Random Motivating Drunk Calls

I've had a cold this week. The wife said all weekend that she was fighting something and then I woke up with it Monday morning. Yay, my favorite. I'm going out of town this weekend so I've been trying to kick this cold's ass before it packs its bags to go with me. So last night, I dutifully took my Nyquil, snuggled up with the puppies, and prepared for sleep.

Then my phone rang. It was a number from Texas. A number I did not recognize. I swiped left. I assumed it was some random number that dialed mine by mistake and again closed my eyes. A text followed. A text informing me that this was San Diego, from Bend, calling me from Texas.

Backstory #1. Friends do not remember the names of guys that I date. It is much easier to name them based off of a distinguishing characteristic. For example, there was FBI Guy, Airplane Guy, South Africa, and, most recently, The Texan.

Backstory #2. San Diego was a guy I'd met in Bend. We met for drinks a couple of times, he disappeared, then messaged me from San Diego. Hence the name. He invited me to San Diego (the city, not himself) for the weekend a few years ago. It was fun. We laughed over drinks, ate some delicious sushi, went to a Padres game, and then I never heard from  him again. I wasn't sure how much of it wasn't us actually hitting it off versus how much was because I threw up all over the inside of his Porsche. Hey, shit happens. And usually to me.

Now that you're caught up, you can imagine how surprised I was to hear from Mr. San Diego. Except I guess now he's Mr. Austin but I don't change names so he's stuck with San Diego. Anyhoo, I called back out of curiosity. Morbid curiosity? Maybe.

Mostly I had to know why he was calling from a Texas number. Because he lives there now. Something about business, I didn't ask. I think he mostly wanted to compare southern stories but Texas is like its own country. And Austin is like a U.S. state surrounded by that other country. He also wanted to brag about dropping his boat in the lake whenever he wants. And yes, he's seen the bats under the bridge like a stupid tourist but he doesn't need to leave his house to see bats or 11 deer or a bobcat.

The rest of the call was some sort of rambling drunkenness but a lot of it centered around this blog. The one I largely neglect these days. He has somehow deluded himself into thinking I'm a Great Writer. That I should write a book. (About what? Dog slobber? The great shit stains to fashion known as Crocs? My life, which is funny only in moments, not in entirety?) He encouraged me to blog again. Because I'm so fucking great, writing may be my real talent, and some more drunk rambling.

Now, all of this does have a point with some actual, real meaning. Random calls from random dudes who ignore me for years and then just pop up out of the blue are pretty funny and can make good stories. But what San Diego wanted me to know is that he thinks I can Do Something, I am good at this thing I sometimes do. Someone once told him to do something he was good at and he ended up succeeding and making money doing That Thing.

I am not trying to validate that the words I say here are actually entertaining or that my blog should go viral or that I am particularly brilliant at anything. I am simply saying that we, as a society, say some very ugly things to each other. Cyber bullies. Racists. Misogynists. Donald Trump. Celebrities are feuding over their egos and certain colors of people are inciting violence against another color of people. Hell, I can't go to the ladies' room or walk down a grocery aisle without getting sneered at.

We are mean. God, we are so mean.

What I want to suggest is that you take a moment to say something nice to someone. You never know what little snippet of conversation someone will remember for the rest of their lives. What will motivate them to try harder or reach higher. All because someone recognized them and told them so. Tell a severely depressed person that you admire her courage because the fight is a hard one and she does it with grace. She just might live a day or a year or a lifetime longer because you noticed and acknowledged her. Tell the single dad that you appreciate the way he communicates with his daughter. He may always remember that and hold onto it instead of throwing up his hands when she enters her teenage years, the time she'll need him most.

Reach out in whatever way you can. Send a text. Say it with a hug. Randomly call someone in a drunken stupor.

Just, for the love of Nyquil, let them sleep if they need to sleep!

Namaste, Motherfuckers

So something has been bothering me for a while. At first I just thought it was me. Me and the wife. Because we're a little louder than other people but we have a hell of a lot more fun. So we get some looks. Occasionally a comment is made. Case in point: An older "gentleman" remarked, "Well, someone's happy!" after hearing me laugh at Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant. Well sir, I didn't realize happiness wasn't allowed on holidays. I'll change to the more appropriate wake behavior accordingly.

But then I talked to a friend today who has had similar experiences. She shared one with me that happened to her over the weekend at the mountain. So I thought maybe it's just people with money. People who think they are better than everyone else.

I've even tried to explain it away by telling myself it's PMS and I'm taking things personally. The woman who blatantly glared at me this morning while we were both dropping our kids off at school? Maybe she had PMS too. Or hadn't had her coffee.

But today, on the way home, I almost hit (with my car!) a man who was crossing the street, in the dark, wearing all dark clothes. Crossing at a random point in the street, not at a crosswalk. He was nearly impossible to see. And when I slammed on my breaks so that I wouldn't hit him? He flipped me off and sneered at me. Seriously. He fucking flipped me off.

So there it is. People are just assholes. Everywhere I go. I am surrounded by assholes. You have probably encountered them out shopping. Waiting at the gas station. At your kid's school play. People are mean. Mean, mean, mean. And there is no excuse for it. 

Hey, we're all stressed out. We all feel frustrated at times. But that poor woman waiting tables might have just lost her dog and doesn't need to be yelled at because your coffee wasn't decaf. Your neighbor might have some chronic illness that prevents him from shoveling the snow in his driveway. Who knows what goes on in anyone's life on any given day? Have some fucking compassion. Life is short but the days are long and we could all use a little kindness.

Stop being assholes. Just quit it now.

Take up my new motto if you like. Feel free to share it with your friends and family. Use it as a greeting when you see the mailman or you're getting your favorite burrito.

Namaste, motherfucker.
Namaste.

****UPDATE****
Just to prove my point, an anonymous coward just tried to comment on this post, asking me politely to "Move back home you fucking Californicator." I guess he/she didn't realize I moderate my comments for this sole purpose.

Namaste, motherfucker.