IN THE FLESH

While I was spending time on the alien spaceship (a rather convenient and vague explanation to my extended blogging vacation), some of you have taken the time to write. I really appreciate it and love getting your emails/posts/etc. It was precisely a fan email that duly shamed me into resurrecting the defunct blog, so please follow suit and comment away! As you may know, I usually respond back, and even have developed an email rapport with some of you. Some brave souls even send mails using their ACTUAL names-thereby subjecting themselves to possible mocking on the site (though given my generosity in not exposing the fascist reader--most feel safe in knowing they won't be outed).

Anyway, a few weeks ago, a potentially promising/damaging prospect crossed my path: I had the opportunity to *possibly* meet one of my readers. And before all of you jump to your fantastic conclusions-NO-it was not a Barbi dream date...It happened as such:

I was RSVPing for a friend's party (yes-am EVER the party girl), and while doing so, decided to peruse the evite list. I happened to notice a name staring back at me from the invitee list--a name I recognized as belonging to one of my beloved readers. Now, I know that you will say, it could be anyone with the same name...but trust me, I know that this was my mystery reader. I just have a hunch...plus, the name was hardly the John Smith/Mary Johnson/Ami Shah/Neil Patel of the phone book world-Mystery Reader (MR) had a distinctive enough a name to set off a mental alarm in my head (or maybe it was those damn voices again...anyway...)

I have never met MR, nor does our common link, the evite sender, read my site or know MR's guilty pleasure of reading about my pathetic (albeit exciting) life. It leaves me to wonder how you all find me. *SIDENOTE: I love it that you DO find me, my little darlings. Like salmon (or Salman, for that matter) coming home to spawn, you are drawn to my turbulent waters. Okay, enough of the cheese.)*

I played out the scenarios in my head...what would MR be like? Obviously is of discerning tastes and playful wit, as has opted for my blog instead of the Huffingtons of the world. Clearly would be of superior intelligence and a liberal demeanor, as has commented on how fabulous my blog is. But how would MR react to moi?

Would MR be as enamored with me in the flesh? Would MR recognize me as none other than the Minx? Would I be my fabulous self-or would I, with the name of MR flashing incessently in my mind, resort to Rain Man type sputtering and go into social meltdown. Perhaps the most important question of all, would I WANT TO expose myself and reveal my true identity? Um, no? Maybe? Not sure? All of the above?

There is an extraordinary comfort in being an unknown smartass about town; and I have become accustomed to my cloak of anonymity and cherish the fact that I can post with relative impunity. I can air my insecurities and vent to my heart's content, without burdening those in my life. Without this arena, my friends would have to quit their jobs and be on window ledge watch 24/7. And, as much as I would love to meet my readers, I wouldn't have it any other way. Call it insecurity, or self-loathing, or maybe just common sense, but I just don't know if I can live up to the expectations that you all may have or may not have. (SHAMING GUILT TRIP: I am sure that some of you NOW know my identity, due to the fabulous friend outing me in drunken moment (ahem...you KNOW I am talking to YOU!), though I hope that you will keep my identity to yourselves.)

In the normal world (whatever that is), people put their proverbial best feet forward. They get to know each other better before letting it all hang out. I am the opposite. And certainly in this case-it just wouldn't work. Let me explain: Am I fabulous? Absolutely. Am I willing to make you privy to the inner workings of my mind before getting to trust you? Hells no. Therein lies the problem, you see.

An additional burden of being clever, fun and well, an OUTRAGEOUS minx, is the pressure to always be ON. As the lovely friends can tell you, I too suffer from my wallflower moments (though few and far between). Like the proverbial clown crying on the inside, I am the party animal wanting to curl up on the couch and watch bad TV. Now, would YOU want to be stuck with me on one of those nights?

For the most part, I am an unapologetic party girl (or was, at any rate). I remember having to schedule nights in and relishing those weekends spent with hair masks, movies and moments of catatonic lounging in my den of slack. I have increasingly become tired of the scene over the years, and now crave wine tastings and house parties over spending mind numbing time with e-dropping adolescents in the deafening club scene giving me a headache. Yes. I am getting old.

I don't see this as a bad thing...but rather a new version of my fabulous self. It is wittier and calmer side of myself--I have become the party girl of the MENSA scene. And, given that the venue of the party was a friend's home, I could shine like the superstar that I am. However, it didn't change my mind and (lest I get tempted to out myself) I RSVP'ed in the negative. Like the bitter old hag that I am, I spent that evening in pajamas watching some cheesy movie on tv. Pathetic, I know. In due time, The Minx will be surrounded by the requisite menagerie of kitties that are de rigeur for spinsters the world over. Meow, indeed.