Diary of a Wolfeman

- Or -

Where Da Wolfe learns what he is

Cast:

Me, at 11
BigFish – my older brother, 3 years my senior
Trucker – my father
Gloria – his 2nd wife
Brat – her daughter, one year younger than me (and another Gemini)
Jock – her younger son, one year older than me (and another Gemini)
TheBrain – her oldest son, 5 years older than me

Dig if you will, a picture: one average, American boy, age 11, growing up in small-town Oregon. He has no real clue who he is at this point.

He has moved in with his father in order to follow his older brother, as BigFish and Ma are nearly at each other’s throats at this point in the game. My father is married to Wife#2 Gloria, and she has talked him into starting his own business and basing it on her Mexican heritage – only the Universe knows why the hell he thought it would be a good idea to do this in Klamath Falls, but there you have it.

So Carrie Vaughn has posted the first chapter of her latest book, in which Kitty the Werewolf contemplates a ‘Vegas wedding. This got me thinking about my time in the desert and an Un-Wedding that a buddy of mine threw. I wasn’t there for it, but he took lots of pictures so I think I can relate the tale here.

Waaaay back when, my buddy BJ grew up in NYC before his folks up and moved him to Sin City, and when they did move he had to give up a girlfriend (You may remember BJ from the ‘great Frognapping Caper’). There was much pining done by phone and mail (regular mail, this story pre-dates the WWW) over the next few months, until everyone involved ponied up some cash and bought “Jane” a plane ticket so they could shut her and BJ up for a while.

When she got to ‘Vegas, somehow the subject of famous ‘Vegas weddings came up, and someone finally said “wouldn’t it be GREAT if we did a ‘Vegas wedding?!?” I don’t think it was BJ who said it, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Likely he did what any teenage boy would do at such a mention and went wide-eyed and scared. Luckily, he snapped out of it before Jane noticed and ran away crying.

Much discussion then ensued, and they came up with a Plan: they would have a ‘Vegas wedding, except for that little part about the paperwork. Closets were turned out and thrift stores were stormed, and in a few short hours they had managed to suit up the wedding party in proper finery. (You can get a tux at 2am in ‘Vegas, no problem.)

A limo was quickly rented (natch) and the whole gang piled in. They drove down Chapel Row, picked a suitable faux-church, and piled everyone out. They took tons of pictures out front, then piled back into the limo and plowed on to a favorite liquor store for supplies before heading back to BJ’s for the “reception”.

And a grand Reception it was, complete with photographic evidence aplenty of people doing Silly Drunken Dances and making complete asses of themselves – I think one of the bridesmaids nearly fell in the pool trying to catch the bouquet. BJ said he was hungover for about a week afterward. They repaired the damage over the remainder of Jane’s stay, then sent her home to Momma – with a huge wedding album in her hands.

From the reports BJ mentioned, Momma was very tearful, but they never did get to the bottom of whether it was because Jane “eloped” or because she didn’t – you never can tell with some Mommas.

Don’t know why this memory resurfaced today, but it’s a fun story.

Way back when I was living in ‘Vegas, former roomies and still good friends of ours the Barbarian and the Fraggle decided to get hitched. In grand ‘Vegas tradition, we pistol-whipped the groom-to-be, threw him in the trunk of the car and dragged him kicking and screaming to one of the better strip clubs as soon as the Fraggle wasn’t looking, lest she bollux the whole plan.

Okay, that’s bullshit – the man was in the front seat trying to get the car to drive faster, and Fraggle was more like “here honey, make sure you take some fives with those singles. Don’t be stingy! You sure I can’t come with?”

Anyway, among the celebrants of the evening were myself, B:tNG, Jason, Jordie and a few others who have slipped my mind. We’re at the club having a good time and B decides it’s his turn to buy the groom a lap dance. Barbarian picks out a likely candidate, and there is some discussion as to her suitability among the rest of us lads. It makes perfect sense now, but a couple of us thought she was a bit on the trashy side and were suggesting another lass instead. The Barbarian had made his choice, however, so she was waved over to the table.

In a flash of insight, B pops up with “you’ll have to excuse me, but I’m buying the lad here his dance, and I need to know the quality. The lads here can’t decide on a candidate, and I want to make sure he’s getting the best.” The insight comes from the fact that B was still blind at the time, and wearing his darkest shades and prominently holding his cane. So what does the dancer do? She says “Here – check for yourself!” grabs both his hands and plants them on her tits.

B, without missing a beat, gives ‘em a quick squeeze and says “Nice parity!”

We all bust up laughing, and the Barbarian gets his dance. The whole time, though, Jason and Jordie were wondering how quickly they could lay hands on shades and a cane.

Everybody’s had one. You know, that one idiot friend or roommate from your past that you always knew you’d find in the paper someday, doing something stupid. For me, it’s Geordie, the Guy Under The Stairs. He lived in the cupboard under the stairs of the townhouse I lived in waaaaay back when in ‘Vegas. He was a Dead Head, didn’t shower anywhere near often enough, and was either funny or damned annoying, never anything in between.

B:tNG pointed this out to me the other day:

Two more arrests at Biscuit fire salvage

Liam O’Reilly of Ashland and Gordon Gilbrook of San Diego were charged with disorderly conduct and interfering with agricultural process, authorities said. They were booked at the Josephine County Jail.

Rich Parrett was driving a log truck early Thursday when he spotted Gilbrook in the middle of the road. The activist was suspended 20 feet high in a platform below two poles anchored to a Volvo.

A banner below the platform read “These forests need fire, not old-growth tree removal.”

Yep, that “Gordon” would be Geordie. I’m betting two things. 1) – Geordie was trying to get in some dreadlocked patchouli-smelling hippie-chick’s pants, and 2) – the sign was somehow mispelled.

From Frizzen Sparks:

What’s the most interesting thing you set fire to when you were a kid?

Well, what we set fire to isn’t interesting, but the fire was. It was getting on toward the 4th the year I turned 11 I think, when my stepbrother Josh pulled a boner and took one of those “Dancing Flame” fireworks (the ones that spin really fast and burn different colors) and threw it up into the air after he lit the fuse.

Sure enough, the thing took off and flew into the field across the street, landing at the base of a pine tree, immediately setting the wonderfuly dry grass alight. We managed to get a hose on it before it got out of control, but it left a ring of singed grass in a perfect 20-foor diameter circle centered on that tree (which survived).

It looked like a UFO had tried to use the tree as a landing stanchion.

Later that same summer, though, we discovered the joys of lighting those little green army men on fire. If you get them burning on a board and then lift the board, little flaming droplets of plastic drip off and make a really neat noise as they fall.

Yes, this is what kids do for fun when you raise them in the sticks.

Pax Whitewillow introduced himself to me at an SCA event by plopping down between myself and Twiggy. He gave us both his name, handed me a boda bag of booze, and proceeded to chat Twiggy up. (So basically, he bought her from me with peach Schnappes – Twig and I had been just friends for over a year at that point, so it wasn’t a bad deal lol)

Pax is one of those guys that can walk into a room and make every other guy there mostly invisible due to his own good looks, charm and personal aura. He’s about 6’3″ or 4″, with long blond hair and Nordic genes. I have litterally watched a woman walk into a telephone pole because she was too busy staring at the man to watch where she was going.

I was torn between laughing and crying that day, lemme tell ya. Us guys would sit around and try to brainstorm ways to make him less attractive, most of which involved shaving his head. We figured everything we did would just backfire, though, and left him alone. There were certain social events we didn’t invite him to, though, in an effort to improve our chances with the ladies.

Pax was also infamous for his ability to get a ride anywhere, anytime, usually door-to-door service. All he had to do was walk along, reading a book with his thumb out, and a car full of co-eds would immediately appear out of thin air and drive him anywhere. At one point in time, he planned to hitch down to Mexico for a couple weeks. Many of us told him it was a bad idea, but he went off anyway.

A few days later, he appeared on my doorstep – he had found a ride, but about two hours down the road things got generally uncomfortable, so he bailed and came home. My place was closer to the freeway than his, so he stopped in to rest a bit before heading home. While we talked, however, we got the beginnings of an idea on how to play a supremely nasty joke on someone.

You see, Rhias had been one of the more fervent opponents of his planned trip, and stated flatly that if something bad befell him, she would laugh and go raid his stuff. Since I was the only one that knew Pax had returned early and unscathed, we started plotting.

We invited Rhias over for the evening, a fairly regular occurence. Richard and I started wondering about Pax, as no-one had heard from him since he left. In the course of the conversation, one of us got a page and made a phone call to ‘discover’ from Pax’s mom that he had made it to Mexico, but had somehow got into a bar brawl and had had a bottle broken over his cranium – he was now in the hospital for X-rays and at least stitches, if not worse. In Tijajuanna. Pax was actually hiding in the front room closet, listening to the whole thing through the slatted door.

While the accomplices and I started imagining worst case scenarios, Pax got an inspiration and hung some of his hair through the slats to signal me – I caught his drift and came up with a great combination of horror and glee as I said “shit – they’re probably going to have to shave his head!”

All the girls in the room blanched at that, even Rhias, drunk as she was by this time. After a moment of drunken consideration, she came back with: “well, fuck. If he dies, I get his books!” After a moment of stunned silence, we all busted up – even Pax, who fell out of the closet in his mirth. It took Rhias a full three seconds to realize it was him – at which point she went over and started ineffectively swatting at him.

We’re still not sure if it was punishment for the joke, or for getting her hopes up about snagging his library.

This will be a recurring topic, so watch for it to be updated in the future. Here I will describe some of my fellow inmates at the assylum for your bemusement.

Note that aliases have been granted to protect the guilty.

At some point in our lives, usually not long after we leave home, we all end up in some sort of multiple-roomate situation. Here’s how The Townhouse went down.

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