wow, it's been a while. basically, because the one and only thing that's been on my mind is not my thing to share. so i can't. and i'm worried i'll let it slip the more i type. 

but, you can keep a secret, right? so can i, bitches.

i remember before i started typing my thoughts onto this blog i said, "i don't blog because i'm afraid people will read it. i don't tweet because i'm afraid people won't." first it was a facebook status, then it was this:

why did i worry people would read my blog? because i was afraid i'd censor myself. i'm crazy weird on the inside and think totally inappropriate things that sometimes just fall out of my mouth. and maybe you'd think i'm weird. or maybe you wouldn't like what i had to say. or maybe i'm not the person you think i am.

so with that in mind, why was i afraid no one would read me on twitter? because weird feels more appropriate 140 characters at a time? no. because it's a social sharing engine. you want people to read you. you expect them to read you. so you tone the weird down.

and then somehow people started reading the blog. and it seemed no one was reading my tweets. so i was right. 

and twitter became my safe place where i could say "penis" for no reason or share my political beliefs without the Facebook nazi's belittling them or even just put a "secret" out there into the ether if i needed to get it off my chest.  until this happened:

and that wasn't all. but it was the beginning. a tweet about my safespace, twitter, was favorited. retweeted. responded to. people sent me personal emails. they'd heard me.

and now, shit, you're reading it too. so now that my entire brain is consumed by this thing i can't tell, i feel like i can't say anything else. because you're listening. and i might slip up.

then i read about this guy: 

since 2007, some guy has tweeted and facebooked as that guy, "dave on wheels," a 24-year-old deaf quadriplegic with cerebral palsy. but he's not that guy. that guy's name isn't even dave. it's hunter.

i mean, what that guy did was wrong. he says he was trying to be a motivational inspiration. and to many he was. but he's also been accused of pretending to be that guy to get close online with pretty girls. and he was close online with a lot of pretty girls. (seems like a kinda fair accusation)

but that doesn't mean that i can't just take his lead and go be someone else, right? why couldn't i just go off and blog/tweet/book as " beyond bridgette" or "susie smiles" and spill my secret?

but, dammit. it's still not my secret to tell. 

so you'll have to wait for new apartment photos, to know which kitchen island i chose, or for the "black steak chimichurri" "shit i'm making TONIGHT" pinterest post. because i'm currently consumed by this secret that isn't even mine. 

this is where rachelwriteson "started." as an idea:

and i actually started using an acne face wash. i took one photo, the "before." then i never really followed through. that should have signaled doom for my one-off blog idea. i have no follow through. but here i am writing a one-off blog entry, and here you are reading a one-off blog entry.

you'll never see the "i ordered an acne wash that takes 3 weeks and here's my 'before' photo" photo-a-day blog. mainly because i have no idea what i did with that photo, but also because the entry would just be a pic of me with acne. 

you've seen plenty of "my boyfriend is a caveman and i cooked paleo once" food blogs. and i owe you some "shit i'm making TONIGHT" entries, because i've been cooking up a storm. but, i thought i'd address the "i had crazy sex adventures that one time" sex blog.

hence the mom-shutting-her-eyes part. except that, really, i'm gonna be pretty pg about this. 

so this one night, i was out with friends. one was a fellow copywriter. a DUDE writer. and we got to talking about "50 shades of gray," which neither of us has actually read, and decided we could do better. you know, a danielle-steele-esque sexcapade novel that both girls AND guys would want to read.

then we drank more and it turned into something else all together. see, both of us are in successful adult relationships. but there are still times when i'm like, "what in the hell does THAT mean?" or he's like, "what's the right answer in 'does this make me look fat?' situations?". 

so, we decided to write something else entirely. kind of a handbook for the opposite sex. or, at least that's how i remember it. there was wine. and a lot of it. 

the next day, he sent me some topics: foreplay, hooking up on first date, meeting the fam, what you look for in the opposite sex, signals, marriage, and cheating. i sent back more topics: porn, the morning after, pregnancy scare, sharing 'numbers', "we were on a break," one night stand, "i kissed a girl," work wives, the second kiss is actually the important kiss, the proper answer to "does this make me look fat?" is always sex, girls share everything with their friends (including that picture of your penis you sent to her phone), who has to sleep in the wet spot, and to snuggle or not to snuggle. (don't worry mom, i'm not an expert on all those topics. but i know enough people who are to do the research.)

and that's where it ended. except that i soft-lobbed the idea to a couple friends — a "would you read this?" sort of thing. and they got excited at the idea. i never told the dude. so, question for you: would you read it? 

what if it were one of those books that on one side is for "her" called "Walking on Mars" written by a dude and on the other is for "him" called "Vacationing on Venus" written by a girl like me? and they cover off on the same topics chapter-by-chapter. 

all under pseudonyms, of course. for honesty and privacy's sake. and now that the idea is out there on the interwebbings, really, it could be ANYONE writing it. even the mustachioed man :{0