my butt, but no hunty, no. You are my mister sister. However, I’ll flash that dirty old man on his 80th birthday, and every birthday that follows, until he dies. Let me clarify, he’s 80 years old, how many more birthdays is he going to have? Let that dirty old man have some happy times in his last few chapters of his life. Afterall, I have done more, shown more, worn less, just like many of you dirty birds do at the Barracks on a Sunday. (And of all days to show booty at da club… on the day of the Lordt.)
I had Ron’s birthday planned differently in my head. It was supposed to go a totally different direction. Instead, we got covid. I was so worried that Ron wasn’t going to survive Covid that I may have even shed a tear, but don’t tell that old bitch that.
I worked in Utah emergency rooms through the bulk of the pandemic and watched old people or people with preexisting health conditions go in and some never made it out. I’m so glad that cranky old Ron didn’t die on me and that he was too stubborn to let Covid win. I would have felt guilty, being the one who caught it first, I likely gave it to him.
I remind you Ron is 80. That old crusty hoe could go any day, and I don’t want to be the reason he dies. I’d rather be a “day maker” and help him remember a few good reasons why to live and laugh. I think I do a good job in that regard, but I admit I get caught up with life and could probably do better. No, I can do better.
Ron’s friend from Ann Arbor, Michigan came into town to celebrate the BIG 8-0 and was greeted and received by Covid. I caught covid, gave it to Ronda and then he or I gave it to his friend- it was awful. Mr. Michigan was quite impressive though; in that he was a true friend to Ron. He could have hightailed it out of there after finding out about Covid and checked himself into a hotel, took an Uber to the Barracks to enjoy the Lordt’s day on his knees, but he stayed with Ron. He took such good care of him when he needed it the most. Covid just hit the two of us so suddenly that we were down for the count. That covid bitch was awful!
Ron also has some amazing neighbors/friends/chosen family. They were gracious enough to jump through the hoops to get the covid medication for Ron when he was bed bound. At that time, I had just started my own Covid medication, but through all the snot and coughing I knew I was seeing something special happening. I was witnessing something beautiful, human connection, love for thy neighbor kinda shit, respect for your elders, treat others like you would like to be treated, tribal love type actions, and take care of each other kind of behavior that spoke to my inner core; everything except for a reach around.
It was all the sweet warm things I hope happen if I get to make it to 80 and I get sick. Watching his lifelong best friend and neighbors come together and act as a family, act for the betterment of Ron, and step up when shit gets rough has me really hopeful that I did choose the right place to live. I look forward to making my own lasting friendships over the next few years and will be sad when it’s Ron’s time to check out of the Desert Oasis.
I realize, like many others, when I get into the fight or flight mode, I tend to hunker down and let time do her thang. Cause there’s truth to that old saying, time is one of the best healers. I also realize that time is limited, and I can and need to do better about building relationships out here. I’m just as nervous and wounded as many of you other desert rats (I prefer the term “desert bunny”). It’s challenging to put down our shields and let others in- especially when we are so used to being attacked for who we are. I vow to make a habit of putting down my shields more. I will make myself more available, I will do better.
Buried in blankets, used tissues, nasal sprays and puppies, I found time to catch up on some shows. I was watching Drew and Ross Motherfuckin Mathews do their happy news. They talked about flaky friends and how fucked up it is to make plans with your friends and then cancel on them at the last minute. I’m guilty of this sooo much, but I feel like I should explain a little bit. After all, if you are a desert bunny were going to eventually cum- I mean come across or on each other sometime in the future. Were bound to cross paths.
I think I describe myself as a feeler or intuitive in a sense, but I think it’s more likely that childhood trauma often gives us an unintended superpower. We can read situations and sometimes people quickly. Who is friend and who is foe? This unintended superpower allows us to foresee and assess for danger at a drop of popper’s lid.
With my job, I have to be an active listener. It can be a stressful job to be so open and receptive to someone else. Then doing that 8 times a day and doing that 5 times a week is exhausting and painful. (That’s up to 40 people- that’s a lot.) At the end of the week, there are times I just don’t have any more conversations left to have and that night out for drinks is appearing more like a chore than it is a relief. Throw in a tight budget, things hitting my bank account unexpectedly, or forgetting how tight my budget is can really be the deciding factor if I’m going to get on my knees to worship at the Barracks on the Lordt’s Day. I know I need to do better, show up more, plan better, and I can do better.
Rhonda has been talking about spreading his husband’s ashes up in the mountains since I met him, “Cause that’s what he wanted.” He chose that Covid filled Saturday, while his friend was visiting to do it. With a mask on my face, the three of us took a drive up to Idyllwild to find the perfect spot. What a beautiful fucking drive and an even more beautiful little town.
Ron isn’t always as forthcoming with the facts or the whole truth as one would like. He’s 80, he gets a pass. Example, little did I know just how deep or meaningful Mr. Michigan and Rhonda’s friendship really was before this drive. You see, Mr. Michigan also brought up some of his husband’s ashes to spread with Rhonda’s husband’s ashes, because they were all such good friends. Both departed husband’s names were Rick (short for Richard). I’ve come to find out their friendship is one of 38 years, it has passed the test of time.
I was 7 years old when the two couples met each other, back when they were young gay men. Back when it was a lot less safe to be out as gay or to love another man in public or in private for that matter. Long before gay marriage was allowed, each of the 4 men had found their husbands (2 of the 4 were named Richard). They found their life partners and then found lifelong friendships in each other on a vacation in 1984 to Key West. They would meet up almost every year after that and travel together. Two Ricks, a Rhonda and Mr. Michigan.
They’ve gone to Chicago, Florida, Indianapolis, Ann Arbor, and Sagatuck together, just to name a few. I did find out some naughty shit happened in Sagatuck and I’m supposed to go experience it one day; hopefully. And nope, they never did a foursome. How do I know? Cause I asked like a nosey bitch and the raciest thing they did with each other was three of them held the fourth down, pulled down his drawers in order to shave his pubes.
Wait? You weren’t wondering if they boinked each other’s brains out when they were young? Don’t lie.
As we pulled off the side of the road where there was a steep cliff, I watched Mr. Michigan and Ron walk side by side to their desired spot. It was a quiet walk and I could see they were reflecting on the past, as they stole looks from one another.
Mr. Michigan pulled out a small bottle filled with some of his husband’s ashes as I watched Ron pull out the urn with his Rick’s ashes. Ron refused to say any last words as they walked up to the spot. He said he didn’t want to say anything because he didn’t want to cry. I think this was the best time to cry if there ever was one. Celebrating the fact they found their person in this crazy world, had long marriages, long commitments, long friendships, long lives and how much they missed their husbands should bring a tear to our eyes. Acknowledging that love and their friendship in that silent moment was loud, no words needed. They were both Rick-less but now they have each other. Yea, I think that’s the perfect time to cry in gratitude.
They both spread their husband’s ashes and Ron couldn’t get them all out of the bag, so I helped him. The wind blew some of the ashes up and into my eye. I wanted to say, “I think your husband just came in my eye,” but I could tell it wasn’t the right moment.
The ashes were spilled into the same sand and the wind mixed them together and blew some in the air. They planned to spread their husband’s ashes together and I didn’t even know about it. It’s such a beautiful gesture to make for the person you loved the most in the world to be at rest with someone they loved. This way the two Ricks could be together, literally forever in one of the most welcoming queer places that I’ve ever been. What cool friendships to learn about and what a beautiful way to end such happy marriages, by honoring their loved ones in this way.
That’s what I mean when I say there’s so much more to look forward to here. I feel like I haven’t even taken off my desert training wheels yet. I aim to do better personally and not allow my own trauma to keep my shields of protection up. I don’t want to drive any wedges between me and this wonderful community. I want to be as open and free as I can possibly be here. I feel more at home here than I have anywhere else for as long as I can remember. I hope to make many lasting friendships like the one Ron and Mr. Michigan have. I have a lot to look forward to and I can do better about fostering good, lasting, loving, maybe even naughty friendships here and my future’s possibilities have never been more exciting. I can do better about putting myself out there for new friendships and maybe a Rick of my own.
In about another month, I’ll be coming up on a year in the desert. I’ve met a few people and it’s been a fun and weird year. I haven’t developed any best friendships (other than Ron) yet. But I don’t feel lonely. I feel safe, or at least a little less safe than when I originally arrived here. (Because there’s always a rude mean lying bitch out there- even here in the desert. I can see a few of them clearly now.) It’s still a safe and happy feeling to be around so many homos all the time. I love that a gay mecca like Palm Springs exists for all of us.
In Love and Future Friendships,
Quack- The Happy Homo
PS There are so many benefits to having older friends. I think the inner selfish beeoch in me loves to be the younger looking one. Botox, eye creams, Dove Soap, and fillers are eventually going to give way to gravity, but until then and even after, I will surround myself with older beeoches (namely Ron). They make me look younger than I am. It’s a very mutualistic part of a symbiotic relationship.
PSS Yes, I’m still upset about my last job and how everything went down. Disgusted by how sabotaged and retaliatory everything felt and was. I can either live in that anger or I can move the fuck on. I want to move on. I just now know a couple of the flowers out here can’t be trusted and smell like shit. Lesson learned. The establishment itself, I still love. It needs to be here for people like me and you, I hope forever. My hope is they hire someone who is not just great for that department, but also competent and honest. Nonetheless, I still get to use my voice to tell my story. Hopefully my voice will help them see they should treat their employees better. They can and should do better. I’m not just going to forfeit my voice, I’m not the fucking Little Mermaid. OMG I can’t wait to go see it!
PSS After All we do all have to coexist together in this glory hole… I mean glorious desert. Hopefully the symbiotic relationships can all be Mutualism or Commensalism based. We are all in it together. I hope that our very own gay ecosphere continues to be a place a bitch can continue to have a voice, be heard, love and be loved.
PSSS I’m looking for the Ron and Mr. Michigan type of friendships. I hope I know you when I see you.
PSSSS Earlier I said, “I never envisioned bonding or befriending an 80-year-old who isn’t a family member.” Well Rhonda Rae you are my chosen family here. I hope you stick around for a long ass time. I also hope that you get over yourself and start using that damn cane or a wheelchair to get around quicker and safer. Just my opinion, it’s your life, your last chapters- you gotta live it.
PSx5 OMFG Idyllwild is beautiful and I got to see some wild flowers in bloom. It was fucking cool! Wish I would have felt better but it was BEAUTIFUL! I can’t wait to go back.
PSx6 After my last day at my old employer, I did a go fund me to help me with my new adventure of being my own boss and starting my own private practice. Although it didn’t raise as much as I wanted, it was enough to be a motivator. Sometimes having a few people or even just one person believe in me is enough to keep my super gay flame glowing. I hope we do that for each other here- believe in each other and each other’s dreams, hopes and desires. I hope we help each other manifest great things- I hope all of our dreams come true.
PSx7 I love queer stories, queer friendships and learning how to be fully comfortable in my own queerness and not dim my queerness for anyone.
PSx8 I missed my first white party. I’ll get to experience it one day- first things first. Job, security, safety, housing, and fun naughty times will cum/come. 😊 It’s been a year of missing a lot of fun things here in PS. This next year- I want to party-cipate.
PSx9 I’ve been busy getting this private practice stuff together. The insurance credentialing piece is a nightmare and is not a fast process. I’m also going to learn how to do the billing myself and maybe after I’ve mastered it for a year, I will bring on another therapist. Possibilities are endless. TOWANDA!
PSx10 Ron is feeling much better after taking the covid meds, me too. We both still have a bunch of snot/drainage. Hopefully that will be gone in no time. Covid sucks. I’ve avoided it until now and gosh it was something terrible. Totally a man-made vicious virus. Thank God and the Lordt for meds.
PSx11 Having my own practice will allow me to only schedule 6 clients a day and avoid burnout. There’s no fun in living just to work and being worked to the point I’m all talked out and so burned out I avoid any other human beings for the rest of the day. That’s not healthy … it is rewarding but not healthy for me. I look forward to finding my after-work bar/hangout routine in the near future.
PSx12 I love working with you homosexuals. It makes me a happy homo. More info to come about my private practice… I think I’m slated to open for cash paying clients on 6/15. I’m still vigorously working on the insurance contracts. They are a pain in the arse- and not the good kind.
