Hedgehogs Running Amok

Pudd was my best friend through all of Elementary School. We didn’t have much in common. He was two years older than I, into cars and mini-bikes, where I was am always will be a nerd. But the adventures we had together will last me a life time.

This one time we decided to build a fort. So we went scavenging around the neighborhood and stole borrowed wood that didn’t seem to be of use to anyone. I have to set the scene for you so you better understand.

Our yards were identical. There was a front yard, two side yards, a back yard and the back lot. In our back lot, we planted a garden, kept the farm animals and built a shed built right up next to the property line. In Pudd’s back lot there was nothing but dirt and rocks. This was separated by a huge hedge of oleanders. Anything we did back there was shielded from his mother’s and more importantly my mother’s eyes.

We started out with a little one room Little Rascal’s looking play house which quickly grew to a 3 room shack with an unfinished second floor. I was playing Spanky to his Alfalfa. It was pretty cool. There was a special button you pushed that would open the window, though we had to close it ourselves. The ground was carpeted with old swatches of different colored carpets. It leaked badly when it rained. We had holey bean bag chairs that squirted Styrofoam beads out when ever you sat on it. At night we ran 30 extension cords plugged together across the yard to give us light. Oh and it smelled that special kind of funk that only young boys can.  We would sit in there reading comics and talking about our plans to build our own amusement park. I think it was that talking that gave us the plan to build the tunnels.

I don’t remember what got us started but I remember that we put the opening on the back side of the fort and dug under neath. You had to access the fort through a trap door under the futon. At  a certain point about 5 feet into the tunnel we decided that we needed a dungeon. But because we were tired of digging tunnels, we decided to dig a hole and cover it with a roof and then cover the roof with. The roof had a trap door so we could have a quick exit if we needed it. It was so easy, we decided to build all our tunnels that way. We dug like crazy that summer. By the end of it, there were tunnels and rooms all over that lot.

Then we decided that we were going to dig under the fence and build a room under under the neighbor, Mr., Chavez’s yard. Boys at that age don’t think things through. Okay, boys are stupid. This was our downfall. After we created the trapdoor, we forgot one thing. When you open a trap door, all the dirt falls off and people can see the door.

I need let you know the neighbor was a Vietnam Veteran. Now when he found a door in the ground of his property, he wasn’t really thrilled to say the least. He ran running around, screaming that the Viet Cong was here and they were after him. When we heard the commotion, we just poked our heads out of the trapdoor on our side and looked to see who it was. We couldn’t understand why he thought King Kong was after him. But I do remember the look on his eyes when he saw two very tanned, dirt encrusted boys stick their heads out of a trap door.

Mr. Chavez ran to the house and got his gun. And ran back to the trapdoor on his side. Thankfully Mrs. Chavez was of the mind to take the gun from him or I might not be here today. The cops were called. We were forced to return his “stolen property” (dirt) and made to work around his yard for a month until the grass grew back.

Pudd’s mom was not thrilled when the police revealed the extent of our diggings. They brought a bulldozer to fill in the dirt. It was a sad day when our fort came tumbling down.

But to this day, if you look at their back lot, you can see where the dirt settled after being filled in. And when it rains it looks like a miniature water park with all the crisscrossing rivers and streams.

Posted by Rick at 11:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

My day went great. I don't know where it turned. Maybe it was the ride home. I don't know, it just happened.

I feel like I can't talk to people any longer. It is as if we speak two different languages. It doesn't help that the one thing I talk about, is what everyone wants to bitch about. And when I do want to talk about things other than my job, I get blown off.

Then there are the kids. I think that my relationship with their father has somehow corrupted them. Their own personal relationships reflect the same way JP and I act towards each other. Add to it people who are expecting a normal relationship and there is a clash.

I am depressed.

I have to get out of this funk and quick.

Posted by Rick at 11:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

You are warned that this post is not for everyone. It is a story I promised to tell my “Sistah” Goddess Duane, but haven't gotten around to.

When I was a kid, I had a really bad habit of chewing my finger nails. I would chew them down until they bled actual blood. My teachers would actually give me gum to stop me from chewing my nails. It was cheaper than the band aids. My mom in an inspired bit of mothering decided to put Apple Bitters on my finger tips to stop the chewing.

For those of you who do not know what apple bitters is, it is a chemical that is very bitter and causes nausea if ingested. The thought is that if you get sick you will stop doing it. It is sort of a behavioral modification FOR DOGS! It is supposed to keep dogs from chewing on things. Mom thought if it worked for dogs it might as well work for her son.

Truth be told, it worked. To this day, I get nauseous even seeing people with their fingers in their mouth. Please don't do it in front of me. I am ill just writing about it. Yes, I know I am fucked up. Get over it, I have.

So drag us to present day. JP has a new dog. The dog likes to chew up his Malibu lights, so I told him the story about apple bitters and how it had worked on our dog growing up and had also worked on me.  So we went to WallyWorld and picked up some new lights and some apple bitters. We came back installed them and JP sprayed each of them  top to bottom with a nice thick coat of apple bitters. We cleaned up went to dinner leaving the dog with his new snacks.

Coming back from dinner, there was success! None were eaten. So we settled down for a romantic evening. After a bit of cuddling and smooching, I figured he had been good enough for something special and proceed to do that thing that all guys love to have done to them. After a few hesitant teases, I went at it like, well JP's dog on a Malibu light. But as quick as I started, I was up off it, much to JP's surprise.

“Dude! You didn't wash your hands before you went to pee did you?”, I exclaimed.

“I didn't know we were supposed to wash our hands before we go to the bathroom”, He responded “ is this a new rule?”

“Dude! You have apple bitters on your dick!”, I quipped. Then I thought about it for a second and decided it wasn't going to work this time. I mean seriously, in the intervening years, this was not really the nastiest thing I have had on my tongue. I mean come one, I am a gay man after all. I over came years of childhood conditioning and finished like a good trooper and was rewarded shortly. Well not shortly, but you know after an agonizingly long time. A couple of hours even.  When it was over, I heard JP say “Dude, that was excellent”.

Okay now I have just gotten a mouth full of two distinctly nasty tastes in my mouth. I did this out of love. I asked for no reciprocation. Not even a kiss, and this bitch is calling me “DUDE”. I was furious! “Dude! I mean what the fuck! You just got a freaking blow job from your lover! Can't you come up with a better word than "dude"?

Now, I am not sure I am ever going to have oral sex again because all I remember is the apple bitters and anyone who says “Dude” annoys the fuck out of me. And the worst part is that I say “Dude” a hundred times a day.

Posted by Rick at 10:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Friend (Frend) –noun

1. a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.
2. a person who gives assistance; patron; supporter: friends of the Boston Symphony.
3. a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile: Who goes there? Friend or foe?
4. a member of the same nation, party, etc.

I know I have talked about friends and friendship a lot. Friends are important to me. But to me there are three main levels of friends. Acquaintances, Friends and Family.

Acquaintances are those people I know but don’t do stuff with unless I am forced to. I have thousands of acquaintances. These are people I talk to every once in awhile, whom I am friendly with, but don’t want to talk to outside of the area you know them. I like them, but I don’t want to get to know them on a real personal level.

Friends are those I like doing stuff with. These are the people you like talking to because they are interesting. These are the people you want to come to your parties. I have very few of these people. I don’t even think my best friend knows she is my best friend.

Family are those that I do stuff with because I have too even though there is no real relation. These are people who have brought meaning to my life. These are the people, I have connected with on a deeper level and like to keep them around. These are the people that get me that understand my humor. These are the people I truly love. The ones I would do anything for.

As I watch the interplay of relationships, especially amongst women and gay men, I notice that your best friend today isn’t the same one as tomorrow. One thing goes wrong and they become enemies. In my life time, I have had 4 best friends. Never did we leave on bad terms; there was always something that separated us. To me being a best friend is like being a government worker, once you are in, you are in for life.

I interrupt this blog post to announce that I got HATE MAIL!

It is true. This very afternoon, I received an email from someone who hates me. I know it is hate mail because it read "I hate fags likke (sic) U. Yur(sic) a fukkin fag"

I am so thrilled. Some random person who hasn't even met me hates me for being. I doubt the guy even read my blog, but still he hates me. The sad thing is that being gay is only a part of me. If he gave me half a chance, I am sure he could find some other reason to hate me. Other people do.


and then I said, "That's what he said" and we all had a good laugh.

And that is how I would bring peace and prosperity to America.

Posted by Rick at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

JP is a dolt. No matter how much I talk to him about his gift giving habits he fails to understand that it is not about the gift it is about the thought behind it. For example, for my birthday this year, he gave me a roto-razor, some gummy worms, some watermelon candy, a couple of shirts, two jackets and a toothbrush. Now to him, those were all great gifts. I had told him how much I had liked the Roto-Razor. I had told him I needed a new tooth brush. Those are my two favorite candies, and who can’t use new clothes? They are all good presents. I liked each one, but there is nothing there that will last forever. There is nothing there, that I couldn’t get for myself or that won’t be replaced in the next year.  There is nothing that says “I love you and you bring something to my life.”

Then last week, his mother returns from a trip visiting friends and family in Oregon. She brought me something back from her trip. It was a piece of 81/2 by 11 paper folded in half. It was in a plain manila envelope with a Sears catalog inside to make sure it didn’t get bent in transit.

On one half of the folded paper was written “Happy Holidays Rick, May his noodley appendage touch you FSM. There is then a hand drawn picture of the Flying Spaghetti Monster with mountains, trees, a pirate and midget.  It is signed by Bobby Henderson himself, The Creator of FSM. It is signed I am not ashamed to say I openly wept. I could not believe that she remembered a conversation from two years ago and got me Bobby’s autograph!

This is what gift giving is about. Getting someone something that they didn’t know that they wanted, but it is the best gift for them. Why didn't her son figure it out.

P.S. I know I am a crybaby and a geek, no need to post those comments. Thanks!

Posted by Rick at 08:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I am on Facebook.

I am serious. I resisted for a long time but finely acquiesced and became a member. I don’t remember who suckered me into it, but I did it anyway. And I hate it.

There are three types of people on Facebook

• The purists: These are the people that are there for the reason Facebook was created to find people you used to know or keep in touch with those you don’t want to lose now.
• The Gamers: They come to Facebook to play games. This is why I stay. I am one of those assholes who is addicted to Farmville. I am level 50 bitches! That is right! I am better than everyone in my group. Seven levels ahead of everyone. I am the master of my own cyber plantation! And for all you who are rolling your eyes at virtual farming, you have to know that there is a game, an actual game where you take baths and clean your house. I kid you not, and to top it off, when you visit your friends, you have to clean their houses too!
• The Gloaters: These are the people who post to Facebook “I am eating dinner with my boyfriend” or “Meeting up with some friends to party all night”. These guys never interact with people, they post a message and then move on. If you respond to their posts, you are a sucker. Unless you were one of the people they were partying with they will never respond to your posts. These are the people who in real life only call you when they need something.

There is a fourth group on Facebook, and they appear to be the vast majority of people. They created accounts, added some friends and then POOF! They disappeared never to be heard from again. I call them the MIA’s. Missing in Action.

When I started on Facebook, I kept it simple and did not add anyone I knew from work except a few people that I really liked. It was just me, some of the family and then my friends from work. But then something happened. I started playing the games. And the games are rigged so that you have to sucker err… recruit your friends into joining or you can’t advance. So the more friends you have the faster you move up. So I added more and more and more… until now, the people I am adding just annoy the fuck out of me, and it is showing.

Last week I went off on them all.  One of the favorite things for people to do, mainly women, is to post shit to their friends and then their friends copy and paste it to their friends pages and so on and so on. You know stuff like “You are a smart, beautiful, strong woman and I am so thankful you are my friend because I am a pathetic loser who is not threatened by your talent, looks, or wisdom. Thank you for letting me bask in the glow of your greatness. Now pass this on to 10 women you want to have a lesbian affair with”.

Okay I exaggerate but damn, I don’t answer 99% of my emails because of chain letters and now this?  So I called all my friends to task for it. I told them that it was pure laziness for them to do this crap. If they want to express how they feel, then to do so in their own words. By using a template someone gave you, you cheapen the emotions and the sentiment.

I was not popular that day. But I did stop them from starting up a new chain, and one even took my advice and posted nice little notes to their friends and family’s pages.

Posted by Rick at 10:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)