what is the word

Last nite my f.b. & I were discussing blogs over very cheap beers & honey-roasted peanuts at the bar. "I don’t know, f.b.," I said (because of course I always call him f.b., even in person). "It's starting to get harder & harder to figure out what I can & can't put in my blog. I end up just putting almost everything in."
"It's your blog," he said. "You can write you want."
& it's true, it is my blog. But then again, a lot of my friends read it. Some part of me, somewhere, still wants people to like me, & would rather keep things not-awkward. The other nite while discussing the David scenario with friends I inwardly winced when one of them said, "If he still wants to go out with you after reading your blog, he's a gem." That gave me pause. Not that I've never thought about it, but I just don't care who knows what about pretty much anything. I know people who are furiously private. I'm not, obviously.
& then again, I could be doing way better at Tony's #19, which incidentally is the most important one. I could be blogging about what my f.b. & I did after we left the beers & the peanuts, or whose email I'm looking for every time I refresh my mailbox, or how much I'm dreading 17 days from today & why, or about a million other quasi-secrets, any one of which is undoubtedly much more interesting than this, but I'm too chickenshit to blog them.
So since I have nothing essential to say today, go look at this. It's totally transfixing & demonic & adorable & evil all at once.