MELANIE DRIVES AND SPLENDOUR IN THE GRASS

I like to complain about sad people. Sometimes I even make jokes about sad people, about how they need to write poetry about how horrible life is, about how they complain about the fact that they have every limb and aren’t starving to death – my, how awful life is! But then I read some of my blog posts again. But then I read some of my poems again. “Shit,” I told Naomi. “I suck.”

I found myself having lunch with Jude, Vail, Barry the Straight Looking Gay Guy and his friend, Maureen.

“I like the short story you did on the war in Iraq and Obama,” Barry said. “It has balls.”

“I didn’t write a short story on the war in Iraq and Obama,” I said.

I don’t mind Barry, but I sort of mind his friend, Maureen. Maureen is one of those people who like to talk about bands a lot. You go up to her, and the first thing she’ll ask you is if you know the name of a band. When you say, “Shit, no,” she’ll ask you if you know the name of another band. There are so many bands out there, there are so many bands that I think bands have decided to just pick random words and stick them together to form band names. She asked me if I knew CSS, then Pinback, then Death Cab for Cutie, then Apple Plutonic Alien Cunts, then Red Red Bright Red, then Untied Shoelace, then Helium Ball Colourful Fighters, then Lyrics Born, then Plump DJs, then Patto and Pegz, then Eddy Current Suspension Ring, then Bullrush Bullrush, then Pubis Mouth Golden Fucken Shower, then In the Attic Snoring Deeply, then Final Fantasy, then Eminem, then Shannon Noll, then something like Faded Condom Volcano. I told her that I really don’t know who she’s talking about, that I’m not sure if Faded Condom Volcano and Pubis Mouth Golden Fucken Shower are even real, and she smiled, and she said, “That’s okay, Dean, fuck!” I told her that I went to Splendour. She asked me, “Like, what did you think of OK Go?” and I said, “I lied. I didn’t go to Splendour.” She didn’t hear me. She continued to talk about another gig, about how she met a bass player and how he actually went to school with her friend’s ex boyfriend. Then she told me about how Daft Punk has the greatest gig in the universe. Everyone says that Daft Punk has the greatest gig in the universe. If you want to make a friend, all you have to do is tell them, “Daft punk has the greatest gig in the universe,” and they’ll instantly agree with you. I once told this girl that I didn’t like Daft Punk, that I wouldn’t watch their concert. She smiled. I never saw her again.

I picked Melanie up and we watched her friend join this live graphic design competition. I had never seen anything like it. They gave the contestants beer and Jager Bombs and swore at them, and the contestants swore at them back. “Fuck you all! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck! You! CUNT!”

I got incredibly drunk, so Melanie took my car and drove us both to her house. We walked inside.

“You know,” she said, “I read you blog.”

“Damn it,” I said.

Melanie giggled. She pinched my cheek. “Just don’t mention me again.”

She cooked some food and gave me some. We both ate, and the world moved forward; there were so many stories and colours that it let slide.

For Sarah, who I once drank inappropriate amounts of Absinthe and Vodka with, who has lost something terribly important:

Death Cab for Cutie – What Sarah Said.