Singled Out: The Public Vs. Private Lesbian

Iam not sure if this qualifies as irony or tragedy, but regardless of the politically correct terminology, something terminally uncool has been happening to me lately! Ever since I proudly came out and announced to my SheWiredreaders -- and I am using the plural here simply because by randomly mentioning "Kelly McGillis," I anticipate getting more than my mom's one loyal hit - that I am perfectly OK isolating at home with me, myself and I, somehow I have been doing everything but the anti-social dance.

It's like the forces of nature have grandiosely cursed me with a shit-load of industry event invitations that, even in my "I don't give a fuck" mind, I absolutely couldn't turn down. Yet I would hardly object to getting my ass off the couch if my outings were not essentially translating into a nightmarish Twilight Zone meets the L Word solemnization of matrimony - and I am totally having pre-wedding jitters.

What I have horrifyingly come to realize in my recent Miss Saturday Night Fever bonanza is that no matter what extravagant outfit I am genially able to pull off, I am, in a very matter of fact sort of way, stuck with two limited distinctively defined versions of me.

It wouldn't be much of a problem if I were officially diagnosed with borderline personality disorder but I am absolutely not suffering from split personality - I just have bi-polar energy. And for those of you not familiar with the lingo this means that I never know which one of me is going to show up. Don't get me wrong, I'm always game for a little "guess who's coming to dinner" challenge. Provided I totally own my persona du jour, as far as I'm concerned I come out a winner. My point is that if my bad side has to come out it better come out all the way. I'd rather totally suck than just be mediocre - did I mention I hate to lose?

Let me translate all this blah blah into English. If by any chance you find yourself in my luminary presence, depending on what mode I'm in, expect to either meet Mona the publicist or Mona the citizen. Of course I would want nothing more but to take this opportunity to extensively elaborate on the most attractive features that unequivocally lie at the core of my extraordinaire bankable personage, namely "Publicist Mona," but without the faintest of exaggerations that would warrant writing an encyclopedia.

Ok, briefly, and solely for the sake of maintaining proper checks and balances system, I will tell you that Publicist Mona is an exceptional bad ass individual - and I mean "bad" as in "da bomb." Yep! Publicist Mona is assertive, aggressive, and fearless, not to mention, she oozes self-confidence and charisma. Then, to contradict my efforts of pretending to be anyone other than myself, there is Citizen Mona.

Truly an exquisite rare breed, Citizen Mona epitomizes the definition of socially crippled and conversationally inept - of course solely in trifling social situations where I have to pull out my PR arsenal to represent and sell the worse possible client ever: my very own self. What can I say! I royally suck in the mustering the courage to pick up girls department. Somehow when I find myself magnetically attracted to someone something terribly tragic happens: NOTHING.

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Citizen Mona is the antithesis of everything Publicist Mona stands for. She is the lethal parasite that forever sticks around no matter how hard I freaking try to clean house. And nothing - not even gallons of Clorox - can kill this germ. Talk about the Swine Flu paranoia. Not to sound trite and self-centered, but I am definitely more perturbed by the pandemic potential of Citizen Mona virus than the current pig epidemic frenzy. Seriously, do you know what it feels like to constantly try avoiding yourself like the plague?

For the likes of moi, a "loves to be in control" super freak extraordinaire, this personality flip-flopping phenomenon is quite baffling. What I absolutely do not understand is the flagrant discrepancy between my two polar codes of conduct. One minute I am taking over the world and the very next one I am letting the world take over me.

Let's be real, Citizen Mona is not going anywhere anytime soon. With that in mind, I have deliberately elected as a self-defense mechanism to resort to what I do best: run, Mona run! In my case it's actually more of a sprint than a casual jog - always grandiosely crossing the "tumble back into my hub of goofiness" finish line.

Strangely, when I scan back on my past record of imbecilic moments, it actually looks pretty good! I should really consider penning a "Dummies' Guide for Dummies," I'd certifiably hit the jackpot. And if you doubt my credibility, consider this little incident that occurred a few weeks ago.

As you know, lately, I have found myself on a social-outing marathon, mostly LGBT entertainment industry related, or what certain self-appointed "important" people in their delusion of grandeur fancy calling "Power Lesbo" functions. Oops, did I say that out loud? At any rate, Publicist Mona successfully attended all of these events dressed in my unwaveringly slamming, kick-ass social butterfly accoutrement.

Invariably, everything came to a screeching halt the minute my night on the town changed its billing from an evening with the who's who of Celesbianhood to "who is I" - or more appropriately "woe" is I.

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For lack of originality, I was once again hanging out at the Abbey with my usual entourage of gay, lesbian and confused friends.  That's when I saw her - a gorgeous Jennifer Beals look-a-like - standing by the bar. Just staring at her caused me a measure of anxiety and nervousness. Forced by my psycho friends, who on a dare, challenged me to go talk to her, I courageously took step # 1 - namely I made the colossal effort to get my ass out of my chair. The same psycho friends advised me to walk up to her and casually say "you're resemblance with Jennifer Beals is uncanny, but I'm sure you've heard that before - anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I find you stunning."

On command and with military precision I proceeded to complete my mission.
I valiantly accosted her and as coached robotically delivered my line:
"Your resemblance with Jennifer Beals is uncanny, but I'm sure you've heard that before - anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I find you stunning."

"Thank you," she politely replied.



At that same moment some Bozo, obviously on the same mission as me, stepped in, utterly killed my momentum - if there ever was one. I stood there for what felt like billions of hours until luckily I heard myself silently screaming: ABORT!

As a damage control maneuver, I immediately proceeded to voyage to the bathroom - I figured it was the only way to make an unaffected nonchalant exit without turning myself into a national laughing stock. I may not have gotten my Jennifer Beals but thankfully neither did Bozo.

So I am my own worse enemy, but aren't we all really?
At least I pride myself in maintaining consistency. Because while Citizen and Publicist Mona seemingly coexist separately as independent individual entities, in reality they compatibly co-depend on each other's functionally dysfunctional disposition to exist.

What essentially unites them in their asinine "keep your friends close but your enemies closer," competition is their mutually committed passion to devotedly love to hate each other. And it is this ongoing reciprocated respect that luckily prevents either one of them from ever killing the other...

...because to know my enemy, is to know myself!