Here’s a reason to try internet dating.  When you decide to buy a bottle of wine on your way home from work, you might find someone to drunk dial other than your father.

I myself, picked up a bottle of red on Tuesday when I unexpectedly got off of work at 4:30.  Once home, I threw off my slush covered boots and all but ran for for the wine key.  The first part of the bottle went fine…paid some bills, watched an hour long MSNBC documentary on Bernie Madoff, wrote a few repulsive paragraphs that would never make it into a book.  But by the time my third glass was empty, I had succumbed to talking gibberish to my pillow and pretending I knew how to speak Italian.  My pillow was unresponsive.  He looked at me in this weird way that made me feel somehow ashamed of myself.  So, I decided to call my dad.  A preacher.  In Texas.

“Hey Dad.  What’s…what’s goin’ on?”

“I’m fine Marg.  How are you?”

“Oh, man I’m good. I’m totally…it’s so good… Dude.  Dude!  DUDE!!  Bernie Madoff was a jagoff!!  And by the way, would it have killed you to teach me Italian?”

The conversation started there but then blossomed.

“But it’s not Bernie Madoff.  It’s the fu…it’s the freakin’ FCC!  And you know what…you know what??  THEY ARE PAID BY WALLSTREET!! …So… did you ever really love my mom?  Isn’t it totally weird that she is gay now?”

This is true.  My parents divorced when I was 11.  And now my mom is gay now.

“It’s not like you…I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.  Dad, Dad, DAD!!  Listen to me, this wasn’t your fault!  It’s like, you got dealt a bad hand, man.  She probably loved chicks from the second she met you.  It’s not like you did something (or didn’t do something) that totally turned her gay.”

My poor father.

“The whole thing about God is…” …Oh Christ…  “It’s not like I don’t BELIEVE in him.  But like Jesus was a prophet.  He was a Pro-FET!  Just like Muhammad and Mother Teresa.  He was like 5 foot 3.  No, that doesn’t mean anything.” …there was a digression…  “We all deserve health care!  And I think Jesus would agree with me.  Tell me dad, do you agree with me?  DO YOU AGREE WITH ME OR DO YOU NOT!?”

My dad said something here.  Agreeing that everyone deserves health care and rooting for the public option.

“Wait.  Wait.  I am a creature of universalism.  It’s like, I don’t believe in hell so I am a Buddhist.  I’m like, okay I’m not a Buddhist, but Love is the whole thing right?  All you need is love. (I took a drag of my cigarette and wiped some wine off my chin) OH MY CHRIST, I AM MAKING YOU A MIXED TAPE!!”

I won’t go into the entire dialogue of our conversation.  And since this is going out into the void, our current void which is easily Googled, I have to say this.  My father is a patient, patient man and I don’t want to poo poo our late night chats.  Drunk or not, they mean a lot to me…cause he is my dad.  And I love him.  Just cause his daughter was born the way she was born, with the wine bottle already dreamt into consumption,  it really wasn’t his fault.

The last part of our talk went this way:

Me:  “No.  No!  I am not cuter than I was when I was three!  I had cheeks that people write songs about man!”

Dad:  “Margaret.  You are more beautiful now than you were ever were before.  All the years combined.”

My dad is a patient, patient man.  I wiped some wine off my knee and agreed with him before saying goodnight.  I laid down on my bed and turned to the empty pillow next to me. “Shaun plu desmira y donze me amore de compania se parle vera complianos.”