A new friend called me this evening to ask if I could go for a shopping-lunch excursion on Monday – and I said no way, jammed so tight with work then travel next week – I won’t barely have time to eat lunch. She said it was kind of weird reading about herself on my blog and that it could get pretty dicey living in a small town and writing about your friends (and not).
I am an open book.
Another, now old friend, T, said when she first met me, she was curious about something and she asked G, and G said, ask Rachel yourself, “she’s an open book.”
This blogging is an experiment with a new medium – it’s the reality show of many a common person or one not so common woman – I would not be concerned about the inclusion or exclusion of a friend in this blog, unless of course you are a rat or a fool, and then you probably rue the day you met me or gee, maybe you should.
I didn’t invent the things I talk about – the friends I love who are cads or Cougars, the ones that are mordant, my friend who is dark and mysterious, my other friend who is just dark, one who is a conundrum I’m always trying to crack, the ones that are just to look at (the Bayou Stone Fox – and actually there are about two or three more BSFs I’ve encountered that I failed to mention), the cowards, the heroes, the clueless horny man, the ex’s, the future Mr. Right, the boytoys, the cameo appearances by strangers – need I go on? – you know all these characters – they’ve all been written about before – none of what I write about should come as a surprise even if it is a mirror held up in the sober light of day right under your nose.