Some chick says,
‘Thank you for saying
all the things I never do.’
I say, you know, the thanks I get
is to take all the shit for you.
-Ani DiFranco, “Face Up and Sing”

The only time a fan ever recognized me, I was shitfaced in a Minneapolis gay bar on New Year’s Eve, and absolutely desperate to pee. An extremely tall, hefty woman in a shiny silver dress stood ahead of me in line for the toilets, chatting with a friend who was lucky enough to already be in a stall. I distracted myself by staring at her dress and trying to think of a way to finesse the “Where did you get that?” question–the answer would obviously be a plus-size retailer, and outside the body-positive circles I run in, it’s generally considered rude for one stranger to essentially say, “Hey, you look approximately as fat as me! Let’s talk shopping!” Suddenly, the shiny silver lady turned around, and once her bleary eyes focused in on my face, she looked startled.

“Okay,” she slurred. “This is going to sound really weird, but has anyone ever told you you look like a blogger?”