Whiskey Confessions, Friendless Friday Nights, and The Pep Talk We All Need
Why it feels like you're talking into a void
When I first moved to “buttfuck nowhere” with my son, who was a baby at the time, I had zero friends.
For two years, the 79 year old guy next door was my bestie.
We found kindred spirits in each other.
He always had a bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigs, and a charcuterie board on hand. He was my escape from the giant mistake I made, moving back in with my family.
He’d spend hours multiple nights a week teaching me how to play pool. He was some kind of master back in the day. That was kind of what made us work so well. I’d listen to him tell all his stories, and he’d listen to me vent my problems.
Every single Friday (without fail), he’d wait for me to be making a really critical shot, and he’d say, “it’s really sad that I’m the best thing you’ve got going on, on a Friday night.” He knew I would bust out laughing. 🤣
He had a great, dry, totally inappropriate sense of humor and a huge heart – remind you of anyone? We’d banter + talk shit to each other until I was back at my front door at the end of the night.
Those were some of the best nights of my “buttfuck nowhere” life to this day.
One day, he tells me he’s selling the house and moving states to be near his family.
I cried.
Ok, I sobbed… and sobbed… and sobbed.
It was a disproportionate amount of ugly crying for the actual situation at hand.
After two years of whiskey-fueled confessions, he knew what was going on.
He says to me (there’s some paraphrasing, but trust me, I’ll never forget this pep talk)…
Dre, if you want friends, you have to leave the house!
I love you, and I know you love me, and we’ll miss each other, but you’ve gotten used to having me around as an emotional woobie to avoid having to put yourself out there, and that era is over.
You’re not a porcelain doll!
Get your ass out there.
Stop telling yourself that the people around here don’t get you. They don’t even know who the fuck you are because you’re a hermit.
Let them see Dre.
The one who comes over here and talks shit to an elderly man…
The one who dresses her baby up in weird shit for her own entertainment…
The one who sneaks over in the cover of darkness and rearranges my garden decorations to annoy me…
The one who had nothing better to do than spend 2-weeks methodically coordinating a prank on my son who’s been out on an oil rig for a year…
He listed off the sweetest “backhanded” compliments for a solid 5-mins, like some kind of heartfelt roast, and I’ll never forget the one he ended with...
The one who gave me the two best years of my life since my wife died.
You really think I’m the only one in this county who is going to see what a great person + mom you are – attitude, foul mouth, wicked sense of humor, non-traditional values, and all!
Dre, you’re an amazing young lady. Please stop hiding it all and wondering why you feel so unseen + unloved.
Put yourself out there, and I promise you’ll find people to love you, who are a whole lot cooler and younger than me. Maybe you’ll even find a date one of these days. You shouldn’t put that off too much longer; you’re not a spring chicken anymore.
He checked on me every week, for at least a year after he moved, primarily so he could bust my balls about how many friends I’d made. It was a running joke that I think we both needed to feel as connected to each other as we did through all those late nights of talking shit + playing pool.
This whole Substack, Hot Dog Cart era feels a lot like trying to make friends when I moved out here to the land of country bumpkins.
I’m scared.
I feel like a whiskey-slingin’, secret cigarette-smokin’, dirty-old-man-thinkin’, second-act (read: old) mom walking into story time at the library.
CONTEXT: Story time at the library was the first “meat market” I tried making friends at, after Leo left. Let’s just say, I would have been more welcomed at an Andrew Tate dinner party.
Will they think I’m lost? Maybe looking for a bar with a baby strapped to me?
Am I going to be the only one without homemade quinoa balls?
Do I still need quinoa balls even if they make me + my baby gag?
Will I shrink from the stares of judgy bitches who are young enough to be my daughter?
Can I be me?… Will it’ll be ok?
Why can’t I just run next door and hide in a basement with a sweet + salty old man who supplies me with copious amounts of vices + laughs?
I wish Leo was here to give me one of his pep talks.
Unfortunately, he passed away a couple of years ago, so I’m gonna have to channel all the wise words he gifted me with while he was here.
I think his version today would be…
Dre, if you want a hot dog cart, you have to fill the void.
You’re not a porcelain doll.
Get your ass out there.
Stop telling yourself that the people on Substack won’t get you. They don’t even know who the fuck you are because you’re too afraid to show them.
Let them see Dre.
The one who won’t shut up about all the internet indoctrination that’s been shoved down her throat…
The one who wants to be like the old man with a hot dog cart in front of her local hardware store when she grows up…
The one who finally pulled her head out of her ass and realized that she wants a blissfully simple, ordinary AF existence…
The one who would rather eat raw cow balls dipped in goat urine than call herself an expert anymore…
The one who fills the void with so much fun, freedom, and fulfillment that she’s too fucking busy “living the dream” to entertain any toxic, soul-sucking capitalist BS…
You really think I’m the only one on the internet who is going to see what a genuine + brilliant person you are – attitude, foul mouth, wicked sense of humor, non-traditional values, and all!
Dre, you’re a pioneer. Please stop talking yourself out of the shit you really want and wondering why you feel like a fraud.
Put yourself out there, and I promise you’ll find people who love you, your cart-sized ideas, and your big, “take me or leave me” personality! Maybe you’ll even find a date one of these days. I mean, you’re basically a dinosaur now, so it’s mission-critical at this point.
TRUTH: The void doesn’t feel like a void because of the people count; it feels that way because what we’re putting out there is void of US.
We feel like we have to be these experts + thought leaders who are revolutionizing shit… when we’re really just parents, caretakers, hobbyists, advocates, creatives, and humans craving shit – impact, purpose, connection, and security.
I have a theory.
The void is not a void at all; it’s a blacked-out automatic sliding door that only opens when it sees you… that’s meant to look like a void when you’re not there.
I feel like I’ve been playing peek-a-boo with this fucking door for years now… and while I’m ready to shamelessly stand in front of it with nothing but hot dog-shaped pasties + a painted mustard bikini on… I sob weekly from the internet trauma.
My body literally shakes from fear when I think about doing this the way I want because I’ve spent so many years conditioning myself to do things the way I was told.
I’m at that place where you know what you need to do… now, it’s just time to do the work.
Not the work-work.
But “the work.”
I know Leo’s right… I know I need to fill the void with the shit I really want + let people see the real me… the 2024, constantly evolving, blissfully ordinary, “hot dog cart,” ME.
It’s time.
I need to make being that Dre a DAILY habit, which got me thinking “experimentally.”
I’m crushing so hard on Substack Notes because it’s the first place that’s felt safe enough to explore who I am! To play “double-dog dare” with all 50 shades of batshit crazy broad with a mouth of a sailor + a heart of gold, as I choose.
It’s been so healing that I wonder what would happen if we played together.
THE EXPERIMENT:
What would happen if we spent the month double-dog daring each other to be so honest it kinda hurts?
We’re only 8 days in and there’s already so much healing happening because of the realness we’re holding each other too + the nonjudgmental conversations we’re having with each other.
If you want to jump in with us, it’s not too late, here’s how this experiment works:
Monday-Thursday, throughout October, I’m dropping a new Hot Dog Cart chat thread with a double-dog dare we can all do on Notes, and then asking everyone to drop a link to their Note, so the rest of us can go shower it with love + practice being the real us.
EXAMPLE: I double-dog dare you to tell me something so honest it kinda hurts, or I double-dog dare you to tell me one dirty little secret you’ve been keeping from the internet.
No promotions. No backend offer. No time-consuming commitment.
Just a bunch of hot dog cart-lovin’ fools healing their nervous systems, growing their Substacks, and rebuilding their confidence after years of toxic internet indoctrination.
The investment = $15/month or $130/year.
Choose which plan makes the most sense for YOU!
I’m really scared + excited about this new era, but I don’t know that there’s anymore “ready” I can be than this!
If I don’t see you over on Substack or in my inbox, please know that Leo’s wise words are here for YOU too!
If you need his tough love, I know he wouldn’t mind lending you some.
Hear his voice in your head giving you the heartfelt roast you need… because men his age don’t have any fucks left to lie.
YOU'RE READY to start doing this the way you want! He promises... and I do too. 🫶
To filling the void with the shit we really want,
Dre 'Double-Dog Dare' Beltrami
This Hot Dog Cart-sized initiative is so important, I would la la looove your help getting it into more of the hearts + minds who need it. If you have enough in your social tank, would you forward this to any friends or loved ones who need this pep talk (if you're on email) or restack it for your readers (if you’re on Substack)?
I can’t do this without you!
I’ve felt this way for such a long time that reading your words felt like being truly seen for the first time in years.
You’re absolutely right! The pressure to become something grand distances us from the simple, essential human needs we crave: connection, purpose, security, and belonging. It robs us of the joy of doing the work we love, replacing it with the constant push to hustle, achieve, and excel. We’re made to feel that unless we’re “exceptional,” we can’t justify our existence, the trust of our clients, or the business we’re building.
But shifting our perspective is key—recognizing that belonging, purpose, and security aren’t prizes we have to earn. They are our birthrights. We don’t need to do more, be more, or prove more to be worthy of the life we’re creating or the trust others place in us. We are worthy simply because we exist, because we care, and because we show up with love and integrity.
Of course, preparation matters. It’s important to study, grow, and refine our craft so we can offer the best of what we have. That work builds confidence, giving us the tools to show up, solve problems, and serve others well. But the idea that we need to be experts or thought leaders to be worthy of making a difference? That’s misguided. Expertise doesn’t create meaningful connection—care does. Care is what allows us to show up with authenticity, build trust, and truly impact the lives of those we serve.
And I’m so sorry for your loss. He helped build you up and gave you the wind beneath your wings… and now, it’s your time to fly.
Thank you for giving us- actually, It’s not appropriate I speak for everyone—thank you for sharing that wind with me, as it’s been the nitrous oxide I needed to propel me into the next level of my business and in turn, life.
It's settled then! I'll help you pack. 🤣