Like looking in a mirror, a fun house mirror

I’m shopping at my local Trader Joes last week, right after the gym. I’ve just had a relatively long work out, so I’m still in shorts, t-shirt, I’ve got my glasses on and my hair is kinda flat and spiky from sweat (so I’m wanting a shower).

I get to the check out, and the cashier looks at me and then at the guy behind me and loudly exclaims, “Is he your brother?! Are you two related?! Wow, you two look A LOT alike!”

With a feeling of trepidation in my stomach, I slowly turn my head around to get a view of this doppelganger behind me; and it’s so much worse than I feared. The look-alike guy is:
a. yes, wearing glasses
b. yes, is wearing a white t-shirt
but he is also:
a. older than me (a lot older)
b. fatter than me (a lot fatter)

So, perhaps, in a parallel universe where I was born in the 60’s and not the 70’s, and I’d begun shoveling copious amounts of fried food into myself and exercising a hellava lot less than I currently do I’d be FINE with the comment.

But I’m not in that universe, and while I have just come from the gym, I don’t feel that just wearing glasses and a t-shirt makes someone look, and I quote, “a lot alike” end quote.

To make things just that bit worse, the guy chuckles and responds “Well I can’t help it these days when folks keep stealing my style”.

HIS STYLE!? Gym shorts, t-shirt and sweat stains are not, never have been, and never will be “my style”. And I certainly don’t think they should be anyone else’s. Other than perhaps long distance Olympic runners.

I’m not sure I’ll go back to that Trader Joes…

Dear Diary

When my Dad remarried, I gained quite a few things. One, I gained a stepmother, and from her, a stepsister; from my stepsister I gained a diary. She’d had one given to her and hadn’t used it – so she gave it to me instead.

My initial entry in this book (of dreams) was in 1983 – and my last entry was in 1995.

Basically it covers my teenage years – I was a sporadic writer at best. (kinda like this blog.) Reading this historical document, um, several years later, is quite an experience. One that I’m about to share on stage.

I wish that I could say that in a drunken moment I auditioned for “Mortified” – but I was stone cold sober. This is an outfit that has folks read, present, show material that was created during formative teenage years. There are Mortified chapters across the U.S. and one opening in Sweden.

I’ll be going on stage and reading from my diary – to complete strangers. This doesn’t bother me at all.

What does bother me is that I mentioned this to friends at work, who are now all planning on coming to the show. I don’t mind baring all before folks I don’t know – but I’m not sure that I’m ready for my coworkers and friends to know the 13 year old D.