On the list of weird things that have happened since I’ve moved to Los Angeles, Ben Savage’s obsession with me has to be near the top.
In late 2006, Mr. Savage and I crossed paths at a bar in Hollywood called The Well. On that very same night, I stood a few feet away from another TV Legend, Scott Wolf. The difference between Wolf and Mr. Savage is that, while I have never seen the former again, the latter has been entrenched in my life ever since.
Since that evening, I’ve seen Mr. Savage between approximately 5 and 47 times at various establishments in the Los Angeles area. I’ve seen him at Big Wangs. At El Guapo. At The Beauty Bar. At El Guapo again. It’s a cycle that caught my attention and held my interest until things recently came to a head.
I was celebrating a friend’s birthday at a bar called Nikki’s in Venice Beach when Mr. Savage’s face was caught in my peripheral vision. Shocked, I tried to resume party going, but I had a feeling this night would be different from the others. This was the night he’d come forth from the shadows and make contact.
Through some investigating, it was uncovered that he was there under the guise of having a mutual friend, who introduced us. We both gave a polite hello even though bubbling under the surface was the truth that this was a moment years in the making.
Sometime later, I entered the rest room and was greeted by Mr. Savage who was, unsurprisingly, already relieving himself. The only conclusion one could draw from this would be that in the years of our coincidental meetings, Mr. Savage had figured out my bladder relief cycle and timed it perfectly.
We were back to back as I “broke the seal.” That’s always an unusually long urination for me, and finally, he spoke.
“Hey man,” Mr. Savage said.
“Clearing out the pipes, huh?”
“Yep. Always a good thing to do during a night of drinking,” I said.
“It sure is. It’s something you have to do.”
The conversation continued for a few more seconds, with us using different words to repeat the same thing: It’s good to pee.
We parted ways and I didn’t see him for the rest of the night, nor have I seen him since. Some might say that I’m looking too deeply into a few coincidences and that Ben Savage has better things to do in his spare time than follow an unemployed TV Producer around at dive bars, but I think not.
While I think stalking is too strong of a word to describe these events due to a lack of malicious intent, it’s safe to say there is a bond between us. A bond that can only form when two men who don’t know each other share a conversation about pissing in a bathroom.
The two things I enjoy most in life are, in no particular order, tagging a sexy lady and tagging Facebook photos.
After taking a nostalgic look through my Facebook photos last evening, I came across some pictures of my mother from Christmas 2006. Realizing that we recently began a burgoning internet relationship in addition to being mother and son, I decided it would be a good idea to tag her in these photos.
As the old saying goes, the road to a bitching mother is paved with good intentions.
A mere 10 minutes after tagging momma Muldowney, I got a phone call from her yelling at me for it. Mom told me to take the photos down from her “myspace” (she referred to it as Myspace at least 5 times, even though I corrected her and told her it was no longer 2005). She said she was embarassed by the photos since they were taken before her weight loss (pictured below): “I’m in my pajamas singing karaoke in that one and my boobs are hitting my knees.”
I tried to talk her into keeping the tags, but she would not relent, claiming she did not want to show embarrassing photos to all her friends. My rebuttal, informing her that she only has three friends on Facebook, me being one of them, was ignored.
Eventually, the argument ended and I relented after promising I’d take a “nice” photo of her so she could post it as her default picture. Mom deleted the tags and moved on to more important things, like calling me every day and bugging me about finding a job.