Drunken Calls

Secretly, I think I love random phone calls in the middle of the night. They make me feel loved. It's sort of like someone thought enough about you to call you when they were out having fun. Of course, every so often, you get the unsolicited booty call, or the ever popular drunken declaration of love, but for the most part, late night phone calls are the best. And drunken late-night phone calls from friends you haven't seen in a while, like the one I got last night, can't be beat with a bat.

John (aka John-Boy), Jessie and I all met at the Poynter Reporting and Newswriting Program for College Grads this summer. By the end of the program, we were road dawgs. But since we all live in separate states- I'm in Michigan, Jessie's from Idaho and John is in Oklahoma - for any of us to be together is definitely cause for celebration.

John: "Why aren't you up?"

Me: "Um, it's 4 a.m."

John: "No, it's 3:39 a.m., Talia. Don't exaggerate. That's a perfectly legitimate time to call because Jessie Bonner's here!"

Jessie was in the middle of a cross-country trek from the land of potatoes to the Sunshine State, and tonight, she was smack dab in America's Heartland. John was showing her around Oklahoma City and taking her to all kinds of festivities, which included a party, family reunion and apparently a few drinks. Somewhere in the midst of it all, they decided it would be a good idea to call me in the middle of the night.

(John passes the phone to Jessie) Jessie: "Were you asleep?"

I fell into bed around 1 a.m. after my sister and I drove from a wedding in Flint with the rat pack (read: my two nieces, ages 6 and 2.5 weeks). Not to mention the fact that I was slightly drugged up on Tylenol, trying not to get a hangover from the cheap rum I drank at the reception. Clearly, I was too tired and it was too early for me to be sarcastic.

"Yes," I said.

Jessie: "Then why'd you answer?"

Me: "The phone is right near my head because I get random phone calls from people like ya'll at 4 a.m."

We chop it up for a bit. They tell me about their adventures. I ask them what in the world they're doing up at this ungodly hour. Then, John decides he's hungry.

"We're going to IHOP, Talia," John says. "You should come to breakfast with us."

Good idea, John-Boy, except for the fact that I'm in my bed, 1,000 miles away. I thank him for the invite and make him promise to buy some crepes the next morning in my honor. Our declarations of affection are intoxicated - mine with sleep and his, most likely with SoCo. We hang up and I try to wrap my head around the randomness that just happened.

Drunken phone calls from friends. Ya gotta love them.