That's me in the spotlight

Next Thursday, I will be on a plane headed for the left coast. Back to San Francisco. This excites me to no end, to the point where I've started chanting "San Francisco" over and over under my breath. Stocking up on Dashiell Hammett and Armistead Maupin.

San Francisco. Apparently, lots of lovely ladies (and a few gentlemen) are doing the same, and we'll all be converging in Union Square with our keyboards and cameras to wreak havoc on the good people of that gorgeous hilly city.

What's more (and here is where my hands start to tremble), I've been chosen to read one of my posts on the dais at the BlogHer Community Keynote, with 19 other amazing women and men among whom I can't even believe I have the good fortune to be included. And then, San Francisco, I will be exposed.

This terrifies me.

I've shied away from revealing too much of who I am on here (thus the impenetrable mustache disguise), from tossing my entire person into the public domain, even though I spend a great deal of time trying to discover Who I Am through these words. But for those who have come to be familiar with the persona of She Who Blogs, meeting me in person can be a bit of a shock.

First: I am far less serious in person, and far, far less flowery. While I may compel you to look at the way the silhouettes of the leaves are dancing on the wall, in the next breath I may mention both pasties and gas. And not the car-running kind.

I almost never talk about farms in person. Or books. I enjoy a good whiskey. I sometimes respond to bad news with an inappropriate joke, and to good news by jumping up and down and squealing.

I do not look like this, I look like this. (Although certain friends who frequently find themselves on the other side of the lens may beg to differ.)

Most importantly, when the DJ plays the following song, I am the first person on the dance floor.

You have fair warning; I'll see you at the bar.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.