A really important rule that I have learned to live by is to never inform anyone that I have sex with or maybe date about this wretched blog. It’s not that I am embaressed about it or that I have anything to hide, but let’s face it–I have stuff to hide. I want to be able to come here and write about whatever it is that I am into and about currently and not have to answer to anyone about why it may or may not hurt their feelings. My friends realize this. My family realizes this. Men never realize this.

I refuse to censor myself on this creepy blog. No matter what. So, let’s say this morning, a guy I’ve sorta been spending time with was driving with another friend and myself in the car and my friend says, “Oh man, that was great–you’re really gonna have to post that to your blog.”

Then she began to laugh. I almost vomited. He started to ask about my blog. For one moment I was gonna stab my friend, but then I had to go on the defense about my creepy blog saying, “It’s not a big deal,” and “No one really knows about it or reads it anyways.”

Because the last thing I need right now is someone going through years and years of psychotic ranting in order to see how incredibly mentally ill I am, or in the very least the fact that I am sorta a raging alcoholic, and any man that’s been spending time with me but hasn’t figured that out is a fucking retard. Also, I sorta have enough men to diversify my “portfolio”which is basically how I look at the fact that I have a few men. When it comes to dating I am fucking Merrill Lynch. I think having a diversified “portfoilio” of men is important. It gives you options and let’s you know what you’re capable of. Also, the fact that I am sorta on the hunt for one man inparticular, which is none of the guys that I have right now. And I want to write about that until the mental illness seaps from my fingers onto the keyboard and goes back to Madagascar where it belongs.