Peter Grandbois' Arsenic Lobster Release Party

For weeks now, I've been looking forward to and dreading the release party for Peter Grandbois' newest book, 'Arsenic Lobster: A Hybrid Memoir.' Sure, I'm excited to catch up with colleagues who I haven't seen since graduation in May, but I'm not looking forward to toting along my six-week old son to the event. Picture upset crying during the middle of the reading.

In the end, I decide to stay for the meet and greet cocktail hour and leave before the reading begins.

The release party is being hosted by Robin Martin at The Urban Hive, a midtown Sacramento coworking space located very near Old Soul, where my writers group, Writers in Progress, used to meet. Janna Santoro is one of The Urban Hive's founders, so I'm interested to see what the place is like.

We get there around 6:30--it's not yet dark yet. It's an artsy warehouse, brick with art on white walls, mod seating, very open, uncluttered.

Bridget Mabunga, or Auntie Bridget, sports a sweet new do, straighter than I've ever seen it, shorter and highlighted with some pink streaks. She's also wearing a purple coat--ah--she must be like, the coolest professor ever. She takes the kid with a smile and a, "Go get something to eat." I try not to kick up my legs on my way to the buffet. In the back of my mind, I'm wondering if it would be kosher take off, just chuck some Similac out the window of my car, screeching tires and all.

I check out the stacks of 'Arsenic Lobster: A Hybrid Memoir.' I pick one up, looking around the studio, thumb through a bit of it, wondering what makes a memoir hybrid. Wondering, wondering.

I congratulate Grandbois and purchase two copies: one for me and the other I tell him is likely to end up a Christmas gift and so not to write it to anyone--though if the screenplay to his "Gravedigger" is successful, it might end up on ebay. He signs them both, seems a little muddled, and I smile looking every which way, wondering if he's thinking, "Shame, shame--you brought a baby?"

Flatmancrooked makes an appearance, and I get a free copy of one of their anthologies. After a few more awkward words of congratulations, I shuffle off--certain that one of his groupies is about to demand his attention.

We crash on a couch, and chat with Rich Martin, Robin's husband. Eventually, Kylee Cook and Marie Hoffman join us along with Bridget and her husband, Bobby. Everyone's been up to something. Robin's got a new tow-hitch on her car. Bridget's working at Folsom Lake College. Gordon got a haircut and he's been very busy agenting books. Aschala Edwards. Trina Drotar. Both in Sac State's graduate program now.

Embarassing moment: Rich Martin, Robin's husband, points out that my teeth are all red from the lobster cookie I had been eating. Thanks, Gordon Warnock.

Eventually, Robin calls for everyone's attention--she smiles, wearing a black and white patterned dress--it's a little bit go-go artsy writer, but that's Robin. This is where we make our exit. The kid has been asleep the entire event, but I don't want to risk tears during the reading.

It's dark outside now. I settle into the passenger seat while Jason buckles in the kid, and I exhale deep, thankful that we got through the night, well, halfway through the night, minus any poops, or meltdowns. It seems fitting that one of his first outings is a literary event--even if he couldn't make it through the reading.

That night, I fantasize about having my very own book release party at The Urban Hive. Robin would introduce me, "I remember the first time I met Jen, and thinking 'Wow, I wish I could be more like her.'" I snicker and roll over into a dreamless sleep.