someone's been talking about you

So, Mr. Risky Business reads my blog.

(Hi, RB!)

It's not like this is some revelation, because he's been reading it ever since I met him and in fact has on more than one occasion read a post while I sat with him and read it over his shoulder. Every time I open up a new post and start to write, I know that he will see it. It's something I'm completely comfortable with and in fact, I think it'd be a little weird if he knew I was out talking to the internet every other day about our relationship and he didn't know what I was saying. But it does present an interesting dilemma.

Well, dilemma is a strong word. But really, how do you write candidly about a relationship for your readers when the other half of that relationship is one of those readers? There are certainly areas that will always be sacred and lines that I choose not to cross, but I also want to write honestly about the things I think and feel and of course, broader issues of dating culture that stem from those thoughts and feelings.

And the thing is, at this stage, it's really a moot point. Since the DTR conversation has come and gone and all that potential for taking swings at the awkward pinata with it, my writings about Mr. RB pretty much fall into one of three categories: 1. Gush, Gush, Gush; 2. Couch Spooning and Other Assorted Minutia; and 3. Funny, Interesting, Sketchy and/or Creepy Things That Happen While With Mr. RB. I mostly try to save you from the first two, but as you already know I really can't make that kind of guarantee across the board.

And at some juncture I'm sure there will be bigger fish to fry, so to speak, that I'll want to write about here. And I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But for now? The biggest hurdle is that everything I post here feels like a suggestion. Or a hint. Or a completely un-subliminal message. I no longer feel free to write something here about a movie I want to see or a place I like to shop or an (Insert Fancy Thing Here) that I have been lusting after, because it all feels like a passive aggressive request to be showered with gifts. And in the same vein, I even feel hesitant to blabber on and on about the sweet things he does for me -- first and foremost, of course, because I know it makes you want to chuck your cookies -- because it seems like I'm patting him on the head, saying, yes dear. Do that one again. Good job. See? I even told the internet about it.

And really, I know that RB does not think that. But I still feel a little funny sometimes. I guess as long as I don't start writing posts that look like this: "MAN, I really want to go see that concert this weekend. SURE WISH SOMEONE WOULD TAKE ME YEP WOULDN'T THAT BE NICE?"

Then I'll probably be okay.


cheers,
elizabeth