I’ve never, never understood why the members of any population I happen to inhabit love to tell Jamie stories. But man, do they ever. My sisters get it, too. We must share a gossip magnet gene.

I’ve heard so many rumors about myself, it’s gone from scary to funny back to scary. One kid I used to hang out with swore to me – yes, ME - that he knew I had made out with my own sister. Yep. My sister. He sat across from me in a hallway during a party and insisted that he saw it with his own eyes. Right.

I’ve heard that I’ve cheated on boys I was never dating. I’ve heard that I’m involved in all kinds of drugs I didn’t even know existed. I’ve heard that I’ve slept with all sorts of people, in every imaginable combination. I frequently wish I was having as much fun as I’ve heard I’m having.

That’s the real kicker. If I was really doing this stuff, I wouldn’t be happy that it was “common knowledge,” but at least I would know where it was coming from. It’d be easier to accept if I could own up to it.

When my sister Mollie and I were in middle and high school, our parents made us go to church with them every Sunday. Mollie and I were… different from all the other small town Ohio girls.

We dressed in… shhh… tasteful, fashionable clothes.

We knew how to… look people in the eyes when we spoke and stand up straight.

We dated… boys.

We were… cheerleaders.

Well, forget it. The gossip was so thick in that place, our babysitting jobs dried up and I’m sure we were on the silent prayer concern list every week.

The really goofy thing is what a goody-goody I was. God, I listen to other people’s stories from their teenage years, and I’m JEALOUS of all the fun I missed out on. I really, really wanted to be a party girl, I just didn’t know how. And I certainly wasn’t cool enough to hang out with the kids who did.

I think the most devastating event was when I was abruptly fired from a summer job in a public, humiliating manner. A few months later, I found out the managers heard – and assumed – I was a cocaine addict. Now, I ask you. If I had the money to be a cocaine addict, why the hell would I be waiting tables in a crappy, small-town Ohio restaurant?

And it continues. The Keys are very much a small town, and you’d think I’d be used to it, but I just don’t know if I ever will be. Several times, recently, I’ve had acquaintances boast about the spies they have around town, and how they “know” things about me. Now, I don't particularly mind, because first, it’s been happening to me my whole life, and second, I figure anyone who has time to find out what I'm doing in my spare time isn't a person who needs to be all up in my shit about it. But it never ceases to freak me out how interested people are in my life.

Here’s the thing. NOT THAT INTERESTING. (My online journal readership is evidence of that.)

Jamie’s life, in a nutshell: Sleep, Work, Books, Internet, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Simpsons, Going Dancing With Shawn, Shopping For Clothes, Tae Kwon Do, Running, Eating, and Falling Down A Lot.

Riveting, no?

So let’s get some things straight, shall we?

Gossip Jamie: Had a different date every weekend, complete with SEXSEXSEX!

Real Jamie: Had long-term relationships with boys I didn’t like very much, and didn’t lose my virginity until after high school. Mostly long-term, monogamous relationships since then.

Gossip Jamie: Big into the drug scene. Experiments all the time, and may be addicted to various substances. Likely a dealer.

Real Jamie: I don’t even like POT. In fact, hate it. Just makes me – and those around me - boring.

Gossip Jamie: Goes out every night, possibly has a drinking problem.

Real Jamie: I’m a weekend warrior, but more nights than not are spent on the couch, reading or goofing around with Shawn.

Gossip Jamie: Writes about her whole life on The Internet!

Real Jamie: Well, you got me there.