The last several weeks have been interesting.

A relationship that has spanned the majority of my life changed irrevocably.

Another relationship opened up and completely changed my life.

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Life hasn't been fun lately.

It's been far more than that, amazingly wonderful and soul-achingly painful, sometimes within a few hours of each other.

My life isn't that bad though. I'm 30 years old, I've got a great job with a bright future, I'll be buying my own house soon, and I go to bed every night with a slim, muscular, brunette that loves me more than anyone on the planet.

The fact that she sometimes stinks up our bed because she likes to roll in catshit, doesn't make me love her any less.

For as much as things have been rollercoastering lately, something tangible is actually going to come from all of this.

This is going to come as a shock to some of you but...

I'm pregnant.

Don't give me that look.

And don't freak out buddy, it isn't yours.

But, GuineaPig, you know that it's YOURS (I sincerely hope that it gets your eyes, as mine are bloodshot and itch right now).

What this pregnancy means is that I'm going to be taking a maternity leave from this diary until I give birth to a bouncing-baby book.

I'll keep reading you guys, but you know this.

---

I was going to say that I may come back from time to time when something funny happens in my life, but this wouldn't work.

See, funny shit happens to me every damn day. It happens to us all, it's just how you look at it.

I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I'll leave you with this.

---

I'm still kind of pissed that they already made the movie "EdTV" because I could pitch "JuddTV" to those reality-loving masses and score big.

I was thinking about it, and I think I've got a winner.

Selling Point #1

I've been told that I'm an aggressive driver. I like to think of myself as logical and polite instead.

"Oh, silly me, here I've been driving for 15 years, and all this time, I thought that FUCKING GREEN MEANS GO."

"Pardon me, I don't suppose it would be too much to ask that you keep all of your fucking car inside of the painted lines that define these lanes of traffic, would it? Oh. So I suppose asking that you not drink an entire bottle of MadDog before operating said car, is completely out of the question?"

"You know, activating your li'l blinky thing before squeezing your vehicle into this lane, 4 inches in front of me, may make me not hate you and want to punch you repeatedly on the side of your head. Then again, it may not. Tough call."

"See, the pedal on the right makes the car go. Putting it in gear just isn't enough. C'mon Champ! Be an overachiever! Don't hate your gas pedal, Give It LOVE."

Selling point #2

I own a lot of different types of clothing, and frequently try and mix it as often as possible. This morning, I put on the first things that I could find, consisting of flannel PJ's, a black cowboy hat, and big fluffy slippers. I then proceeded to make breakfast while having a profoundly silly and highly interesting conversation with... my dog, Asshead.

She understands English, I'm sure of this, she just doesn't have any vocal chords, so she can't say anything back. This doesn't mean that we don't converse. If that bitch had opposable thumbs, I'm pretty sure she'd have her own job and car. Hell, she might have even moved out too.

I don't watch TV, nor do I give half a fuck about "reality" TV, but I'd sure as hell tune in to see some idiot in a sombrero and boxers, with twin Gorilla heads eating his feet, discussing with his dog the idea that though he's heard it said out loud, and seen it spelled out, he still doesn't know how to say, "Jean-Paul Sartre." He does all of this in a French accent, because he's making French Toast, and he stops intermittently to act snooty and haughty towards the dog while critiquing his own artwork on the nearby easel.

After hearing this, the dog gives him an only mildly quizzical look, and then spins in a small circle and bites one of his Gorillas.

Quality viewing.

Shit, kilts alone would get the some ratings, provided it was windy and drunky enough outside. *wink*

Selling point #3

I dance and sing at the drop of a hat, though I can do neither very well. I actually bumped my booty off of the Fancy-Restaurant waitress at a company lunch yesterday. At first, she was not impressed, but then she started dancing too.

While working late last Friday night, me and CoWorkerBuddy, who are both profoundly aware that we are single, pathetic, and working late on a Friday Night, started jamming in our l'il corner of CubeWorld.

It started with "Shake, shake, shake Senora..." I don't know the damn song, but it's at the end of Beetlejuice, and it'll make a body shake, no doubt. Two 6-foot-plus, 220-plus, white, code monkeys dancing to this was enough to clear most of the remaining cubes at 6 o'clock.

By 6:30, we were on to "Jump Around" by House of Pain, which involved our best attempts to rattle CubeWorld to the ground, and me poking my head into one of the managers offices, "Hey E."

Politely, "Yes, Judd, what can I do for you?"

Very deadpanned and serious, "Word to your moms, I came to drop bombs, I got more rhymes than the Bible got Psalms."

"Wha..."

She left not long after.

We thought we were alone, so "Pump up the Gas Grill" was next, and "Toast your buns on mah deck, Toast your buns on mah deck" was soon being shouted across ALL of CubeWorld.

Next came, "Boyz In The Hood," by Dynamite Hack. There's just something about standing on your desk, swaying slightly, and crooning sweetly things like, "Cruisin' down the street in my 6-fo', Jockin' the bitches, slappin' the hoe's..."

And, just like on TV, you get busted at the exact moment of peak embarrassment.

When you are standing on your desk, high above the bounds of CubeWorld, and you are singing like you are on a goddam stage, complete with hand gestures, the exact instant that you crescendo into "...I reached back like a pimp and I slapped the hoe. Then her pops stood up, and he started to shout, so I threw a right-cross, and knocked his OLD ASS OUT..." you are guaran-fucking-teed that this is when the CEO, AND the fucking CFO both decide to come rolling through Koderz Korner, just to see what all the goddam noise is about.

CEOGuy (pissed): What the hell are you doing?!?

Me (with confused look): Um... singing and dancing.

CEOGuy (not amused, still pissed): Are you working late, or can you not sing and dance at home?

CFOGuy (who has been stifling his snickering up until now): HAHahahaa.

CoWorkerBuddy (hiding in his cube): We're actually compiling some scripts, they'll be done in about 5 minutes, then we'll go home. We couldn't do it during peak hours, so we're doing it now.

CEOGuy (not pissed now, since he loves CoWorkerBuddy): Oh, well good job, keep up the good work, thanks for your support.

Me (still standing on desk in mid hoe-slap posture): Can I go back to dancing now?

CFOGuy (slapping head): HA! HAHahahaaa.

CEOGuy (shaking head, walking away): I... I don't ca... what? I...

I laugh just writing that shit, I can't imagine what it'd be like to watch it on TV. I'd watch, and that's really all that matters.

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So, I'll be back in 9 months or so.

Then, I'll be proudly passing out cigars and pondering possible names with the mother.

Take care you guys.

-Judd