Twenty Seven & Counting

Published June 10, 2016 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

 

“And then I looked over and the dog was licking my dick pump.”

So began one of the best conversations I’ve ever had with a friend – but for all the wrong reasons.

Twenty seven years ago I was living aka drinking my way through New York City. I was 28 years old. My prime party years. It was a glorious time filled with booze, booze, and a lot of boys. Oh and booze. Don’t forget the booze. One of those boys was my favorite bartender – see how I combined the two – and while we never had anything romantic – actually I don’t remember if we ever made out but I doubt it – we had a friendship based on nothing other than – “can I have another shitty stomach tearing ass ripping rot gut glass of your house chardonnay.”

When I was 36 I moved to Los Angeles. After a couple of years here – he too moved to Los Angeles and moved in with me. It would be the first in a long line of guests staying at Heidi’s Wayward House for Young Men. He was broke and I was just starting out at Access Hollywood. He ate a lot of black beans and tuna. I was still drinking so I don’t remember a lot of what happened while we lived together. I’m sure he could tell you but I’m kind of afraid to ask what level of asshole I was. We both wanted to be script writers but he was the one truly working at his craft every day while I went to work in the shit dump of entertainment news – you know – where we tell stories no one should know, could know, or needs to know. He never stopped writing. He never took a shitty job. He just figured it out.   And years later he is a real honest to god writer and director – of movies – the real deal. And the truth is – I wouldn’t actually be a writer if it weren’t for him – because like a good friend – he always pushed me to keep writing. He went on to get married to a gorgeous kind talented woman, have a spectacularly amazing baby, and have a beautiful life. Then reality checked in. Prostate Cancer.

So there we were – 27 years later – sitting around his yard – smoking a doobie – and looking at what a long strange trip of friendship it’s been. We went from screaming in bars to talking about the C word. We went from hoping and dreaming about our futures – to having our future smack us in the face with uncertainty. We went from fucking everything in sight – to realizing one person is better – well he did. But most of all we went from friends – to deeper friends over the years and while I don’t get to see him often enough – he is one person who definitely knows the real me. Hence the dick pump story.

So, I guess you gotta keep your shit moving while you’re going through a little prostate cancer and so after he put down the pump and picked up his wife’s vagina (it was attached to her) they looked over to see the dog licking the dick pump. They kept fucking anyway.  Whats a little dog slobber on your pump?  Amazing how after 27 years – this was the most fucked up story he’s ever told me. And he’s told me a lot.

It was a great night as always and as I left I asked him one simple thing – “Please don’t die on me.” Fuck – I hate that I have to start saying that to people now but that’s the thing about getting older and having certain friends with you along the way. It’s such a blessing to grow old together – but such a curse to know that one day we will say – The End. I love you Pumpkin.

3 comments on “Twenty Seven & Counting

  • I have lost two of the best friends I have ever had, or will ever have, one to cancer and one to a heart attach. I’m at that age. Now my last remaining best friend is moving due to a job change. Stuff happens. You just have to roll with it.

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