When life gives you Craigslist scammers, make John Hughes lemonade.

I've had an interesting year or two. 

I've become a father. I've leased upwards of 6 cars and then either re-leased them to other people or sold them. I've fallen in love. I've hurt people. I've just run the gamut. 

It's created an odd version of me. I write less. I get so stressed out by all of these dumb decisions I've made that I lash out at people in awful ways. I've mastered the art of projection at a Donald Trump level. It's a (large understatement) bummer. 

So, when your life becomes a mess, you get a mop or an incredibly nice Swiffer Wet Jet. You learn to make your son your entire life. You learn to tell the people you love and care about that you (wait for it) love and care about them and that you're sorry for keeping your foot in your mouth for upwards of a year straight. You drop to the floor, you cry a little, and you just stop. 

And slowly but surely, it gets better. And better. And you begin to see the you that you used to be again. 

You find him laughing and writing again. In a bit of a surprising way...

A few months ago, I was selling a Volkswagen e-Golf on Craigslist. I tried it, it was fun, but it turns out commuting with an electric car just wasn't going to work for me.

However, a man named Scott Donald told me it was going to work for him. His "clients", rather. They wanted the car, badly. Even if they aren't real people. 

Craigslist spammers/scammers are a fascinating breed. It's hard to even be sure who or what they are. Are they robots automatically responding to things in the hopes that some person will bite on some odd thing and send money somewhere like Malaysia? Are they real humans with poor written communication skills that are so close to knowing how to scam someone, yet so far away because they may or may not know how to use words in the format of complete sentences? 

Who knows what or who Scott Donald is. I really can't say. But I know this:

Our correspondence has brought me back to life in a way I've missed. It's been the best time I've had writing in forever. And I look forward to his emails everyday. 

Below are my back and forth emails with Scott as we tried to work out a deal to get his "clients" my Volkswagen e-Golf. These are 100% real, and seem to still be going. Enjoy.


Scott makes his play, even though he's busy with other business things, so it's pretty clear this is serious.


I risk my life and send my home address to a Craigslist spammer who may or may not also be a murderer, solely because this might be a fun back and forth so why not die for it. (I used photoshop, but yes, I honestly sent my whole address.)


Scott writes back a day later (even though he is constantly urging for ASAP responses, which seems one-sided and rude, Scott) and lets me know I should Oil the electric vehicle, which does not use oil. 


I assure Scott that the well oiled, non-oil-requiring machine is his if I receive payment in the 3-5 days promised, and let him know that it will go back on the market otherwise. 


After 20 days of not hearing from Scott Donald, he emerges at 5:39am with an urgency and news that the check is in the mail, but for $110,000, which is $86,000 more than I had asked for. Even though this has clearly passed my 3-5 day deadline, looks like the ball is in my court and I've got a real conundrum on my hands.


I do swiftly respond as asked (as I always have, Scott, no need to ask anymore), but sadly, not with an answer I think Scott likes. I even throw in a flippant "haha" that says: "I'm disappointed that you believe the car is still available, Scott. And I also do not believe you are a real human being."


Scott responds even swiftlier, and I think now I know why: Scott is in a real pickle, and he needs to get that money back and a new car to his clients, p-r-o-n-t-o. I'm concerned Scott has made promises he can't keep to these mysterious buyers.


Being the good guy that I am, I try to calm Scott down and let him know that I've got a few ideas for how he can get out of this. Heck, maybe even how we can get out of this.


An amazing turn of events occurs: not only is Scott excited about my new ideas, it sounds like he's in. Who knows how a man who is commissioned to buy vehicles for people suddenly becomes a man who is interested in used home furniture and electronic goods, but who am I to judge. Maybe Scott's just a guy who's always looking for a good deal.


Seeing a new deal falling into place, I let Scott know my big idea. And I also let him see a little bit of the real me that I've been afraid to show him until now. 

So far, no word from Scott on what he thinks of the deal. To be fair, it's a LOT to take in, so I imagine he's just running the numbers by his son to make sure the California electronics store can handle that kind of inventory. It's surely going to change their business model, so if I were them I'd take my time, too.

I'll let you know if he ever gets back to me. If this has left you with anything, I hope that it's this:

No matter how weird or bad life gets, no matter how awful your decision making skills tend to be, everything will always be okay. It gets better. Always. 

Because somewhere out there, there's a Scott Donald waiting to correspond with each and every one of us. We just have to let them in.

A letter to me.

You lose your hair. Bummer, I know. "But I had a Jew fro and.." Stop. Just stop. It goes. It will make you nervous, but as you age, you learn to cut it in a way that says, "hey, at least I'm not fat." Also, women know every man goes bald. Spoiler alert: they're pretty okay with it. (Again, as long as you're not also fat. That's a bad look.)

The Warriors draft Steph Curry and your years and years of watching them fail endlessley pay off. That year you spoke to Jim Barnett with Kevin in Denver at the Nuggets game? This turns into a crucial "I'm a real fan" story that you always have in your back pocket. Remember to thank KJ for those tickets and that birthday. He did good. 

You write a popular blog about The Bachelor. The Bachelor! Seriously, people read it and it makes you believe that you are worthy of something, who knows what. Don't ever stop writing. It, unlike your hair, does not fall out. 

You fall in love 1,589 times and every time you think it's the one. It's a bummer, I know, but it's quite likely that she is not, whenever you're reading this. Unless you're 34. She might be, we haven't aged past that yet so this could be it. Not to be hyperbolic, but things are looking up. (That was a shitty use of hyperbolic, by the way. Write more, dummy.)

Stop writing about how happy you are. It's okay to be sad sometimes. If you tell people this, you haven't lost your cape or your woobie: you've told the truth and that's better than lying through a filter. Life is hard. Don't pretend it isn't when it's not, you're only hurting yourself. 

You cry when she drives away in the Uhaul van. You knew you would, but it still stings when the hot water runs down your face like you put shampoo in your eyes. It's for the better, you both find peace. Just go gold mine. 

Oh, by the way, you gold mine for a summer. Yes, like you wear cowboy shirts and camp (!!) and learn to be a man. Sort of. Okay so maybe not a man, but you learn to be you. It's the summer that you find music more than you ever did before, and it comes with you more than it ever had before. Everywhere. Let it in, it's your everything. 

Bananas are going extinct. You were right to never learn to eat them. 

You never turn into a runner, and that's okay. You are awkward, you flail, you challenge the treadmill to a duel more times than you'll be able to count, but your legs will always lose. It's just not you. Stop trying to make it so and just use the stairmaster. It's okay. Your ass looks great.

You become a dad. Not just because you have a son, but because you evolve into something entirely different, like you'd always imagined you would and in some ways like you never thought you could. You hurt when he hurts, laugh when he laughs, and your whole everything lights up when he's near you, like sonar. It's the best you you've ever seen yourself be. Don't run from that, just because you're afraid. 

No, seriously, bananas are going extinct. Your aunt tells you this when you turn 34. I know, right? 

He's never going to be who you want him to be. Let go. He is a wave that crashes in and the tide rolls up and you believe, every time you believe, that this is the time that the water is going to rush up and hit everyone and surprise them. It won't. Just like the tide, it rolls back out. Be okay with that and let go. It's okay. 

You meet someone "when you least expect it," just like all the annoying people tell you you will one day. It's annoying that they're right, but cathartic that you are receptive to it. It's scary, and she may be a runner, but just go with it. She may also be a snow leopard that stays and Richard Attenborough comments about her in a silly British accent and tells you how rare she is. That would be cool, right? Right. So, again, go with it. Stop being afraid of everyone going away. They don't. 

You get mugged and lose a fingernail in an alleyway and walk home the next morning concussed from a hospital. Scary enough, you have no idea if this is the scariest thing that will ever happen to you and you still have no idea. Just remember that fingernails are neat and don't ever take them for granted. It's really hard to shower for like 3 months. 

You lie to people. Big lies. Some so big that they crush others and set them back emotionally. Don't beat yourself up over it, everyone does it and you aren't reinventing the wheel. You're just the asshole rolling the wheel, so stop doing that. You stop lying after the big ones, so there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Just remember not to do that again. It hurts. 

You sometimes pick your nose in your car and forget that windows are see through. Stop doing that, it's gross. 

You get so drunk that you clear a dance floor, brush your shoes off and dance through the room like a teen movie. It's magic. You will never dance like this again, so take it in. (You brush your fucking shoes off, man. Who knew you had it in you.)


You adopt a street dog and he becomes your best friend. Like a movie, the two of you stumble through life together teaching each other lessons about how to take care of another thing. He's your everything, don't ever take him for granted. Oh, and heads up: he bites Brian Chesky and is never allowed back at your job. It's a bummer, but isn't that sort of hilarious? It's kinda funny, admit it. 

You climb. Like, a rock. You climb a rock. I don't know if this one happens yet, but maybe if we write it it will become true. 

You smoke sometimes. Okay a lot of times. It's gross. Stop doing it. Remember that one day your kid will see you do it and the shame you feel will be insurmountable. It's an actual disgusting habit and you should knock that off. 

You quit from time to time, too. I didn't want to tell you that, because I don't want you getting ahead of yourself and feeling all "hooray me!" You also unquit from time to time, so stop patting yourself on the back. 

You learn to like salad. Who knew. You didn't see it coming, but you begin to crave it, like an old Jewish man waiting to get home to his humidifier. 

You write a lot of things to yourself, but in public, it's strange. Is it narcissistic? Maybe. Who knows. Just go with it. 

You become an astronaut and fly to Mars and battle aliens. Just kidding, you don't, but I knew young Drew would be stoked to hear that. 

You let love in all over the place in life and learn that if you do, it returns the favor and opens the door for you too. 

Don't ever stop walking through that door. 

Oh, and one last thing: you get married eventually. Sure, you fuck it up a few times along the way, but you get it right once. 

Trust me on this one. I promise. 

p.s. Your kid loves when you go, "AHHH!" and rub his belly. No matter how old you get, don't stop doing that. 

Goals for the age of 34.

  • I will slowly become less afraid of revolving doors at places like airports. Why am I afraid of them you ask? Great question, person. Just kidding, it's not, THEY'RE FUCKING HORRIFYING AND IF YOU GET TRAPPED IN THEM THEN WHAT, THEN YOU'RE JUST IN THAT LITTLE TRIANGLE UNTIL YOU WILL NO DOUBT DIE. 
  • I will become less hyperbolic about dying. 
  • I will become less hyperbolic about being hyperbolic, but to be honest that sounds impossible and I will never be able to do that, ever. 
  • I will begin to aggressively post pictures of a new person I am dating after a devastatingly lousy breakup, because she did it so that means I can now, because that's how being an adult works. 
  • I will stop being passive aggressive about my ex-girlfriends. 
  • Fuck you Heather, no one likes you yet. You're still out. 
  • I will learn to enjoy bananas. This was a goal years ago that I still can't achieve. Is it phallic? Is it the mushy, who-knows-what-the-color-of-the-banana-indicates mystery of it all? I don't know, guys. I just don't know. 
  • I will take my dog on more walks. 
  • I will buy a backpack that I can carry my dog to work in on my bike.
  • I will consider the bike rides with the dog in the dog backpacks "walks". Sorry, Walter. 
  • I will do 10 pull-ups a day.
  • Okay 8.
  • Probably more like 3 if I can.
  • I'll install a pull up bar. I know that, at least. That's a start. That'll get me there. Probably. 
  • I'll exercise. Okay? I'll exercise. 
  • I will treat my kid like a superhero and dress him in clothes that make him feel like Batman. Then, when he can talk, I'll get a flashlight that makes the bat signal and I will display it on the ceiling above his crib from time to time, and then I'll create fake crimes for him to solve where I dress up elaborately as arch-villains he must stop. 
  • I will learn how to tie a tie. I'm 34 and my step-dad still has to tie my ties. Jesus fucking christ, Drew. Jesus. 
  • I will spell the word color "colour" just to throw people off. 
  • I will learn a fact that is outstanding about an obscure animal and throw it out casually in conversation, like the fact that the blue-footed booby have distinctive bright blue feet, which is a sexually selected trait. Males display their feet in an elaborate mating ritual by lifting their feet up and down while strutting before the female. Surprised you didn't know that.
  • I will stop buying succulents because no YOU'RE a liar, they all die all the time.
  • I will finally get to the bottom of how to spell the shortening of the term "the usual", because it keeps me up at night. 
  • I will let go of friends who are lying liars and never liked me all that much it seems. 
  • I bet you're wondering, is that you? Am I talking about you? Maybe I am.
  • (Probably not. But maybe...)
  • I will stop swearing so much.
  • Fuck.
  • Shit.
  • Fuckshit.
  • I will buy less things. Just in general. 
  • Except for that t-shirt, I need that t-shirt. 
  • And that poster. 
  • Oooh! A new duvet. 
  • Fuck.
  • Shit.
  • Fuckshit.
  • I will walk up to a stranger at least twice and yell "Karen?!?" just to see if it's actually a Karen. If that worked one time, wouldn't we become best friends? I've gotta believe we would. I've got two shots at this, so wish me luck. 
  • I will stop telling my child that his feet came from a robot factory.
  • (They did, Oliver. You have robot feet. It's just true.)
  • I will drink less coffee. 
  • I will drink tea! 
  • Wait tea is awful. It's like the color beige of the food world. 
  • I will drink coffee. Just moderately. 
  • I will laugh and cry all at once, shooting something out of my nose. 
  • I will learn to climb. She likes climbing. I can do this.
  • I will learn to camp. She likes camping. I can do this. 
  • I will just be me and she will appreciate it. She can do that. I think. 
  • I will remember that I'm 34. It's hard to remember how old I am these days, so this is oddly a lofty goal. 
  • I will learn to dance better. 
  • Just kidding, I won't. But I'll dance the fuck out of places. 
  • Oops, I swore. 
  • I will get my child to believe that blueberries come from asteroids in the sky when god sneezes. It will make absolutely no sense and he'll probably believe me, which will be the best part. God, kids are awesome.
  • I will not rush into things.
  • She should meet my parents. 
  • I will not rush into things. 
  • Maybe I should quit my job and go travel the world. 
  • I will not rush into things.
  • I will become the world's greatest climber. She likes climbing.
  • I will not rush into things OH WHO CARES SHE'S GREAT. 
  • I will try harder to not crash cars. That seems to be a problem. 
  • I will try hard not to swear in front of my kid.
  • Why do I still have problems with swearing at the age of 34? That's so juvenile. 
  • Fuck, man. It's gonna be a great year. 
  • Fuck.
  • Shit.
  • Fuckshit.