Dear Readers–
I love your comments (when you bother to leave them – grr, lazy days of summer!–typical in blogland) and I love your emails. I love that you trust me with deep, dark secrets, and that you feel some kind of connection strong enough to make you return. It’s awesome.
Now and then, though, someone comes along who gets a little too attached. Emails get too revelatory, proffers of drinks become repetitive, that sort of thing. I doubt any harm is ever meant, and in fact, it’s likely the opposite. It’s flattering, really, but it can be a little troubling.
Now, this applies to maybe one out of a hundred readers who outs themselves to me, so, please, don’t think this is a general rule of thumb!
There’s a tendency at times to forget that you know me (and other bloggers) only through the plug in your wall or your ISP. We’re names, personas, images, and beyond that, we are indeed enigmas to you. Most of us would rather remain that way.
I’m searchable. Hell, you can find my photo if you know where to look. It doesn’t take rocket science. My phone number is unlisted for a reason, though.
I love flattery. I love comments. I love people trusting me. But, don’t forget, I’m a literary chick. I can read. If you offer me drinks, or you invite me out when you’re in town, and you don’t hear from me, the odds are pretty good I’m either not in the mood, or just don’t want to bother. And that’s the prerogative, you know? Sometimes life’s too fucking chaotic to send a note.
Every now and then I surprise myself and say yes and have a drink with a reader. It’s always weird. I always enjoy myself. I seldom would ever do it if I knew it was a single guy hoping he had a chance with me, though, because that just gets bizarre.
But, I’m single now, so who knows.
Am I saying never ask me to do anything? Nah. Don’t take it personally if I’m not interested, though. It’s all whim on my end, and when you’re the person being read, and you’re the person being, well, pursued, it only makes good sense to be skeptical and apprehensive. And, believe me, I can be.
While I like getting emails, and don’t mind at all being offered tough questions that do need resolutions, I cannot be anyone’s mailbox shrink right now. Keep sending Q’s and dilemmas, though. Just keep it within reason. (One email, not five, etc.)
I’ve been hesitant to post anything like this ‘cos I don’t want to ruin a good thing, but what the hell. Let’s say it:
Like me, love me, just don’t expect a lifelong friendship. Blogging is very masturbatory. Without you, it’d be exactly that. With you, it becomes more interactive. I enjoy that. Just know that I just don’t have enough of me to give a little to everyone. And right now, I don’t think I have enough of me to give anyone.
Still, I love my audience, love my comments, love my readers, love my email, but just want to keep these things real. Be like Phil, man, keep it real.
Depress-o-meter: Ah, I plummeted. Closer to a 7.5 or 8 out of 10, with 10 sucking hard, tonight. Just a bunch of stuff in my mind. Read the Ditch if you want more on that.
The Cunting Linguist
It seems I always have something on the tip of my tongue.
For some odd reason, I thought I’d chime in here…
Okay, just wanted you to know, I’m too old to be a stalker! Bad knees and all…
hahahaha.
no, seriously, I wanted to say, you write well – no matter the subject, you have a ‘voice’ that I enjoy, hence the invite to hang out with pals, etc. I, once up on a midnight dreary, write a bit and flatter myself that I don’t suck at it too badly. So, let me reiterate: It was a pleasure to fete you a tad when in town. I think anyone who can, should. Especially since you know where the better food can be ‘et.
Yo! All you other non-Pay pals – take this literati out for some fine dining – as you would any boon companion [google it, schmucks] – it’s good nosh for all!
BTW – I was roundly impressed with the Irish Heather pub in Vancouver – and I’m a terrible snob about food in general – the Lamb Carpaccio was a revelation!
Now, I’m very sorry the Depressometer is hovering over the 7.0 mark.
I wish I could help. Try a long scoot on a winding, twisty mountain road. I used to do that in Santa Barbara quite a bit when the dumps were breakfast, lunch and dinner. It seemed to help.
Ta.
B.
[As always, delete if tedious!]
I think I’ve deleted maybe a dozen comments in my entire time blogging. I just don’t believe in it.
No, nice to hear from you. I enjoyed dining out with you and your pals. Quite good, actually.
And you’re RIGHT, I’m a brilliant local foodie. I will seldom turn down an offer for a good meal, truth be told, especially if I know they’re buying. 🙂
I missed out on the lamb carpaccio, but note has been made on that.
I should get out tonight, but I’m feeling like staying in and trying to bed down early, then I’ll bike to work and get my frustrations out. I think I’m also dehydrated, which would add to the mood, actually. I’m trying to guzzle water now.
Awwww Man! I don’t want to hear that!
Depressed? Why? Are you alive, breathing, enjoying singledom and all it’s possiblities, writing, making some cash, remembering to take care of yourself, eating yummy muffins, enjoying summer, …SCRIBE?
You have way too much to be grateful for, in spite of whatever is not happening for you right now. Flip the script baby…
Choose Joy!
Am I pissing you off? Hey, you know me, I got some words and I’ll type’em! What’re you gonna do? Punch me?
I gotta go back and find out what’s been going on…
You know it’s funny how you have to address your readers in this way just when I’ve been thinking how long it’s been since I “visited” with you. I felt like I should say sorry and then you remind me of the realities of these encounters…
Still, I care about who I care about. I’ll just care from all the way over here if it will make you feel more comfortable. !P
Dude, Depressed? Really?
Dude, I don’t want you to be depressed…
Read a good book, buy some sexy shoes, make buttery popcorn and sprinkle some sugar on it…then YUM!, Watch Lackawana Blues, Do whatever turns you on and then fuck yourself silly, find a new place on your body to sensate, eat a fudgsicle, eat pad thai with a friend then a fudgsicle, learn something new, read your posts and be amazed, shit, come over and read mine…
Dude, you can’t be depressed in summer…Squash that idea. February, maybe? (Well, here in Montreal anyway…how’s your weather in February?)
Just don’t be depressed!
I’m going to find out why…
Do what I said!
~Tashe
Wait, so you’re saying you don’t want to go out for drinks with us, then come back to our place for some naked hottub fun with Roxy while I take pictures and maybe touch myself?
Snob.
— Rex Loves Roxy
Welllll… I dunno. You kids aren’t local, now, is ya?
I can’t tell if you took me seriously or not. Assuming yes, that was me poking fun at the creepy guys that, no doubt, occasionally get attached and wonder why you’re not calling back. I guess I’ll have to work on my satirical delivery 😉
— Rex Loves Roxy