It's Time.

So that's it. We're engaged. No not really, but I haven't seen so much fluid spit since Titanic went down. I just thought it was fun to say, and see, now you're engaged!

Go ahead, wipe down your screen so we can continue. No, you missed a spot over there on the left. No, now you're just smearing it. Don't make me lick my finger and do it from this side.

Ok, that's better.

That's right dear reader, I've interested you in a blog that's really gonna suck. But that's what you get--you should know better. If you've been reading my blog for any amount of time, then you know there's nobody I'm even shaking hands with, let along engaging. And yeah, in a few minutes that will include you too. Backpage is over there...

Still, I try. I share my life, and hope to draw you in. I told somebody the other day that I was guarded. She laughed at me. My alias laughed back. I am guarded. This blog? It's all Rob finger puppets. It's the faces I want you to see:

"Pay no attention to the Manboy behind the curtain."

See? Really there's a little guy crouched over a magic keyboard punching out ideas like a caffeinated monkey . I'm just hoping that something sticks, and it's not my fur to the Velcro chair. But if something sticks, is it really me?

Descartes said we can't know something we haven't experienced for ourselves. Descartes was also independently wealthy and had way to much time on his hands. Still, he was right. This is me, it's just the me I've deemed safe for public consumption.

The other parts? Well that's something few people see. I showed it to MyEx, she cowered. She was awed. She was mesmerized. I'd really love to slip 'n slide a dirty joke in here, but MyEx has discovered the internet, and she has pictures.

Did I ever tell you what a wonderful woman she is?

See, and once again, she'd just show you a side I'm not willing to share just yet. And that's what I wonder about. I mean we're all so guarded about protecting who we are from each other, how do we get to know one another.

I don't want to find "the one" only to find she'd cross 4 states in a diaper just to hunt me down. What if her real personality involves a love for nylon and leather, and my only approved input involves a teary whimper and a "yes mistress?"

So how do we put ourselves out there (so to speak) without getting burned (also so to speak)? What separate's the real from the really scary, and how do we know the difference?

The reality is we can't. We can be safe or we can show ourselves. We can't do both. So somehow I've got to work out of this fear and show the real me to the people around me, even if it's the Barista on a Friday night.

So, when I said we were engaged, you all took a breath. Now I want it back. Tell me that when I leave my shell it'll all be alright. Go ahead tell me. Talk to me. Engage me.