Channeling My Inner Fortune Cookie

And my outer mother, of course...

Her favorite expression in life is "Everything in excess is bad." Or rather, more accurately, "Todo en exceso es malo." Either way, she uses the expression too much. The irony of which is completely lost on her, or maybe it isn't, and she is just conserving her energy for continual invocation of her second favorite platitide, "Be careful - you might get what you wish for." For some reason this one is only ever uttered in english. Not sure why. Given that I am nearly positive she picked this up from a fortune cookie, I think she may be angling to save the bilingual approach on this one for the day she figures out how to say it in chinese. I won't even get into "Cuando la vida te da limones as limonada" and "Por el roto siempre hay un descido." It is a little too much to take on in one day. What I had really wanted to focus on was the second asian cuisine-ish phrase: Be careful. You might get what you wish for.

Lola, over at Bitter With Baggage, has kindly invited her readership to delurk, and the friendly bunch that they are, they have responded in kind. If you haven't been over there yet, I highly recommend dropping in for a visit. You will enjoy yourself. Supremely. Promise. Lacking in originality as I am these days, I contemplated following her move and inviting those in the blogosphere that happen to skitter by here from time to time to sit awhile and chat and tell me a little about themselves. Admittedly, I am curious. However, I realized I am also scared. A little scared that there is no one to delurkify and reveal themselves to me. Completely terrified that there are many (read: more than none) out there waiting to stand up and be counted. I know people come by here - some dear friends to begin with, some whom I have developed friendships with through the magic that is this blog (heh), and, of course, the random fun spammers that want me to subscribe to their magazine or buy their penis enhancing vitamins - but it still feels like an intimate stage upon which I am merely a player. If I were aware that there were more people that are reading my rambling rantings of insanity, would I lose my voice, my point of view? Would I get blog-stage fright?

After a little thought and a deep breath, the answer is "unlikely." The one thing I do, and I do well, is entertain. Well, at least when I am trying. I am a spinner of plates, a battler against silences. A raconteuse extraordinaire. Well, at least in my own mind. More importantly, I apparently have a very high threshold for embarrassing myself. This is not to say that I am not easily embarassed - which I am, both early and often - but I think it has become such a fact of life that I simply incorporate the fact that I will continually be blushing - both literally and metaphorically - into the reality of my everyday life. I am sure that no matter how many people ever read my polemics against Darth-Damon or my "woe-is-me" soliloquys about, well, everything or my inordinate love for all men of the military, I would probably keep on writing them, just because I can. It's who I am.

Funny, I started this blog with the intention of never having anyone read it. Who does that? Apparently I do. I had a great internal debate over whether to set this blog to the "public" function. It seemed like such a grand move at the time. Funny how things change.

I realize I sound very - stop.start.stilted.yes.no.maybe.Iguess.sure.ifyousayso. tonight - I think I have a frog in my throat (my head?), it has made my writing voice hoarse and scratchy, my expressions disjointed, my exclamations infrequent.

So, the only fix? One thing at a time.

It occurs to me that maybe I present very differently here than I do in real life, thus begging the question: How do I (think I) present in real life?

In real life, I am quiet... in situations where I am uncomfortable. However, if I know you well or if I don't know you at all, I am expressive (put nicely) verging on chatter box (more accurate). I love a good story - both told to me and told by me. More dramatic, than mellow - but the two words in concert are quite appropos. As I alluded to before, I am the plate spinner (though I am also often the walrus, though never the egg man. Never the egg man.) I often answer the question, "How are you?" with a sigh. I always immediately regret it. I love when people laugh. I love that my life gives me plenty of material to make that happen. I am comfortable being on my own; the only times in my life I have ever felt lonely is in big groups. I am very emotional - I cry pretty easily - less so than before, but still more than is wise and more than I care to admit. I am a substantial person - I take up a fair amount of space in a room - I am tall with a penchant for four inch heels. Try as I might when I am feeling bad, I think the world is forced to notice me. Alternately channeling fashionista and lawschool grunge, my choice in wardrobe is my sartorial mood ring. My face is my corporeal one. I will never be a poker player - not only because the inherent mathematics involved with card games causes me to involuntarily tune out - but because every emotion I have, every thought I have got, flickers across my visage. Look closely enough, you can read me like a book. I often fidget, but only during uncomfortable silences or when I am stressed. I walk fast to get where I am going, but mostly out of habit (my father - a pragmatic man, always in a hurry made a big impression on me when I was young "Kids, parking at the far edge of the parking lot means we will always get out of here first.") I alternately remember silly details and forget important dates. I used to always be, to the point of fanaticism, on time. Since I started working, I am always late. In the end, I think I fill out a group pretty well. I may not be the first person on an invitation list, but usually, I am probably not the last person tacked on out of a sense of obligation either.

Then again, I also think I am funny, and along with "I am a good mentor" and "I am a sensitive person" (in the sense of being sensitive to the needs of others), that is a statement that, when said about oneself, can never be true.