You think she's an open book, but you don't know which page to turn to

Unless she has a blog. In which case, you can turn to whatever page you'd like.

So for the most part, except for little bursts of excitement here and there, I tend not to write about guys until they are over. Which those of you who have been reading for a while know has happened with some regularity over the last couple years.

The reason for this is that, with the exception of ex-boyfriends, who I hope never come across LG, I do not write about people who are actually in my life unless I ask them first.

Because it turns out that some people would rather chew off their own ear than be written about on the Internet. You have to respect that. I mean, both their privacy and the fact that they'd be capable of chewing their own ear off. These are the people we want doing our waterboarding and running our CIA secret prisons. That is, if they weren't violently opposed to that kind of thing.

It's not that I'm suggesting waterboarding is wrong. Because, like everything, a little waterboarding here and there is probably fine, but I think it should be kept between consenting adults. In the privacy of your own home.

Anyway. Back to writing about people or not. Asking permission to write about someone means telling them about LG in the first place. And LG is not something I offer up when I first meet a potential boyfriend.

While there's nothing on here that's a secret, there's a hell of a lot of raw insecurity and fear, and well, just rawness. Offering this up to someone I want to like me is tantamount to peeling off the top layer or two of my skin and hoping he still thinks I'm pretty.

It's not that the person I might or might not offer it up to won't eventually get all the background on my hopes, fears, loves and losses. But it's a tremendous amount of access to all the inside angst that you don't typically share with many people, much less anyone who clicks by in cyberspace.

It's the opposite of maintaining an air of mystery. And I'm not all that mysterious to begin with.

So what am I getting to? Am I going to stop rambling and have a point? Um. Yes. Sort of.

My point is this. I recently sat someone down and said that I finally trusted him enough to tell him something. Because, you see, as time went by, it seemed like a bigger and bigger thing, the not telling.

I was thinking maybe I should stop LG, and what was I doing putting all this information out there? Because it felt like a secret, and I wasn't trying to keep a secret from him. What if he didn't like it? What if it made him stop liking me? But then if he didn't like it, what did that say about him as a person for me?

I had a lot of fretty frettiness over this. It's a frettable thing, though, don't you think?

So, anyway, I said I had this thing to tell him. Twitch, twitch. The truth is, I was scared to offer it up. It's a big, personal piece of me. I was clearly nervous. And this lead-up made him twitch. Like, visibly. Shoulder to head snap. Twitch.

We were both doing our own little in-seat twitchy dances across a table.

And so when I said it was a blog full of personal stuff, rather than a child, or a venereal disease, or a connection to the mob (because somehow, those were the first things that leapt to mind for him), boy, was he relieved.

And when he said that while he doesn't exactly understand it, one of the things he likes best about me is my creativity, boy, was I relieved.