Shaun vs. Hot Chick: Who Wins?

Today, or at least this afternoon, there was a small bit of business that kind of struck me as a metaphor for something else. Those of you who have been around for a while know that, in the past, the Hot Chick always won. Always. Given the choice between what you see here and what the Joyride was, I would always go Joyride. Why?

It was fun, perhaps more fun most of the time than being myself. Because in the timeframe we're talking about here (1996-spring 2007), I did not like myself very much at all.

It was easy. I'm talented at a few things, and I can create flawless alter egos with complicated and detailed backstories, as well as a large supporting cast, and roll with it for years to come ... pretty much in my sleep by this point.

It was EASY. I like this blog, but I realize my audience is limited. I'm really writing to 3-6 people. And, given the nature of this blog, I can't expand the audience. Doing so hampers my ability to write the kind of posts I write. I can't write about an existential crisis involving the various people pulling me in every different direction if I think any of them are reading this thing. My alter-ego could write about anything that came to mind, no questions asked, no problem.

It got over. Let's face it, a hot chick is going to be popular. While the Joyride, and other things, got over mostly on the strength of my writing and strong point-of-view ... and my sarcastic attitude ... it was immeasurably helped by the fact that the person thought to be behind it all was an attractive female. I could pick up from scratch, with a new identity, try it again, and it would get over. Fact.

If I tried it myself, it might get over, but it would be a long uphill struggle in comparison. Fact.

Which brings me to today. You all know about the little cat, Ariel, by now, yes? Every afternoon we do the same thing. I get home from work, pull into my parking spot, Ariel emerges from the bushes or wherever she's been, and she'll wait for me in front of the car, and then she'll follow me to the door.

Today I was pulling in, and I saw Brittany, looking all hot and such, walking from the parking lot to the building. I pulled in, backed into my spot, and Ariel emerged from the bushes. Brittany had only just pulled in, and Ariel had not come out, and this was *her cat*. Granted, she may have ceded the cat to me in her impending departure from the building, but I pretty much stole the cat away from her months ago.

In the end, Stray Bullets is alive and well. The Joyride is dead and buried.

Shaun vs. hot chick. Who wins?

I do.