I am honest on this blog. In most areas of my life I am transparent except here. I obfuscated details and blur identities so I will still have friends who love me and put up with my general oddities, foolery, and shenanigans.
I spin stories and yarns because that is what I am good at. I use my fictional powers for good and not evil. I have tried evil. It makes you a lot of money. But that evil shit will keep you up at night. And this woman right here loves deep, calming REM sleep the way a fat kid loves Baconalia Days at Denny’s.
I conceal things because some of the people I am writing about do not want to be identified. Or they don’t know that I am writing about them. The people who read this know who I am, and based on our side conversations, some are putting things together and making sense of
the shambles of my life.
Or at least are trying to put things, dates, and people together to determine who I’m secretly pining for, in love with, or hunching.
I have no problem with intelligent disagreement or finely articulated counterpoints. What I have an issue with is sheer projection and misinformation. Some folks have an inane desire to parse out the percentages of white and black down to the tenth of a percentage point. Some people reconstruct the facts of blogs to see something that the author never intended.
For example I have great male friends who often get mistaken or ascribed as my possiboo, my lovers, my man on the side, my intendeds, my boyfriend. In fact over a dinner at Chipotle, a male friend and I were told that we give off a “When Harry Met Sally” vibe and that we needed to shag like ducks.
Time out: I thought the phrase was screw like rabbits or fuck like rabbits. Ducks get down like that? And who outside of Austin Powers says shag (at least on this side of the Atlantic)? Time in.
Those inside the circle can see that we are friends. But those outside the clique can only see that we are super close.
And super close means that we must have engaged in four-legged frolic.
Le sigh. I wrote a blog about the friend zone. And no, it was not about any of the male friends I know and talk with on a daily basis. We are actually friends. I treat them the way I treat my brother. No Nutella fantasies, no daydreaming about his kiss, no touching below the belt.
Time out: I do treat my brother a bit differently. I can freeload at my brother’s abode with minimal comment or concern. I force my brother to take care of my dog. I force him to read my bad poetry. I let him drive my car to the E marker without asking for gas money. I don’t have a guy friend I would do any of that with. Time in.
However, someone projected their own relationship feelings and insecurities onto me after reading the friend zone blog post.
Where there is a gray spot, people love to give a fuck when it’s not their turn to give a fuck. (If you know where that statement comes from, you love The Bunk as much as I do.) Basically, this blogger sums it up nicely: “Whenever someone wants to do something good, it often ends with them having to deal with a whole lot of shit. Most people never really have the nerve to do something like that.”
I’m not saving the world with this blog, but I am being a bit brave by putting myself out here. For someone as private as I am, this is a huge leap forward for me. But getting your chest (metaphorically) cracked open and having your feelings exposed for naught tends to make you do some
different crazy asinine fantastic (and occasionally dumb) things. I’m not doing anything but collecting my thoughts for future projects far in the distance.
One can make a lot of assumptions about this blog. But trust me, when I can freely talk about who I am in love with and what I am doing with that person, it won’t be a gray area. I will come clean fully.
Until that time, don’t project. And don’t project behind my back.