Talking to other authors…

There is a secret world for internet columnists, one that I have recently been exposed to. In the interest of full disclosure I will be recording it here for public record.
Me:
Sticker
Me: Facebook has some weird stickers
Bryan: That is a dude who’s into bestiality and BDSM, and his flag belongs to no nation.
Me: Hey now, maybe it’s not bestiality, maybe his dog is just very dapper.
Bryan: The dog is flesh-colored. That’s upsetting.
Me: It’s a Chihuahau. They’re like the hairless cats of dogs, except they have hair. And are not cats.
Bryan: Chihuahuas don’t abide hats like that. I know this for a fact.
Bryan: Thanks, Uncle Milford, and your rat-dog from hell.
Me: I thought you were going to bed.
Bryan: I can’t. Today was an angry day.
Me: Ah. Well maybe you will calm down with some cat videos.
Me: Or you could watch 19 Kids and Counting. Michelle’s voice is very soothing.
Me: Quiet like a mouse.
Bryan: Ah. I’m doing it the old-fashioned way like the Amish.
Bryan: Waiting until my phone dies.
Me: And then angrily staring into the dark. Gotcha.
Bryan: YES! How did you ever!
Me: Then I will keep bothering you (and everyone else) until your phone dies.
Me: I’m a good friend like that.

The music scene is so much broader than just what’s on the radio.

My husband has a job which involves a lot of repetitious action, and to help along with that he listens pandora radio as he works. His favorite station is the swing station because as we’ve discussed we’re both secretly 95 years old, and he’ll send me songs periodically that are basically balm for the soul. Seriously, you know that one lotion that you got for Christmas from your rich aunt that smells like sunshine and babies and when you put it on your skin it’s nice and cool and smooth, and then afterwards you get into bed and your scratchy sheets feel like silk because you’re so damn moisturized? This song is like that, for your soul.

Other times he’ll send me songs that kind of break my brain, like this one by a guy who combines rap and swing and showtunes and indie and I don’t even know. He kind of just got up one day and was like, “you know what, I’m just going to be my spectacular self.”

And then even other times he sends me songs by robots. And the robots sing better than I ever could so dude I am so ready to welcome them into society. Robots are welcome in any world that I’m a part of because of these kinds of artistic contributions.

I’ve not got some overly philosophical conclusion to draw out of this, I just wanted to spread some joy in your life.

I am a grumpy old lady.

When I was a teenager fourth of july was an absolute blast. We burned holes in our clothes, pulled fireworks open in order to combine them, and once set a neighbor’s bushes on fire. I’m very glad I was at a friend’s house and not anywhere my mother could see because I would have given that poor woman early angina. Every year David and I got a bit safer but no less enthusiastic about turning the neighborhood into a battle zone.

I don’t know what happened in the past year but this fourth of july I was sitting in a plastic yard chair at my in-law’s house, watching the fountains and mortars go off, and I was grumpy as all get out. The fireworks were too dangerous for my liking, everyone else was too reckless, it was too dark, the trees were too close, I was just an absolute nightmare to be around. It had nothing to do with whether or not I got to light them. I was just not into it this year. I think this tears it, I am officially an old lady at 22 years old.

So instead David, his sister Amanda, and I all went in the house to an upstairs bedroom and watched the more young at heart people light the fireworks off out the window while we talked about life and moving plans and how grumpy we all were. It was actually a nice cap to the night.

So what’s the next holiday again? I think it’s Labor Day? Well I’m going camping Labor Day with family so I think I’ll have to take some precautions against my grump. Maybe they can duct tape me to a tree. Or, like, intentionally induce laryngitis.

Or I guess I could assign David to be my aide and he can shush me a lot and add “she doesn’t mean it” after everything I say. But I’m suspecting he’s just as grumpy as I am and I’m afraid that might backfire.