We were at Grumpy’s, because of course we were. All my stories that don’t start with “I woke up from a nap” start with “We were at Grumpy’s.”

It was fitting because I was grumpy as fuck. I’ve been grumpy as fuck for a long time. Itchy, unsure, cranky, not depressed, and not afraid, but just generally unpleasant-like in my brain. I know why I’ve been like this, because I haven’t written a goddamned thing worth a goddamn in about seven epochs. Knowing this does nothing to alleviate any of it.

Also, I pulled a hamstring on Saturday night which adds to the general level of crank. I was barely aware that I had hamstrings and pulling one has made me abundantly aware about what a cocksucking motherfucker my right thigh is.

So anyway, I’ve been stewing in this acidic swamp of crabbiness for what? Six weeks now? And then yesterday I got news that I did not get a grant that I applied for and I seriously contemplated plummeting into a pit of despair, because at least I’d have a good reason? However, plummeting would have taken a lot of energy and I was currently using all my energy to be a surly fuck.

Swearing is my new thing now.

And then I got to Grumpy’s to see my friend Melanie and I promptly set to the airing of grievances regarding my hamstring and the arts’ board critique and how it stung to be called “pre-professional” and I probably bitched about my fingernails and how cranky I was about having to breathe all the time with the in and the out and the oh my god I hate all stuff and things.

Then when I let her speak because I was too busy whimpering and stewing she said, ” I saw this Heart thing and I almost sent it to you.”

And I cheered momentarily because I do love to talk about Heart.

“They played “Stairway to Heaven” for Led Zepplin at the Kennedy Center Honors,” she said.
“I know I’ve see that,” I said.
“It’s amazing, she said. “Robert Plant cried.”
“I know!” I screeched a little and then because I get carried away thinking about Heart, it made me forget the hamstrings and the cranky and the “this doesn’t sound like any liner notes I’ve ever read.

I took a deep breath and uttered the immortal words that probably strike fear in the hearts of people who know me I said, “Did you know that Heart started out as a Led Zeppelin cover band?”
“No,” Melanie said and I choose to believe she was interested in what I was going to say next because Melanie is kind.
“Yeah, Ann was in a Zeppelin cover band in Vancouver. And did you know that they were like the godmothers of that whole grunge scene in Seattle in the 90s? The night Andrew Wood died all those guys went to Ann Fucking Wilson’s house but of course nobody ever talks about that, how supportive she was of those guys, well, except for Kurt Cobain who sprung fully-formed from the Space Needle.”

As I took a breath to start the second part of my Heart lecture, Melanie laughed. She laughed really hard, gasping for breath, and sputtering “fully-formed from the Space Needle.”

My actual heart grew three sizes that night (it was last night) and we spent the next three hours talking about all the things and it reminded me that there were still some things that I liked (sex, music, feminism) and still things I hated (all the Shakespeare and Hobbitty stuff). She reminded me that it was okay to put The Beast down for awhile but my excuses had all dried up and it was time to get back to work.

And so I did. Today. And it was good.

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Last night I ventured forth from the hidey hole known as Supergenius HQ and appeared in public. It was a very special occasion, the launch party for Dylan Hicks’ novel Boarded Windows. As you may recall the 26-year-old version of me has very smooshy feelings for the music of Dylan Hicks.

He was not boring. I was. I’ll get to that in a minute. The reading was so much fun. He read a little, he sang a little, he very diplomatically tried to answer a question asked by a man who didn’t realize he wasn’t really asking a question or saying anything that made any sense but uttered a lot of large words that seemed coherent. Also, note to all authors: more music at your readings. If I ever finish writing a book and get it published and do a reading I’m totally going to make someone come and play some music tangentially related to the book. It will probably be my friend Wolfdogg, since he’s the only guitar player I know. This would be much easier if I were multi-talented like Dylan Hicks, but I’m not.

But this about what happens when you are boring, not what happens when you go see a multi-talented author and singer read from their new book. Obviously.

No, what happens when you are boring is that you go to Grumpy’s with friends you haven’t seen in ages (in this case Jags & Vodo) you end up talking about potato salad.

See, I invited Jags and Vodo to my “40th Birthday Soiree.” The quotes because Jaycie, my niece, has dubbed this the official name of the party. There is much Sister Club excitement about my impending birthday. In fact we spend a lot of time during Sunday Family Dinner brainstorming “themes.” And by we, I mean Sisters #2 & #3 and Jaycie. So far they go back and forth between a Minnesota Twins theme (because I wear, often, a Minnesota Twins shirt that I bought for $6 not so much because I’m a huge baseball fan but a huge fan of $6 shirts. I’ve been known to say I’d wear the shirt just as much if it just had ‘$6’ on the front) and a rainbows and unicorns theme. I mostly ignore them during the debate and just try to con The Tibbles into believing they have to get me forty presents for my FORTIETH! birthday.

When I invited Jags & Vodo, cityfolk, to venture out to the wilds of Shakopee on June 2nd to celebrate nearly forty years of me (the party is before my actual birthday, the last weekend of my thirties) I gave them my best sales pitch. It went something like this:
“Yeah, my sisters are throwing me a big party. It will be fun. There will be potato salad.”

This, of course, prompted Vodo to be all “Oh, potato salad, of course I’ll be there.”
And I was all,”Dude, I just learned how to make potato salad and it is amazing.”

And because Vodo can never just take my word for anything he had to goad me about the ease of making potato salad. “Isn’t it just potatoes and mayonaisse?” he asked.

This from someone who obviously never, ever made potato salad. Jags then chimed in about how her grandma made excellent potato salad. Then I explained the different theories on potato salad and how for years I could not make a decent potato salad until I read this fascinating article about it. We continued to debate the merits and/or ease of potato salad and what kind of potatoes to use. After about ten minutes into the discussion I turned to Vodo and shouted “SEE? POTATO SALAD IS IMPORTANT.”

So that’s what happens when you’re boring, you get rather non-boring, even interesting people to discuss the merits of potato salad.

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Second of all, thank you for all the solicited advice. The confrontation with the unpleased went okay. I’ve hatched a plan whereby the next time he/she is unpleased the unpleasedness will be strictly his/her fault and not mine at all. You should read the advice. Some of it is really brilliant².

¹ I have a theory that if you really love some thing, a thing you use every day all the time (like sunglasses or glasses glasses or water bottles or pens), then you should have two of them. This way you don’t get all bummed out if you should lose or break that thing, because you have a back up. Sure the back up seems subpar at first but eventually you get used to it. I didn’t have a good backup water bottle. I had the cool looking, hard to suck out of water bottles as backups. Bad move. So I got a backup for the original, beloved water bottle (I also got a back up to the back up). If that makes me bougie so be it.

² I didn’t really have anything to add to the word brilliant, I just thought I needed another footnote. Also, I stole the footnote idea from Christa who also used footnotes today. But she quoted a Poison song and I’m wearing a t-shirt that says “talk nerdy to me” so I figured it’s alright³

³ Yes, I wore this shirt yesterday. Suck it.

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That is all.

Oh, I also forgot my favorite water bottle on the table and that makes me sad.

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Example 2 outside at Grumpy’s:
“I don’t know,” Jeremy, the newest member of the Inglorious Basterds, said. “I like people.”
“You like people?” Wan asked, sneering a little.
Aimee shook her head. “I hate people.”
“Me too,” Steve said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not a fan of people.”

We’re hoping Jeremy comes back for our next meeting.

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