Before we drove out of Phoenix, Puhg and I stopped at the hipster coffee shop. We’d already been, the day before. I outlined a short story idea, a cool dude complimented Puhg on the Suns jacket I thrifted for him, and we both drank iced mochas.
We took the trip to celebrate Puhg’s dad’s birthday. At the sunny event I drank four ginger beers and ate a bunch of pizza and wore a plain white t-shirt. Madwomaning like you wouldn’t believe. The sunset was very pink, watched it with Puhg's aunt. Later we got breakfast burritos with the best green sauce ever. I sat outside on Kale’s porch, then stuffed my face while her husband told me about his recent friend break-up. I was bold enough to say, It seems the root of your friction is that you think he thinks he’s better than you. How much of that is based on his actions toward you vs. your own bruised self esteem? We figure some things out before I have to go lay on the floor with headphones in watching the final livestream of Eras.
Saturday night I got dinner with Shellz at Cornish. We riled each other up, as we do, and laughed, as we do. We saw a play because I wanted to see the play and also because I hoped the theatre company might do mine one day. I ran into a dear friend in the lobby. We hugged forever and then she introduced me to the artistic director, who seemed cold and uninterested. I cried on the car ride home about it, of course. I’m desperate to get this piece produced. I have some of the greatest minds in comedy behind it and yet!
I talked to another Broadway producer about it two weeks ago, the dramaturg for the most prestigious award in playwriting a few days after. They both confirmed, the play is excellent, but the industry is collapsing, and artists who aren’t independently wealthy are kinda out of luck. It felt nice to be told. I looked up the playwright for the piece I’d seen. I guess it was “good”? It won a Pulitzer. But, man, it was nothing new! A realistic examination of the working class. Okay so WHAT? I muttered in my head as the cast bowed. No levity, no solutions, just sort of: wow, have you considered some people are poor?! Aren’t we brave to think about that?! Just as I suspected, the writer attended one of the country’s most prominent art academies and then two Ivy Leagues. I don’t care if I sound bitter! Sometimes I think we’ve been taught that bitterness is inherently bad because it’s a necessary ingredient to achieving class consciousness! But I’ve also observed, people who are Oops All Bitter lose their ability to make beautiful art. A little bit goes a long way, I guess, like the dark chocolate shell around a scotchmallow from See’s.
Monday was for bonus Shellz lunch. The same vegan place we’ve been going since we were 23. She still pretends it's going to be bad. It's tradition. I had my beloved Thai peanut salad, drafted the short story. I drove to the mall in sunshine and picked up Puhg from the movies. When we first started dating he said he’d never go to that mall again because he worked retail at Levi’s there during college. This weekend, while waiting for me, he walked to the storefront and took a selfie. More spinach cocktail pasties with Kiles followed by the dreamiest banoffee. I asked everyone if they’d like any, served one bowl, then stood in the kitchen devouring the rest.
So on the way out of town, I order an oat vanilla latte and peep the pastry case. There’s an adorable sprinkled pop-tart filled with maple apple butter, apparently. I tap on the glass. That, I say to the barista, the cute little Christmas thing.
So YOU, she says, as though we’ve ever met. I laugh so fully then say always great to get a chuckle in before 9 AM. She nods to the other barista, says they're always chuckling. A couple chuckleheads, I encourage. That’s what they call us, she confirms. Reality has melted away. You should work here, she says, you’d fit right in, we’d all be chuckleheads. I agree, of course. I eat the pop-tart when we’re back in LA. At night. On the couch. It’s delicious.
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