I’ll tell you briefly the origin of this blog, but then I have to get back to work.

I have another blog, where I’ve been grappling with issues of disclosure and privacy. So over the last year or so I’ve been back and forth between vague honesty, defiant over-sharing, and constrained selectivity. Issues of searchability, linking to other sites, images, and my name were obsessively navigated and revised. After awhile I decided to stop imagining what my parents might think if they read what I was writing. I was sure they never read my blog anyhow.

But then, a series of dramatic events unfolded and I learned my family does read my blog. One family member demanded that I remove some information from it. Though it was none of their business, I did remove that information because it didn’t seem worth the battle. And now I feel like anything I write on there is up for approval and communal edits by my family. I cannot be reflective or honest knowing their narcissistic gaze is upon it.

You may be thinking, Why are you only worried about your family reading what you write? Aren’t you worried about friends, potential employers or other professional network situations? No, not really actually. These days I’m pretty okay about owning my issues and past with dignity, and I won’t be pursuing friendships or employment opportunities that would eschew me for having written about cocaine or sexual disassociation. Really it’s just my family I’m worried about. Constant need for approval no boundaries you get the idea.

So! Here is the new blog. My name or contact information is not on it, and it’s not linked to my real life at all. I’m not going to make a huge deal about ensuring absolute anonymity, like I’m not going to scramble my IP address or anything, but it should be more or less un-googleable, which makes me feel less oppressed by the potential for neurotic dramas.

Mostly on here I’m going to write about my experiences being a former hooker, drug addict, and all-around alienated and inappropriate person. I’ll write about being feminine, and feeling objectified in the world. I’ll probably write about lots of other things too but these days I’m pretty obsessed with my experiences in sex work and related situations.

Do you want to know why this blog is called Hey Charlie I’m Pregnant? It’s not because I’m pregnant and I don’t know anyone named Charlie. It’s the first line of the amazing Tom Waits song, Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis. I’m not adding a video because I can’t find a good one. Anyways he’s singing from the perspective of a woman who’s trying to get her shit together. She is going through all the motions of normal, functional womanhood but there’s a mournfulness and sentimentality in his voice because she feels like she doesn’t belong. She’s trying to bury the evidence but she feels her past so embodied in her present. I really identify with this song.

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