It’s a little late in the game to worry about how I represent myself with my words, but here we are.

I’ve been contacted about potentially being interviewed for a magazine article about something I have a great deal of experience with: my vagina. The article isn’t about MY vagina per se, but about them in general and some of the metaphorical issues contained therein. I’m excited about this for a variety of reasons:

• It’s about a topic I have genuine passion (and therefore a lot of words) about
• Seeing my name in print gives me a boner
• It’s a Canadian thing
• I’ll get to share my vagina with the country and maybe the world
• Being able to say “my vagina is being interviewed” is so awesome and hilarious I can hardly stand it

I’ve been chatting with the author via email, and she said she would be reading my blog to get familiar with me and my experiences. Well, if I wasn’t nervous before, I sure as hell am now.

Every once in a while I try to step back and read through my blog posts with fresh eyes. I’m always curious as to what other people see when they read my words; if they paint a picture in their head of what I might be really like in person. How do I come across? Do I make a good impression? Would you hang out with me, or would you hide your children and silverware?

I didn’t start writing for other people, but that’s a big part of going public with my life. I really do write for myself – it’s cathartic and it keeps me sane – but I often forget that what I dangle out here can be just .. too much, some times. It doesn’t bother me (although it sometimes bugs Ed), mostly because I don’t think about the impact my words might have to anyone other than myself. It feels good to tell you guys things. Sure, sometimes there’s controversy – I know how upset some of you got when I said I hate Kraft Dinner – but I’m a real person, and not everything I think and say is innocuous or wholesome or politically correct 100% of the time. Human beings are waffly by nature. We don’t have PR teams keeping us in check.

Whenever someone tells me they’ve been reading my blog, I immediately think about what I’ve posted recently. What will they think? Did they come here because I reviewed opera and suddenly find themselves face to face with Fleshlights and gooey cheese fingers? It’s been over 8 years, and that momentary flash of panic I feel when someone says “hey, I read you!” is as strong as ever.

It’s just so weird being me. I am not at all afraid of sharing my vagina with the world, but I’m terrified that someone might read about my fear of sandwiches.

For the record, what you see is what you get. I’m a little quieter in person until I’m truly comfortable, but this is me. I’m inappropriate and cleavagey and I could go on for hours about things I feel really strongly about, both fun (scooters and video games) and righteous (marriage for all and abortions for some [miniature American flags for others]). I make grand leaps in logic and giggle at anything that could be even the slightest bit dirty. I say completely random things that make perfect sense in my head, forgetting that not everyone can see what goes on in here and how my shouting “we could put the broccoli in with the puppets!” fits in with the silent conversation I just had with myself. I talk like I write – complete with dashes; semicolons – and I try to keep it real. Weird, but real.

I think I just want people to like me, but not at the cost of my true self.