The Beach in the Basement
Tips for continuous self-improvement, from someone who lives in a basement
Fireworks!
As I write this, there is a diarrhea epidemic in the US caused by my fave fast food restaurant, and the air is so full of wildfire particles that a short walk outside is the equivalent of smoking a bunch of cigs.
You know, classic 2026 stuff.
Before I let this post turn optimistic, I’m going to mention my query journey with my new book, because it is ROUGH. So far I’ve received 4 actual rejections from agents, which doesn’t sound bad until you realize I’ve entered 3 contests with multiple agents, so the number is somewhere in the 30s. I’d be cool with this, but I’ve entered public pitch contests and the stuff getting attention is like: “A beanbag chair falls in love with a hockey-playing turtle in an alternate dimension. It’s Heated Rivalry meets Stranger Things with a dash of War & Peace.”
It’s both very entertaining and soul-crushing. Who is reading these books? Evidently lots of people who are obsessed with hockey, turtles, and beanbag chairs.
Anyway, changing course to “Optimistic!”
I watched Widow’s Bay on Apple TV this month. Fave show since Andor last year. If you like horror-comedy it is a slam dunk.
I’ve gotten to see a ton of friends, family, and fireworks this summer. I’ve had to keep my budget tight with my as-yet-unsuccessful startup, so I’ve been staying local but my heart is full.
I’ve discovered Klondike bars are very cheap at Aldi, so I’ve eaten roughly 400 since June.
I’m running a 5K soon, and I’ve somehow managed to actually get slower in the six weeks I’ve been training. This is optimistic because it means I don’t have to run anymore after this is over.
That’s the update! Below is a blog on how I’m kind of a douchebag. Bon Appétit!
My Creative Stuff
The Beach in the Basement
Quickie: I thought I was nice, but I guess not?
Some sense of deeply-rooted Midwest propriety is keeping me from using the actual B-word in the title of this post, but please know that “beach” here means exactly what you think it means.
I’ve been sitting on this blog for a while, but it is hilarious (methinks).
Back in the day, a company offered to buy our condo building. They were going to turn it into upgraded apartments and make lots of money. As owners, a lot of us wondered if this would be an opportunity for us to also make mucho moolah. (A Classic Win-Win!!) I was especially keen because Emilio and I had recently gotten married and it could offer us a way to sell the place and look for something new without the headache of realtors, open houses, etc. We also had a KILLER interest rate, so we needed motivation and convenience to leave our current condo.
Anyway, during one of the meetings with the developer, it opened into Q&A time. As you can guess the primary question on everyone’s mind was: “HOW MUCH MONEY YOU GIVE ME FOR CONDO??”
The person who lives above me used this question to frame a (rather vicious and incredible) dunk on me and Emilio. It was something to the effect of (and I’m paraphrasing…slightly):
“How are you going to do the estimates, because I deserve A LOT more money than, say, that cesspool-butt-dump apartment below me.”
I fully turned to stare at the person, because, like, what? Sir, you can literally ask that question without saying I live in a sewer?
Since then—shocker!—I haven’t been super close to this person. It has become part of my cultural identity, though, as my bestie and I still refer to me and Emilio as “Basement Beaches” because we are obviously the Quasimodos of the condo association.
In general, I haven’t accrued a lot of enemies in my 41 years of life, but I do have some.
And after the most recent week, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m the problem. Am I the Beach in the Basement? Part of running your own (some may describe it as “failing”) solopreneur business it that, you have to do a lot of introspection. If you’re not making sales, guess whose fault it is? It’s not The Legend of Zelda action figure on my desk making the decisions that have led to a slow-moving sales pipeline. It’s me. Hi! I’m the problem.
And, earlier this week, I began to wonder if I’m the problem on multiple levels.
Incident #1: My old coworkers texted about how they ran into a guy we used to tangentially work with. Guess who jumped on the text chain, clucking about how much I hated this guy?
Hi, again.
We made some jokes about how much I didn’t enjoy our “corporate collaboration”. Gifs were shared. I may have likened myself to Madeleine Kahn and the flames on the side of her face from the movie Clue in describing how much I hate him.
The next morning, I caught Emilio up on the text thread and proceeded to dunk on the guy again.
THEN, I leave the house and am waltzing down the street to the gym and see this other guy. WHO I ALSO DON’T LIKE.
We belonged to the same friend group for a second, and, during that era, I had to keep my eyes from rolling every time he opened his mouth. This is not to be confused with the OTHER guy from that group I didn’t like because I’m pretty sure he crawled out of the dictionary, birthed from the definition of the word “narcissist.”
Anyway, I had a halt-and-think on the sidewalk. The introspection I’ve been using on my business, seeping into the regular, social part of my brain.
“My goodness,” I thought, “I AM a beach.”
It’s not because of the cesspool butt dump of my condo…
…
…
…
But because of the cesspool butt dump in my heart.
I mean, yes. Are some of these guys actually cesspool butt dumps themselves? I’m not going to say no…
But I don’t need to carry that around or let it affect me. I really don’t need to clown and drag them when they can’t defend themselves.
Just as I can’t blame the gloomy sales pipeline of my business on anyone but myself, I also can’t blame the sardonic, toxic energy I’m spewing on text threads on a third party.
Even Zelda action figure.
So, I’m going to take a beat before I dunk on anyone that I don’t like. Refrain from cesspool butt dumpery as much as I can. And hopefully, that will bleed into the fabric of the universe. Maybe even Terrible Friend Group Guy and Dictionary Narcissist will feel the barometer shift and not be such douchebags. My upstairs neighbor will bring me a fruit basket and tell me that he loves butt dumps.
You know, a classic Win-Win.
Conclusion
Happy July, everyone!
In the spirit of being a basement beach, it seems very fitting to end this month with some Meredith Brooks.
See you in August!
Good thing I like beaches! :)
okay but i believe these people had dunks coming to them. i defend your beachiness (because i am a woman with similar distastes in my own heart. certified hater, etc)