Okay, You Got Me, I'm A Spy AND A Princess

It's time to confess.

I really am a spy.

I was trying to hide it and I kept telling you people, over and over, I am NOT a spy! But really, I am and I suck at it.

I'm deep, deep, undercover.

I'm not the kind of spy that goes into the psych ward to get discredited enough so no one would believe it. I'm also not the kind that goes to jail to get discredited and report on all the guards, though I've kept a few notes, which they really don't like.

I'm just a spy on those in government offices, justice system, and others as well.

I'm a mercenary for justice.

Yep, that's me.

I'm going to tell you how it happened and when it began.

Why? because my boss told me I'd blown my own cover and the covers of others. Basically, I was given the thumbs down. They have a stamp for that. It's blue, dark blue, and the thumb has tiny little stars and stripes on it. If you do a GOOD job, you get the Uncle Sam stamp. Yes, it's never gone out of fashion.

You know why else I got fired? Because, he said, "You want to be a fuckin' ROCK star."

I guess I was stealing the glory and taking up too much of the lowlight (lowlight is spy-talk for limelight). I almost had the fuckin' UN on my ass. Not good, he said.

I overdid the Princess Diana thing too, they said. Well, HE said, but he never really liked her. He met her once and she told him his zipper was undone. She was trying to help the guy, but he didn't like being told he had forgotten to cross his t's and zip his z's.

So anyway, I should educate you commoners (that's spy-talk for the regular people of the world.) We're the aristocrats but we take jobs as janitors, drivers, and bums. I wasn't supposed to give a shout out to the bums, he said. Not very discreet. And not very American or capitalism-promoting. You don't give fuckin' glory to the bums for ANYTHING! You're supposed to walk by in a fur coat and look straight ahead. One does not stop the car just to pull over and run out of the car and hand a street musician a few bucks. You want a fuckin' concert?! Go to opera. At least go indoors. I mean, I was screwing up left and right and so he said, "I don't think you know your left from the right anymore." I stared him down and said, "No, I probably don't. I've had my hands cuffed together for too long."

Do you know what I've done for my country? Do I LOVE my country? How many of you have walked around with your unihand bumping against your butt and trying to walk so the shackles don't cut into your bony ankles?

Half of these other spies walk around with chains around their necks, long chains, and it's only so there is something readily available for cutting off the air supply of some unknown but marked target.

Women do it better, to other women, he told me, and that's how I was going to die. The men faltered because I still have a figure. They slipped me a few things here and there but it was only the cowards because they couldn't stand to watch me look at them with my heart out.

So now that I'm free, I'm free to write about it. You know, like all spies do. They write their life story. I am even going to wear my "Spy" t-shirt proudly now. I can actually even advertise for my former agency if I want to. Which one? I'll have to clear that bit with the boss. It's top, top, secret.

So the deal was, I am supposed to lose my son and just document everyone and what they pull. I'm supposed to get stalked and followed and jailed and harassed, which I did with pride, but I was creating too much interest.

One of my coworkers got really pissed, because, he said, "The Russians think you're someone else! They really think you're _________." I said that was ridiculous. And then I got the Diana assassins on my ass too, but they all think I'm on her case and that we're somehow related. That hostel shit? A bunch of English and Australian and Canadian murders checking me out. I sat across the table from one of the motorcycle guys. He was laying low in Copenhagen, but was originally a Londoner, and living a very sophisticated life. He and I blew smoke across the table at one another.

That's what we do commoners. We sit across the table from one another and get as close as possible and blow smoke at eachother and laugh and joke and look into eachother's eyes and act very casual.

So anyway, I tried to keep my cover. I did. But suddenly, when you've got major religions of the world trying to pull off a hit and then you've got internationals who don't think you're a diplomat but some kind of sleeper agent, you're screwed. Really screwed.

Heaven knows. I was trying to keep calm in Seattle when, once again, military technology was being used against me. You know that titanium plate in my neck? Well, yeah, I said too much and someone thought it would be funny to go after my neck. First Franklin tried to feed me his nasty sandwich homemade from the kitchen. The next day, he knew I'd go for a prewrapped one so it was ready and made up. He had to look at though, and turn it over to make sure it was the right one. I threw it out. So, bad move, said the boss. If you act like a cat, you just might be a cat. I should have just gleefully taken half of it whole into my mouth and then they were going to rescue me at ER when I was in the padded room vomiting. Franklin would have been outside the room, I said, smoking one of his cigarettes that say "Kings" on the side. Franklin couldn't make up his mind whose side he was on. His car had plates applauding the Red Sox and he wore a Red Sox t-shirt, but if it looks like a fan and talks like a fan, it's not a fan. He flashed an Amnesty International card to make me feel safe but I should have known.

It's the trust game. If you can't trust your fellow mates, you can't do your job right. Spies have to trust someone.

Here's the thing. I'm TOO "intuitive" said my boss. I shouldn't have trusted myself to write blase images when I was intuiting arsenic. How the HELL was I SUPPOSED to know?

Like I knew. I mean, every spy has a calling. I wasn't the quiet calling type. My mission was to be a big cannon ball loudmouth who covers the secret Diana mission by claiming she's just a simple fan with some things in common.

Next thing I know, I have fuckin' Mossad on my ass, and the CIA on my ass, and some of those European twerps and motorcyclers on my ass. I was thinking to myself, WhOA, this is WAY outside of my comfort zone. It was way outside of my mission too. My mission was an American one. A very simple FBI style mission. But all of a sudden, I had members of the first class on my third class ass. It got fucked up. Then, I lost track of what I was doing in the first place, just to get the hell out of the gummy mess I was in.

I was shouting, "I swear...I SWEAR! I don't know ANYTHING about Judges doing this or that" when really, what everyone wanted to know, is how I knew so much about Diana's case and guessed some things rightly. I was just guessing, but the flames rose high.

Oh, and then the part my agency REALLY didn't like, was when one of Charle's and Di's sons fell for me. It was top secret, because they had girlfriends, but we were communicating telepathically and some of the other psychic spies found out. They weren't reading my notes--they were reading my mind.

The very worst thing imaginable, for the Country of England and the U.S.A. and any religion, I guess, was the idea that one day I could be Queen.

Hey, Charles wasn't immune either. But it was one of his sons. First it was Harry and then it was Will. It was never Will Wagler. I was actually really talking about William of Wales, which is why I made so many fish references. All those Navy cars and references? Royal Navy.

We tried to keep on the lo' but y'all found out and screwed it up for us. I was in love with him through various Cyranos, but I knew it was one and the same and then we got caught. What to do with me next? Off with her head. I sort of thought "Off with my uni-mano" was good enough. Because you know, then, I couldn't wear a ring. But they think of everything. It was my head they wanted, my head they wanted to screw with.

I don't know why he ever bothered with me. Your guess is as good as mine. I'm not the fairest one of all. I think it was a mixed up star thing and I ended up liking him for himself and not his position and he knew it and that's why he loved me.

Ummm, "It's not done." Loving someone like me. It's just "not done".

So I never expected anything but I wasn't the only one with my uni-mano bumping up against my butt.

It was us, up against the whole world. If I behaved myself, I might be incorrigable at best. We both got hit on the head, remember. It can happen twice, in the same lifetime and the next thing I know, I can't walk around the block without someone wanting to level me with a brick.

I was trying to be good but then I've got the CIA playing stupid music on lastfm like they are, right this very minute, by switching it up to a bunch of king songs. Right now? UB40's "King".

I think what the whole "national security" thing was, that everyone was worried I'd bring him down and he couldn't bring me up enough. I said, "Fuck that. I think we should just run away." I was going to cut my hair short and he was going to wear his long, in a ponytail, and get into the art and entertainment field. He was going to become an actor but then we got into this huge fight because he couldn't give up polo. He likes his lifestyle. I don't fit in. Well, I kind of do, because the royalty and aristocracy are as nutty as I am, and we all piss peole off. They did take a second look at one point. A reconsideration was there, but if it it wasn't done by May, well, that was the cut-off date. He played a game. If he could get me to love him through Alvaro, we were in the clear to be married. It was a game of fairytales, like the one where the Princess has to fall in love with the ugly beast before she sees him turning into a Prince. I'm not implying Alvaro is ugly either, we all know that.

All that secret stuff? It was Alvaro, getting word back to William of Wales on my behalf. He would always say to me, "I'm not your enemy." How did he know I had to hear that, this phrase specifically?

National Security though? Why was I a threat? Well, imagine the world with me in any kind of actual normal position or with money or with any power.

So May was the cut off date. I panicked. I didn't know if the castle thing was real and I panicked, after seeing so many people go out of their way to say "Ciao" to me. I started counting hands in my sleep, not sheep, but how many hands I was shaking a day. I freaked out. I wasn't ready. I already had corns on my feet from wearing high heels out at parties. I couldn't contemplate what shaking all those hands might do to my wrist.

This was a very strange case of a spy who attracted the attention of a Prince who became her bodyguard who then was resigned to nothing and in the meantime she went back to her ashes while trying to get out of that fucking Tower of Babylon.

Then people just wanted to kill me. Get rid of me while I was down and make sure I never got up and never said another uncanny and psychic word. Esperanza. In the Spring. May.

I had a bunch of idiots approach me later. Brandon "May" and the dog, who was not an idiot, but another Rainy May. Everyone knew but me. I didn't know. I didn't know that rain showers were supposed to bring may flowers.

I saw so many people crying. Men crying. I didn't cry much. I did all my crying 5 years ago. I don't have many tears left in reserve. Which is good, for a once-thought Pea Princess.

Will cried more than I did. So did Alvaro. And all the King's men. They all cried. I was impossible.

So it was either one of us left the lifestyle or one of us joined.

Franklin talked so much about his lineage to Ben Franklin, that I looked up Ben online on wiki. What stood out to me most was the cartoon he penned that said: "Join or Die" with a fat snake.

Join or Die? I said to him, "Huh! JOIN or Die."

That's what I keep hearing. Join or die. Join what? Sometimes I haven't known if this is the mafia talking, or the CIA, or an aristocracy, or the Catholic church or Israel or what. Join or die.

I don't know what I'm supposed to be joining. What should I join? Something tells me it's not The Little League.

Well, so I lost my job as a spy because I fell in love and I was psychic and didn't know half the time how close I was to the truth and was therefore in danger and dangerous and endangering others as well.

"She can't keep her mouth shut" said my boss to his superior. "You told me you liked how talkative I was!" I said. His superior thought I was a smart ass. We got our wires crossed (that's spy-talk for fancy schmancy telecommunication).

I thought one day I'd be wearing white to my wedding but then I saw white signaling a disaster. A couple walked by after I'd accepted this poisoned cigarette. They were both wearing all white. The woman was a gorgeous blond Jewish woman. She was looking at me and crying. I thought, "Oh hell. First the gang of guys in white and blue driving by saluting, and the guys in red crying, and then I'll got this couple walking by crying from Israel." They knew. If I'm the psychic, how did everyone know before I did?

I had to see raindrop hypopigmentation before I clued in.

Perfect for a rainy May. Raindrop hypopigmentation.

My boss didn't like all of this side-stuff. As a spy, you're not supposed to fall in love with anyone. You either get in the way you are and stay that way, or you get in with someone else who you're married to, with the approval of the posse. Yeah, we call 'em posses. We're a bona fide posse.

I was screwing things up and everything was getting screwed up because I have trust issues, especially when I have someone in the government, ya know, messin' with the titanium in my neck through my own fuckin' computer. Um, there are a few things that we spies know about that the commoners don't know about. It's called technology.

There is a form of high end technology which taps into a computer or sometimes works without one and will detect a metal and then taps to it. This blond woman in Bainbridge knows all about it but I forgot to ask her name, but anyway, that's alright, Franklin knows her and if you ask him, he'll tell you. She has a long face and is pretty, blond, and is in her 20s and is really into techies. I think she'll end up with someone just like Franklin. But then again, they might be too much alike. Anyway, it can cause the titanium to sort of buzz and then it seems to cause a kind of inflammation or swelling. The heat is on!

I left Bainbridge and it happened again in Seattle, next to the bus. Like a good spy, I will tell you what I did. I moved locations and then, knowing I was being watched...Well, it was weird. Why were there two or more taxi drivers positioned to note my every move? Why did the guy from India care about me? or the black taxi driver from who knows where? But I asked the guy from India to take me to the airport. He then alerted the black guy in the other taxi by telling him we were going to the airport and did he want to do it or would he? I instinctly knew it was a tip off and not an offer to take me. The other guy looked shocked and was very alert. I was taking off? Where to?!! He made a point of saying to me, that he had to offer to the first guy in line but that's not true. So then he asked where I was going, what time, which plane, etc. I had him drive for about 5 miles and then I saw people following. I saw some were very concerned for me so I DO have angels! But I said suddenly, "Um, actually, you know what? I think I'll take the bus." I asked him to go back. So he did. All the people and cars cloistering around me took the hell off. I didn't have a problem after that. I did have this one Army guy from Ephrata come sit next to me. But that was it, al finis! I did my little U-turn maneuver. It's excellent spy shit! It was like Grand Central until I was taking off for the "airport". Haahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaa. Oops. That was immodest of me.

So I went back as they were all taking off for the airport and my good guys even positioned themselves back a little. We got back to the car and I looked at the black guy in the taxi who was there. I smiled. He looked pissed and took off, without any passengers in his car. He didn't come back. I guess we call it "giving someone the slip." But that's sort of old fashioned spy talk. What puzzled me was why I was such hot shit. I thought to myself, is this about my past romance with William of Wales or my interest in Diana's case or is this about something to do with drugs that I don't even know about? I didn't know. Maybe religion. Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow black and white they are precious in his sight. Oh, and I forgot about how someone in my family was maybe in intel and how I might look like a relation to a royal Russian family or a sniper, and how I'm the Holy Grail and have been hidden by those who love Mary Magdalene all these years. Yeah. That AND I'm a spy too. I guess they just all found me out.

Really, if anyone wanted to know, all I cared about was my spy mission and dancing. I specifically requested on my spy application that I be assigned a mission where I could dance a lot. However, the spy mission really wasn't so hot. Not like people think it was. It was basically to just report on people in the system who are not doing their job or are being cruel to others. And you can't "cheat" which really sucks. I mean, if you're deep, deep, undercover, you can't resort to your real bank account and tap in for a good bottle of wine or anything. No. You take all the blows. You live like someone who is really persecuted and blacklisted and you don't come up with money you shouldn't have. You have to depend upon others to have your back. I might be able to break into my legitimate account in some time. My real husband has control of it right now. That's another thing, I had a fling with William of Wales but I have a husband. He's a real asshole. He's out partying and blowing through money like nothing. He knows I'm gone for awhile. But in the meantime, it's carte blanche for him. His hands are tied. But I told him to have fun and don't check into doldrums on account of me. I did threaten to leave him for Will. But then I didn't know. This is the life of a spy. It's not cut and dried. It's not left or right. It's not black and white. It's muddy, all in pursuit, hopefully, of higher ground.

There are faded diamonds on the sheets of a couch and then there are real diamonds. Diamonds are tough. They are hard as nails. They weather fire and rain and all kinds of insults. They come from coal and harden into precious jewels. The most precious of all have fire though, and heart. They're flat if they don't. The best ones have clarity, cut, and color, and brilliance and the older they get, the more multi-faceted they become. They get lost and dirty and dull, but all they need is a good shine. With every cut, comes a new sparkle.

Someone died for me. That's another reason I left. I don't know all the details, but someone very dear to me, very special, died. Died trying to help me and my son. For that, I owe a heavy debt.

I got cut loose not too long ago, which is the only reason I'm now free to blow my own cover.

Some want to be in the CIA. If you do, if you want to be deep undercover, you'd better be willing to be tough. There are people that work for these agencies who will do anything without a second thought. They will kill, they will harm, and they will torture. This is true for every agency in the world. There are those who are hired to do these things, or paid. But I would like to think I was a good hearted spy even if I did some damage.

Someone had to make sure the FBI was doing their job. Oh yeah, and someone I love works for them, so there are others watching too.

Now, thankfully, I have some of both, looking out for me and my son. Some know things are going on and can't reveal it to the commoners because it would be that horrible threat to "national security". There is a LOT of fuckin' surveillance and you have NO idea. I will tell that to you straight. Anything and everything can be heard if someone wants to listen in. But if they hear something bad, it's often prohibited to break the rules and warn someone about it. Number one, you don't want all the commoners to know how far The Patriot Act extends things. Number two, some of it is technically "illegal".

There are a few who break the rules. If they are cut, they are punished. However, some of the rules some of these people break, are ones which are very moral. They do it out of the goodness of their hearts. They do it because something gets to them, to the humanity that is in all of us. They lose the satisfaction of doing a "job well done" and instead, help someone either out of pity, mercy, or love.

Sometimes an enemy falls for the target.

Which is why they like to use same sex for some of the shitty stuff that's done. But even woman to woman and man to man, we change our minds and have mercy. We identify on some small level or laugh or see some side of humanity that helps us overcome our differences and dislikes. Sometimes entire groups even change their minds, and take another, new vote. Sometimes there is a mutiny against a cruel dictator. Sometimes, there is even eventually peace. Mistrust maybe, but peace.

Sometimes, someone next door is not just the guy or the girl next door. Sometimes they're ready to take you out. For some reason, they change their minds. Some people even quit. They do. They can and they do and they get out. They get out while the going is good, they turn away and say it's not worth it.

Rosetta stones and olive branches.

If I live, I will tell you a story...I will you tell you a story like Isabella Allende tells a story. And it will blow you away.

In the meantime, I'm going into my retirement phase as a spy to write a novel or two. I've got diamonds in the soles of my shoes.

I might write an image or two.

I was starting to feel one coming on with rosetta stones and olive branches.

Oh, I might have to add, you have NO idea what Will is really like. If I could only tell you...He's put on a wig before. He's gone out in drag too, just to get undetected.