I had a funny thing happen last night. It hasn’t happened in a long time to me. And I hope like hell it’s a long time before it ever happens again. The guy I’ve been dating read my blog. Now, in all fairness I share posts with him from time to time. And I accuse him of finding it. And then the other day he actually searched and found it. He promised he wouldn’t read it if I didn’t want him to. And I thought about it for a while.
At one point I told him that I didn’t want him to read it. And maybe at some point (down the road — I mean longer than our three weeks) that I would point him in the direction of it. I had my reasons. They all stem back from a million years ago when I was working as a comic. The person you saw on stage was not the same person off stage. She was my alter ego in many ways. There were bits and pieces of me in there. There were some truths and some exaggerations. Bits and pieces of reality that were very funny to begin with and with some tweaking could be made hysterical. Some bits were just random thoughts. Some were random words that just happen to come out in a conversation and I thought, “Hey, I should write that down.” In other words, who a comic is on stage, is never the exact same person off stage. I think that goes with any entertainer. At least I hope so as I’d never want to be involved with a magician who was constantly pulling things out of my ear all day and making my bunny disappear. It would get old. Fast.
Now, I am funny naturally. I’m a born entertainer. I’ve been making people laugh since I was a young kid. The first time I ever knew for certain I was funny was when I was around 10. I came running into the house through the kitchen door and left it open. My mom had a gaggle of women sitting around and she yelled, “Close the door. Were you raised in a barn?” I didn’t miss a beat and yelled back, “You’re my mom, shouldn’t you know!” The room erupted and a star was born. I was hooked.
I like making people laugh. I like entertaining them. I like telling stories. Writing a good story. It’s a high for me. I don’t need drugs or alcohol, I don’t need a microphone or a spotlight or for that matter an audience of more than one. I make people feel comfortable from the first moment they interact with me. It’s a gift. I’m creative and silly and funny on a regular basis without having to try. People love that about me. I love that I have this quality. It’s served me well in many, many instances – on and off the road. But it is not all of who I am. I never liked friends and family to see me perform. It wasn’t because I thought they would judge my act. And every time one of them did they inevitably said something to the effect of “You’re much funnier in person.” (Yes, I get the irony) The first time a good friend said this to me, I was crushed. And then I got it. And then I decided to separate my own church and state and stop inviting “my people” to come to a show. Making strangers laugh is different from making your friends laugh. It’s much easier.
Also, I realized at that point that I was living a double life. If you told people you did this ‘exciting’ thing for a living, they would question you within an inch of your life. Or tell you bad jokes you ‘could use’. Or better yet, ask you to tell them a joke. I wasn’t a Readers Digest, I didn’t tell jokes. I told stories. They never got it. So it was better to tell them I was a secretary in a box factory in Des Moines Iowa. Nobody ever had expectations or wanted jokes. Except on that one long flight from LA to Atlanta where some random guy was all about cardboard. Finally I confessed my true profession and he would have nothing else to do with me. I tried for four hours to make him laugh. Nothing.
The person on stage was not me 100%. And only other comics ever got that.
I’m reliving it on a regular basis through Facebook and this blog. My end goal in life is that I want to write for a living. And I use this blog to practice that. Are there real stories in here? Yes. Are there truths? Yes. Is this the whole story? No. Are there exaggerations? Yes. Are there ideas and thoughts added to make it seem more believable? Yes. That is what a good writer does. Is this totally 100% who I am? No. 100% not. Is this blog biographical? To some degree. Is it a work of fiction? To some degree.
A writer’s job is to transport you into a situation and make you feel like you’re right there with them, all while sitting in the comfort of your underwear on the couch. And if you can feel the pain, the sadness, laugh or relate, they’re doing their job and they’re doing it well.
I am mostly an open book. I share just about everything. But I don’t share 100% of who I am or what I’m feeling. I have secrets. Special parts that I don’t tell the world. I have friends that don’t want to be mentioned, situations that they don’t want exposed and I respect that. I don’t write about it. I don’t tell you everything about my life either.
I write something random on Facebook and my phone lights up, my email bings, the texts begin. Are you okay? Who was it? What is happening? Is this about me? Did I say/do something? I’m amazed at the egos on some people that I would spend a perfect good FB post being passive aggressive about them. My favorite is when I can’t get a song out of my head and I post song lyrics. Are you okay? What’s going on? It’s an effing song. Get over it. I’m not that fragile, I was just listening to Adele. I’ve had family members blow up on me, I’ve had people de-friend me. I’d had people send me inspiring emails to help me get out of my depressed mood. And I should be thankful that people care but it really just irritates me for the most part. The worst are when someone posts a prayer request for me and tags me in it which starts a chain of questions where I have to assure everyone I’m not that unstable and my life is just fine. I believe fully in the power of prayer but don’t want to waste mine on a bad date story.
And yes, I know I could solve this by not putting my life out there. Or part of my life.
I am ungrateful. I would not be who I am without the support of my friends and my family. I know this. But I need them to know this, this is a blog. It is not my diary. If you think this is all of me, you have made a mistake. If you see me start a new blog called Laura’s Diary Hangs By a Thread, then you know you’re onto some deep shit and can call/text/email to your hearts delight. But if you’re reading this blog or my Facebook, please know that it is not the entire story. It’s not the entire me. Many of my friends know a lot about me. Hell, many strangers know a lot about me, but most of you don’t know me. Not the real me. You think you do, some of you are right about that fact. But not most of you. You know a part of me. The public part. And that’s okay. You know a lot. A lot more than you know about your average friends.
So, I let Captain Cutie read the blog. I knew I had a reason for this, but thought what the heck. I preferenced it with, “Don’t believe everything you read. It’s a blog. It’s not 100% who I am.” And what happens? He reads it. And guess what he did? He got confused about who he was dating. Thought there was this entire side to me that I wasn’t showing him. My heart breaks. Worst nightmare. (Well, the one about my teeth falling out is worse than this but this is close) After a long conversation about what my blog says and what it doesn’t say, I think he got it. I think he understood. I hope he did. I’ve asked him to refrain from reading it anymore…for now. Until he gets to know the real me. Until he can distinguish the two.
And I ask the same thing of you (well, not to stop reading this, that would be silly), but to not be so quick to judge what you read here. Whoever you are. If you are a long time friend or just someone who thinks they know me or someone who doesn’t want to know me or someone who accidently ended up on this blog. And I pray that you don’t start a prayer chain for me based on any Facebook status updates or blog post moving forward. I ain’t that fragile. I ain’t that in need folks. My life is pretty freaking sweet. It’s entertaining to me and I hope it is to you because that is my intention.
Now, my soapbox is going back in the closet. And we’ll get back to the entertaining stuff. Deal?
She Hangs on by a Thread 