This Princess Has Been Rated PG.

Hello again. I just called to say I looove you. I just called to say how much I care yes, I dooo. I do. Please believe me when I say I never meant to leave you this long. I really didn't. I did that thing where I got really depressed, and I almost fell into a black hole, and then I got better. By that time, it had been sooo long, and I was embarrassed about how long it had been. My moods they are many and rarely beneficial to me. Oh yeah, and then I got pregnant. Yeah. I'm knocked up. This Princess has been rated PG for Pregnancy. I never would have believed it myself if I had not lived through it all. I have never been voted most likely to spawn, but here we are. I am in full-on gestation mode. How did this all happen? Yes, I'm sure you all know the basic mechanics of the the process, but because it is me, of course BECAUSE it is me, there is some ridiculous motherfucking story about the whole thing. Why? Because, it is me and my life is filled with ridiculousness. Ridiculosity? Like viscosity but brimming with irony.

Let me take you on a journey. Remember all these many moons ago when I got cyber-smoke blown up my ass? Yeah, I remember. I remember it like it was yesterday. I will never forget it. Because you know when you meet (hah), when you FIND, someone that you think just may be the other half of you, that missing piece, and I know we're all skeptical and broken or cynical or maybe that's just me. But when you're a hard-ass, or like to pretend you are one, then when you let down all the walls and the barriers and let someone in, really let them in and realize that you are horribly and irretrievably WRONG. When all they have to give is nothing but empty words and bullshit and you buy it...then who is the fool in that situation? No matter what truth the answer really is you get stuck holding the bag and looking like the fool. And that's...well it's just plain embarrassing. It's especially embarrassing when you live your life out in the open, totally exposed. You took a chance; you loved somebody. Turns out they weren't worth your love, but you know you bought it hook, line, and sinker. You bought it because you're a fool and you want to believe, and I did. I wanted to believe in two hearts beating together forever. I wanted to choose and be done. I wanted to say fuck you to fate. I wanted to say I choose this man forever, and let the universe work out the details. But you know...I was wrong. He was full of FAIL. It happens. It happens to us all. I was wrong; I was embarrassed; I was humiliated and hurt. I still am hurt. It doesn't just go away. This is the double-edged sword of passion. The fire burns so bright and hot and beautiful, but, you know, it *burns*. You can't really be mad at the fire; it is in it's nature to burn. You can be mad at the asshat. The asshat has it within himself to be better. The fire just is. The fire doesn't cry or rage or beat its little fists against the futility of the world. The fire just consumes and moves on, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

Big deal right? Well, it kind of was a big deal to me. Maybe not to him, but it was to me. And yeah, maybe it wasn't the most conventional of relationships, but it was built on trust and honesty and constant communication and manifesting your lover even though that person might physically be 1,176.03 miles away. I did my part. I bought the phones; I paid the bills; I arranged for plane tickets which he always found some ridiculous excuse not to use. He went on dates. I went on dates, but the important thing was we were upfront about it. This had all been discussed and approved. Hell, I was physically celibate for 9 whole months before I even attempted dating. I went out on one date and decided I didn't like it. I wanted the man I had chosen. But after many failures and stupid excuses you get disillusioned, I started talking to someone else on twitter, but again my cyberlover knew this. I kept all my cards on the table in plain sight. Everyone knew exactly what was going on, and all I really wanted was the same courtesy, but that was asking too much from the asshat. No, I had to find out basically through myspace status updates like a 14-yr-old that he was not only seeing someone else physically, but he had been talking to her seriously already for weeks using the phone I had bought for him and he had barely contributed a cent to. What would you do in such a situation? I cut the phone off so quick his new girlfriend publicly wondered where he had gone, and he had the gall to get pissy with me. FUCK YOU DUDE. Eat shit and die.

What would you do in that situation; would you handle it with grace and style? I gathered up the tattered remnants of my pride; I blogged; and then I went out on a date with my faux boyfriend. The one guy that I had gone out on a date with previously, the nice guy that I decided wasn't the one for me because I was enamored of douchebags as is my wont. Why did I call him my faux boyfriend? One date does not a boyfriend make faux or otherwise, and I know this. We met while we were both working as extras on an episode of Friday Night Lights that was being filmed at the Continental Club in Austin, TX. They said look alternative, and I did. He was the bouncer of the club and had that whole rockabilly biker thing going for him. We were the ONLY two people who actually looked alternative, so they put us together as a couple. You can see us out of focus but still vaguely recognizable cuddling directly behind the main characters in episode 19. Oh, what a claim to fame! We saw each other again when I was a Lonestar beer girl and came to the Continental to do a beer promo. He's got a little dog named Piglet and the words "Lock n' Load" tattooed on his knuckles. His name is Billy. When my relationship went to myspace hell in a cyber bucket, I said let's call Billy because despite his rough exterior, he's the sweetest guy around, and he genuinely adores me and there were some sparks before. I whistled; he came a-running. We did the deed; condoms were involved. I really wasn't into it because I needed more emotions. I had lost the ability to fuck casually. I told him all this, and he took it with an incredible amount of grace and poise.

And then? Turns out I got pregnant and not by the man who I thought was my soulmate and who I talked about our future children with and what we would name them. No, I got pregnant by my faux boyfriend who is some kind of sweet 1950's rockabilly/greaser throwback of a gentleman. Sweet, sweet Billy who asked me if we should get married when I told him I was pregnant. I said no, of course, because this isn't the 1950s. Billy who brought me my favorite kind of roses, tropicana, the other day when I invited him over to look at the sonogram. Billy who wants nothing more than to just adore me and this child. Billy who said maybe I could get a job as a secretary when I mentioned I was looking for work recently. That's nice, dear, but again not the 1950s and taking a job as a secretary would be 10 steps backwards for me career-wise. I wish I could just love him as much as he wants to love me. But, you know, I'm broken and stupid, and I think maybe this whole having a kid together thing might work out better if we remain just friends. I don't know. He's 38; I'm 34. We're both really excited about this baby. He's looking forward to camping trips and going fishing and reading books to the butterfly. He's also going into the Merchant Marines and will only be around every other month which seems like an ideal arrangement to me. I don't know what the future holds, but I have a place to start. And maybe...just maybe, I got lucky. Maybe I'm lucky that I'm not tied to some deadbeat coward that has zero respect for me as a person. Maybe I did dodge a bullet. Maybe I stumbled into the perfect situation for me. I'm going to rent my back apartment to Billy when he finally goes to sea; that way he can be close enough to be involved in his child's life when he's available and still separate enough that I can have my own life.

Things aren't perfect, but maybe I got the situation that I needed not the one I necessarily wanted. I don't know if I can open myself up to love like that again. It burns, and I've been burned before. Maybe that's not so terrible a thing. Maybe it's better if I don't try to immolate myself in the fires of desperate passion again. I'll have a little person soon who's going to need my love; I can't go handing it out to every random jerkface with a self esteem issue that comes along. Maybe, just maybe, I'm going to make it after all. Time will tell.

I'm sorry I couldn't articulate all this before, and I'm sorry it took me so long to write all this out, and I'm sorry to all the people who truly care about me whose calls and emails and texts I've been avoiding or slow to get back to. I just got horribly, terribly overwhelmed with all this life stuff. Hell, I can't even type two sentences of this blog without stopping to cry because processing is painful, and it all still hurts so much. Here it is, the naked truth. My life splayed out like some ugly soap opera for all to see. Truly, I've missed you all. I love you all, and choosing to have this kid has taught me a lot of things already. 1) I am not alone. I have an awesome network of family and friends. b) Having a baby is going to force me to be a better person. c) It's ok to be emotional while pregnant and steeped in hormones. d) Nothing feels better than screaming, "Have fun with your new whore," at an ex-boyfriend. He actually moved in with her after knowing her for a only month, edouche!

Important details: I'm 15 weeks pregnant. My delivery date is February 25th, 2009. I kind of wanted a cerebral girl bookworm who I would name Maeve Lilim. Maeve meaning 'goddess' and 'intoxicating one', and Maeve herself being an Irish chieftain warrior Queen. Lilim meaning 'daugher of Lilith'. Lilith being the first feminist bad-ass and a pre-Christian goddess that they tried to fit into the Christian mythology as Adam's first wife, but she liked to be on top during sex, and he didn't like that because then she was closer to God, so she left Eden and ran away. Yahweh sent his 3 baddest angels after her, but because she knew Yahweh's name of power, she sent them back to him with their swords tucked between their legs. Based on the sonogram though, it looks like I'm having a boy even though it basically is too early to tell. You look at the sonogram and tell me that the baby doesn't look like it's holding a penis and SMILING (obviously my son). I will be perfectly happy with a healthy boy, and we'll name him Conor William. Conor meaning wolf-lover being a derivative of Conchobar which has to do with Cuchulainn the Irish berserker half-god hero who actually went to war with Maeve over the King of Ulster's prize bull. (Nobody won that war; they fought each other to a standstill). William being one of Billy's family names (obviously) and being a derivative of Wilhelm which basically means will + desire = protection.



There you have it. Oh and if anyone knows of any creative media jobs in Austin or is willing to throw me some gigs that I can telecommute to and thus work from home (even better), look me up here.



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