My Unforgettable BFF For Life: The Stig Ren Experience

My Friday blog entries are usually about a movie I've seen or some sort of date night related activity but this one is about a person that's an experience to know. He and I share a love/hate relationship that will last until the day we both die. This is my pre-birthday gift to him.

I love talking about the things that bring joy into my life—whether it's the people I've known, the places I've been, or the unique items I've cherished over the years. Lately, I've been paying tribute to my favorite television show, GLOW: Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling. From the wrestlers to the devoted fans, the world of GLOW has been a significant source of inspiration for me. Over the holidays, I've shared many family stories, but I've come to realize that it's not just my family who are fascinating. Every person and every experience in my life holds its own intrigue.

Today, I want to focus on someone who has constantly reminded me that "Everything's content." He might just be the best source of content I've ever known. If you browse through my blog, you might stumble upon an account of his first time at Clutterer's Anonymous, a perfect example of the quirky adventures we share.

So, let me formally introduce you to my best friend since childhood, Stig Ren. No, that's not his real name—it's his chosen name for online purposes. Stig is more than a friend; he's a part of my story, a character in the tapestry of my life, and someone whose adventures and antics provide endless material to talk about.

Growing up, we all have that one friend who sticks by us through thick and thin. For me, that friend is Stig Ren. He’s been my lifelong best friend, an alter-ego of sorts, exhibiting the same quirky traits as me, though he's more outgoing and a bit crazy, I am crazy and more of an introvert and he is the extrovert. We met shortly after I moved to Florida after the 2nd grade, and our friendship has been a whirlwind of unique experiences ever since.

At first, Stig and I weren't exactly friends—we were more like playmates thrown together by circumstance. We often clashed and even considered each other enemies at times. Stig was the kind of person who craved attention from everyone, even dirty old men, whereas I preferred to stay under the radar. Despite our differences and initial animosity, we found common ground in our love for adventure and making money. Stig was incredibly money-driven, always looking for ways to earn a buck. He would charge residents to cut their grass at his granny's trailer park (even though it was his job and they didn’t seem to realize his granny already paid him to do so). Stig was always hustling.

Though he wasn't part of my story as a hustler at 16, my hustling days continued after Stig and I were reunited at 18. We both ended up in Vegas together in the mid-1990s, sharing a place and getting into all sorts of adventures. While I eventually left Vegas, Stig stayed, always finding new ways to thrive. In my book, I mention Stig during a few of the stories, even though he wasn’t present at the time. I simply use his name because Stig’s personality is so similar to another person I worked closely with for a short while, creating a composite character of sorts because they were so very similar. That's probably why we were friends in the first place.

Stig has always had an uncanny ability to make friends wherever he goes, despite his phobia of people. His life has been a series of moves, from Florida to Las Vegas to Los Angeles, Europe, and New York, changing locations as effortlessly as changing clothes. We've had our fair share of clashes, even fighting over guys we wanted as boyfriends, knowing full well that neither of us had much of a chance or that they were bad for each of us. There was even a time in Vegas when Stig stole my boyfriend, only to dump him back to me when he realized the guy wasn't into what Stig was into compared to what I offered. I quickly dumped that guy when I realized he was just starstruck and sort of stalkerish. Stig and I could always count on each other to sort things out, no matter how complicated.

Stig's parents were quite distant, leaving his granny to raise him. His granny was a trip, she would buy us cigarettes, Boones Farm “wine” and potato chips with bean dip and let us spend hours hanging out by her little swimming pool if we promised to keep watch for the county authorities who occasionally came snooping around the property. Interestingly, while Stig’s parents loved me, my parents couldn't stand him. I got countless butt whoopings (a spanking with my dad’s belt) because of some of the things Stig and I would get into. His granny was more lax, and we enjoyed spending time together in the vacant trailers in her park, especially the campers that she intended to begin renting out after she got them fixed up, I don’t think any of them got fixed up, which is why the county was always trying to fine her and have her removed them because they really were an eyesore, we found a few snakes in them. Stig claims to have had numerous girlfriends, he's most definitely not a ladies man. As far as boyfriends, I doubt he'll ever be in a serious relationship, especially considering that he’s a Gray Ace and just never has been interested in anything that wasn't already in front of him. We are both similar in that respect; that and being gay are in our genes. He struggles with commitment, even when it comes to choosing pizza toppings. However, Stig can commit to shopping and collecting unnecessary items just to have them. While "hoarder" could be a term for him, he’s not the type who collects and refuses to throw things away. He uses everything he owns and keeps everything well organized.

Despite my having other best friends throughout my life—like Jon Lawrence until the 6th grade, TK who was my best friend with benefits from the 7th grade till the 10th grade when I left home at 16, Charlie who I ran a pirate radio show with in high school, and Ernie who I've known since I was 17 and am still ride-or-die best friends with—Stig has always been a constant in my life. Each of these friends deserves their own stories, maybe in the future, but Stig remains a cornerstone of my friendships.

Professionally, Stig is a fixer. He helps people navigate legal troubles using his education and extensive network of personal connections. His ability to manipulate situations and influence outcomes is remarkable, and calling him a smooth talker would be an understatement.

What does he look like, you ask? Stig stands at 6'5", stocky, with wavy brown hair and gray eyes. He has wolf-like features and much like me, he loves wearing glittery shirts, eyeliner, and Doc Marten boots, whether he's in a suit or his signature kilt. If we hadn't known each other since childhood and weren't turned off by each other's kinks and interests, we might have dated in our younger years, though we did do things that boys do when they are experimenting, which probably contributed to our abilities to make money later on in our lives. Too bad we didn’t get our hands on a proper video camera, though one of the residents that was evicted from his granny’s trailer park did leave behind a video camera made by Fisher-Price, of all companies. I think it was called the Pixelvision or PXL2000 or something like that, and it recorded on actual cassette tapes rather than video tapes, in black and white and not very good quality. We would record ourselves doing dance routines or playing around like we were dogs and did a few little videos we thought of sending to America’s Funniest Home Videos, but also our filmmaking turned into something that would have made us more infamous than famous, like Tracy Lords, if you know what I mean. We loved that little camera, and I remember always buying Panasonic AA batteries from the hardware store called Scotties because they were the cheapest around. I wish we kept those cassettes, though I’m pretty sure the only way they could be seen is through the same system. Chances are, we recorded over them, him to sell copies of his ill gotten Columbia House tapes at the flea market and me, for the radio show I was doing with Charlie. Do you have a PXL2000 or Pixelvision you don’t have a use for? If so, send it my way. I think it might be fun to play around with.

Years ago, Stig turned over all of his social media pages to me while he was “away” and asked me to keep up with them as if he were in jail or rehab or just imaginary. I can’t disclose where he was at the time, but I did my best. Now that he’s back, he prefers real life than the life some have made for themselves on social media, and though we’ve both lost access to his previous social media pages and due to the state of the social media climate, you can only find Stig at his new BlueSky account is @ryanbeechman.bsky.social.

Though we no longer live close to each other, Stig remains my ride-or-die friend. His birthday is in February, close to mine, and no matter what gift I get him, he always says the card is his favorite. He's a genuinely nice guy, and I love him dearly, even if we can never quite explain our bond. I usually get him gifts from joke shops, places like Richard's Variety Store, or random things from eBay related to vintage stuff. Recently, he asked for a retro magic kit for some reason. I know he doesn’t really need it, though I do suspect he would probably just make me do the tricks on a video so he can watch. So typical of him. He did it with a few electronic lab kits from eBay which I’ve not gotten around to doing for him. Our birthdays are coming up soon, and while he might be a bit lonely, he has a love for quirky stuff and I will most likely send him a care package, if anyone’s interested in contributing. He's also quite the singer, despite being untrained. Perhaps he and I may even record a few duets together from wherever we are, in the future, just for fun. It's the kind of friendship where thoughtfulness and generosity thrive, making every gesture, no matter how small, feel truly special.

Do you have a friend like Stig, someone who stays with you through all of life's ups and downs?

Flora-Bama Polar Bear Dip: A 12-Year-Old's Bar & Beach Winter Adventure

The year I was in the 7th grade, Mama and Daddy became friends with a lady they worked with at Hackbarth Delivery Service named Angie. Angie was a very sweet lady of Mexican heritage who loved painting ceramic figures, a hobby my mom picked up from her. Mama loved any sort of crafts; she had learned tole painting from my classmate Kerry Ferrell's mom, Judy, years before and passed on her knowledge of tole painting to Angie.

My dad and Angie were better friends than what we all thought, but that's a story covered in my second book, if it gets published and no doubt future blog entries.

Angie was married to a biker type named Butch who was super nice. Though his name didn't really fit his stature—short and skinny but definitely rough—Butch was a cool man. He gave me my first hit of weed, and I knew even at the age of 12 that it was not for me. The smell of it reminded me of the time that I got skunked, and I just couldn't get past the odor. Every other weekend, I would stay with Angie and Butch at their house in Pensacola, riding their dirt bike and my go-cart in the area behind their house. Butch and Angie also had motorcyles, which were always fun to take a ride on.

My parents had plans for New Year's Eve and didn't want me to be alone, so they decided to send me to Angie and Butch's house on an odd weekend.

Butch had a son a few years younger than me named Chris and a daughter a few years older than me named Francine, both of whom he didn't have custody of. They would stay with him every other weekend. This was one such weekend, and I slept on the couch rather than in the room Francine stayed in during her visits.

They had all been talking about the Polar Bear Dip and how much fun it would be. I honestly didn't know what it meant, but I was all in. They made sure to tell me I needed to bring swimwear. Cool, I guess. It had been raining a little throughout the day, the high was in the 60s, but when we arrived at the bar, Flora-Bama, it was in the lower 50s.

We went inside. It wasn't the first time I had been in a bar, but it was the first time I was in a bar with other kids. Francine instructed Chris and me to secretly (not letting adults know what we were doing) look for random cups that were left around the bar that were still over half full, as well as beer cans. We found a good bit of them. Francine took it upon herself to drink from the cups with colored beverages. I chose to drink from one of the beer cans because it felt like it was barely touched. Chris' can of beer not only contained a good bit of leftover beer, but someone had obviously used it as an ashtray because his second drink from the can brought out a cigarette butt. He promptly spit it out, and I put my can down and found Angie and asked her if she could get me a Coca-Cola.

When the sparse crowd began to head out of the bar and down to the beach, we followed. Just as everyone was doing, I took my shoes, socks, and shirt off and headed into the water. It was pretty cold, but it was brown and just as dark and cloudy as the sky. I thought we were all going for a swim and that we would get used to it, but once we were all in, everyone turned around and got out. I thought there might have been a shark or something, so I followed. I was confused.

Once I got out, the cold air hit my saltwater-soaked body, and I was ready for a towel down and proper clothes. I got my shirt, socks, and shoes back on but could feel sand in my socks—a feeling I still hate. I thought we were all going to go back into the bar, but Angie and Butch headed to their truck, so Francine, Chris, and I followed them. They turned the truck heater up as far as it would go, and we were on the way to Pace, where they dropped me off before going back to Pensacola. Though it was a Thursday and I love spending weekends with Butch and Angie, I didn't car much for Chris and I didn't like sharing Angie's attention with anyone else and Francine was not really that nice to me.

I was really confused about the point of getting into the water, but apparently, I had just taken part in an annual event known as the Flora-Bama Polar Bear Dip. Did I have fun? Nope. If I were more informed, would I have done it? Nope. Would I do it again? Nope.

As an adult, I look back on that experience with a mix of amusement and bewilderment. The idea of willingly plunging into icy waters, though not exactly icy, on a cold day just doesn't appeal to me anymore. The thrill of the Polar Bear Dip is something I can appreciate from afar, but it's not an adventure I need to repeat. Some memories are best left in the past, and for me, the Flora-Bama Polar Bear Dip is one of them.

I often wonder what became of Angie and Butch after their divorce, as well as Chris and Francine. I have a vision that Francine may still be a party girl over 30 years later, and I hope they are all doing well. As I stated, I may share stories about my time with Angie before she was told that she was no longer welcome in my family's lives not too long after this day. While she was no longer welcome, she and I had some great times together.