Who Are You?
I'm not sure how to complete that joke, but I do know the joke's on me. Until last night I had thought that a week ago Thursday, in the car with The Viking, I had survived the most embarassing conversation of my life. I was wrong.
Accordion Guy and The Redhead, a.k.a. Wendy and Joey, were at the Rivoli last night with a couple of their "real friends" who were introduced to me as brother and sister.
Joey used my analog name to introduce me to Donny and Marie, and then Donny said, "You're Sass, aren't you? I read your blog."
"Really?" I was surprised and flattered. It continues to amaze me that anyone, especially those of the Donny, rather than the Marie, gender, reads my blog, but more surprising was that this was a person who was there in person. I've heard from many of my Gentle Readers, and they are in San Diego, Stuttgart, and Sydney. I don't expect to run into them in a bar.
"I've been reading you since you posted the comment on Joey's blog about the Han Solo /Princess Leia cake topper," said Donny. "The more I read, the more I put the pieces together, and thought to myself, I think I know who she might be."
"Donny, you have to stop approaching blog reading like a reporter from 60 Minutes," interjected Joey. Then he turned his attention back to Wendy, and became oblivious to the world. If you have never seen the two of them together, in person, you are missing a truly awe-inspiring scene. No exaggeration at all.
"A 525 isn't a real BMW, you know," continued Donny.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, it is, if you want a BMW for, say, taking out the trash. It's not good for much else with that little engine."
Way to make a good first impression, I thought — insult my friends.
"I think you should kick Jack to the curb," he said, firmly. "He's had his six years."
"You don't know yet, what happened last night, at the wedding," I replied.
"Doesn't matter. Forget about him. Dave's a great guy." Of course Donny would know Dave; he's sitting there with Wendy and Joey, and Dave is going to be Wendy's bridesman.
Wendy, upon hearing her name, tore her gaze from Joey long enough to agree with Donny, and to inquire, "Sass, I hope you like cheeseburgers."
Donny wasn't through yet. Two down, one to go.
"I know you had some guys offer to do away with The Viking for you, but I thought someone should offer a word in his defence. Try to explain his side of it."
I was all ears.
"The Viking seems like a really nice guy," Donny began.
"He is," I agreed, assuming he had inferred this from reading my blog.
"So I think what it might be is that, because he's a nice guy, and because he really likes you, and wants to be your friend, he doesn't want to take the chance that you might go out with him, then break up, and then avoid each other. I remember when he and [insert real name of stripper — sorry, burlesque dancer — here] broke up they divided up the karaoke places so they wouldn't have to run into each other..."
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
"You know who The Viking is?"
"Of course. How many famous Vikings are there? And, by the way, you'd better not let M— catch you calling her a stripper."
I hurt my nose a bit as my forehead thumped the table. I hoped I would wake up in a Soho doorway.
"He's too short for you, anyway, you know."
Hey, I don't wear go-go boots all the time. I take them off when I go to bed. And when I walk the dogs.
Donny indicated that he believed my shocked reaction to be disingenuous. "You're publishing stories on your blog, you're not writing in your diary and hiding it under your mattress. Don't act like you're surprised that people are reading it."
It's not that; I know I have readers. They email me all the time. It's this: I gather most bloggers tell their friends and family about their blogs. Not me. Carly and Simon; Magda and her creepy boyfriend, Romeo; my best friend since high school, Kay; my newly married friend, Mrs. Stephen King; even my cousins — they don't even know I have a blog, much less have they read about the characters based on them in it. And may I remind you, Gentle Reader, that should they perchance stumble upon it, they won't necessarily recognize themselves anyway. The perchances are minute, in any case. Thirty trillion blogs or so out there in the World Wide (very wide) Web. I mean, what are the odds?
"Does Jack know about it?" asked Donny.
"Yes, but he only reads it when I write about him. Same with my karaoke buddies."
"What makes you think The Viking doesn't read it?" persisted Donny.
I would think the answer to that question is obvious. The Viking told me himself. He's not interested.
In the next story we meet Sass's father. And the next time Sass sees Donny, she can't believe who he's sitting with.