Secrets

Liz has a secret.

I have a friend who hosts a competition yearly for the media event that best illustrates the decline of western civilization. Last year, he received nominations such as "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas, the OJ book, "How I Would Have Done It", and of course, Anna Nicole's baby-daddy drama. He has about 15 people who email him suggestions throughout the year.

I'm thinking about nominating Killer Rants and the No Jive Zone.

The problem is that I don't really want him to know about these blogs. He's not lame or anything, I just sort of like that he doesn't know this much about me. He knows that I'm sarcastic, he is fully aware of my biting retorts to stupidity, he knows that I have a crush on Jim, from The Office even though he relies to heavily on that stupid smirk-to-the-camera acting trick. He suspects that if left alone with Luke Wilson for an hour, I would do bad and dirty things. He knows that the ONLY reason I do yard work twice a year is because I reward myself with a 12 pack. So, why then am I hiding from him... and from others who know me?

I have decided that it must be because I conceal my blogs from two groups: co-workers and the extremely decent. This comment isn't meant to knock YOU, after all, I'm one of you. I too like to wallow in thoughts of testicles and binge drinking. But I don't think everyone can handle it.

Although it would seem obvious that to know me is to be on a first-named basis with profanity and dirty jokes, the lady that lives inside me, the one my grandmother spent hours trying to groom and pull to the surface, just won't allow me to be free range raunchy in front of people like Gary. I find this painfully confusing. He is funny and quick-witted, but when HE says something "PG-13", he says it in a soft voice and looks around to make sure no one else heard. I on, the other hand, tend to accidentally say rated R things quite loudly, then look around to see how many people have left the room.

Some people make others laugh, or feel good about themselves, or think. I make people blush. It's my "thing".

I was at an after-work going away party, drinking. Everyone has to comment on this- even if they are drinking too. Like the big boss. He is not a drinker and felt compelled to say, "This bar tab is going to be outrageous. Liz is here!" My response? "You bet your ass. You're buying!" He doesn't use profanity either, so double whammy on me. This single guy was there; I do not care for him too much. He is a wad. A real jerk. Somehow, he and I started talking about another single guy we both know. This guy, let's call him X, never really goes out or seems to date or even be interested in dating. Jerk said to me, "I asked X about you and about the possibility of you two going out." I was intrigued. "Yeah, he says you're cool and everything, but way too 'Reowww'," and he did the cat-scratch move.

What? Me? 'Reowwww'? I don't even know what that means, but I'm offended. Granted, I am offended that I just saw a 40-year-old man use the cat-scratch move in public more than I am offended at the intent directed at me, but still. Offended.

It irks me. I don't even try to hide that I find almost everything funny. I don't conceal that I can make anything dirty. I wouldn't dream of covering up my passion for a well used curse word. I guess what irks me is that I now have a new category of people I have to hide the blog from. Co-workers, the extremely decent, and men who use "Reowwww".