Before I dive into this, let me first state that I know I’m disappointing many of you, and I’m truly sorry.

The you that emailed me and begged me not to reveal my identity because “PittGirl is a superhero and Pittsburgh needs its superhero.” No pressure there. Should I keep my ears peeled for women and children in peril?

The you that twittered that if I outed myself you would personally feed every pigeon in the universe. I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY!

The you that was convinced I was a hot blond with giant boobs, oh my God, are YOU a sad panda today?

All of you that just didn’t want to know. I’m sorry. You must understand though that while it is fun for you to not know who I am, being anonymous is no longer any fun for me.

Anonymity is a lonely island where I sit with my computer doing what I love to do most in this world, write, except instead of just enjoying the lovely weather and the cool water lapping at my toes while I wait for David Conrad to cut down a coconut for me, I sit nervously, a bundle of agitation, glancing over my shoulder to be sure no one is watching me from behind, being careful to sign my emails with the right initial (JP not V! JP not V!), making sure over and over again that I’m logged into the Jane Pitt facebook account and not my real one, wondering if today is going to be the day someone figures it out and takes away any control I had over the situation.

It’s exhausting and nerve-wracking and after four years, Mike, my devoted butler and good friend, could hear it in my voice. I had enough.

I didn’t want to write with the weight of PittGirl on my shoulders anymore. “PittGirl” used to be a little flirty silhouette alighting on my shoulder to have a chat over muffins and coffee, but each day she got a little heavier and a little heavier until I was finally crushed under the weight of that fat she-cow. I told you muffins were fatty evil-doers!

Realizing I had enough, I had a few choices:

Door #1: I could keep writing as “PittGirl” understanding it is the dumbest-assest name I have ever heard. People, I CRINGE when I hear someone say PittGirl. Choosing door number 1 meant that I risked every day that someone would out me before I was ready.

Door #2: I could kill “PittGirl” (ME LOVE KILLING, GRR!) in a random pigeon attack, start from scratch under my real name, unbeknown to anyone, and work hard to rebuild an audience. Door number 2 can kiss my ass because it is a super sucky door with rusty, creaky hinges.

Door #3: Be proactive. Come out. Reveal myself. Let the shit hit the fan for a few days and then when it all dies down, figure out what comes next.

This is me, opening Door #3 and hoping there’s not a carrot-munching goat standing behind it taking a poop in some straw.

So let’s get this done, okay? I’m going to give you everything you wanted, not because I feel it is important or newsworthy, but because the more I give, the less digging will need to take place into my personal life. Make sense?

1. My name is Virginia Montanez. My friends and family call me Ginny, but you can continue to call me Your Majesty, because I’ve grown accustomed.

2. I am 35 years old and I hate it so so so so so much because God, I’m effin’ old and I have a Debbie Gibson Pandora station.

3. I work as the communications and marketing director at NEED and have done so for six years now. NEED is a 46-year-old college access program and we have interactions with the Mayor, his staff, UPMC, and other people and organizations that I have written about, and not always kindly. Right now, Yarone Zober is glaring at my picture, slamming his fist on his desk and screaming, “Destroy her!”

4. I have been married since I was 26-years-old when I married my husband David on the beaches of Cancun. David is Mexican. David is hot. David owns Las Velas Restaurant opening next month in Market Square. David understands that I have self-united husbands and he’s okay with that. David did not know I had a blog until over a year after I started it and I finally told him.

5. I have two children, a boy who is 6 and a girl who is 2. HOLY SHIT, PITTGIRL IS A MOM! Remember in December of 2006 when I indicated I would be away for two weeks so that Mike could work a bit on the blog template? Baby-birthing time. That sound you hear is of my former stalkers now running for the hills all, “SHE’S A MOOOOOM! Why, God? WHY?!”

6. I wrote extensively about my four sisters and I love them dearly. Would you like to meet them?

This is the oldest, Ta-Ta the Giant-Breasted Grand Poobah. Her name is Stacey and at her request I cropped her boobs out so that you’ll actually make eye-contact with her:

This is Tina Fey, who I so named because of her kickass sense of humor and the fact that she used to wear glasses. Her name is Marcia:

This is Ohio Sister, who always felt gypped in the fake name department. Her name is Terri but we shall call her Princess Aurora so as to make her feel better about her former dumb fake name:

This is Terri’s twin sister Pens Fan, who named her dog Sidney. Her name is Tammy. She will leave her husband if your name is Sidney Crosby. True story.

7. My sisters are all married and we all have two children apiece. We like even numbers. Anyone has one more baby and we’re giving it to Angelina Jolie to raise, assuming she is accepting white babies at the time.

8. This is my Dad. He’s a retired engineer and he’s also a minister. I KNOW! He’s sitting with my Mom. She’s a retired homemaker who loves to drag my dad on cruises and to trips to Punta Cana. She’s very good at spending money. They have been married for 40 years.

10. This is me, thinking about stabbing a pigeon in Market Square:

So, WHAT NOW?!

What happens now is that the name PittGirl is no more. I am her. I will continue to write for Pittsburgh Magazine, writing the same things I always have in the same snarky fashion I always have, except now, under my real name and face. Nothing is changing but what you call me. Not PittGirl, but Your Majesty. You thought I was joking about that? My October column in Pittsburgh Magazine is about the Steelers and I wrote it two months ago and I haven’t changed a single word of it just because my real name is on it now. Check out the magazine’s site for Jonathan Wander’s piece on my reveal.

What happens now is that The Burgh Blog archives stay up here at That’s Church.

What happens now is That’s Church becomes my new outlet for the things I’ve been posting on Facebook since I quit in November. It’s my space to write the stuff I want, when I want without being edited. It’s my newest place to hang my keyboard and rant and write about all things Pittsburgh. I don’t yet know how often that will happen, so you’ll have to be patient with me as I figure that out. That’s Church is not becoming a mommy blog, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I haven’t ever written about my children and I don’t plan to start doing it here.

What happens now is I wait to see what doors close and what doors open. I have prepared myself to lose everything including readership and my job, because while those are valuable things to lose, gaining my freedom from Anonymity is worth so much more to me.

What happens now is if you see me, you come up to me, you say “Hi, Ginny!”, you tell me your name or your twitter name or your blog name so that I’ll know who you are, and you let me thank you for reading my stuff.

What happens now is you and I, we move forward (DING!).

What happens now is I keep writing and see where it takes me. I be unafraid to take risks, unafraid to step out of my comfort zone, and unafraid, if events warrant, to once again call Ben Roethlisberger a stupid, gift-wrapped bitch (gasp!).

And that, my friends, is church.

It’s been over a week now and I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell is going on.

Well, you’re going to have to wait just a bit longer.

August 19 to be exact. On that day you’ll come here and you’ll go “Son of a …” or maybe “No. Way.” or maybe “Eff this shit.” or maybe “Meh.” or perhaps “NOT THUGALICIOUS!” or perhaps “Yes!”

In the meantime, it is important to me that I remind you where we left off. Why you were here. To read.

Until August 19, why not take a look at some of my favorite posts?

• Read about that time I got royally pissed off at Giant Eagle and went all BLLLLL about it.
• Or about the time I got royally pissed off at the graffiti criminals and called them trash. ‘Cause they are. Trash. TRASHY TRASHERS THAT TRASH!
• Or that time I called local poet Jan Beatty a self-important windbag. And also told her where to stick a microphone. Harsh!
• Or my letter to the most annoying of all Burghers.
• Or a few of my favorite What They’re Really Thinking posts here, or here, or the motivational poster edition here, or mini-camp edition here.
• Read my first reaction to Steely McBeam.
• Read “Will the Circle be Unbroken?”
• My hatred of Marion [spit spit] Hossa. God. I still hate his punk disloyal ass.
• My advice to Lukey.
• The name-dropping Annoying Burghers.
• Jesus puts the cows to work.
• The rides that scare me at Kennywood.
• The malleable cheese.
• Huh? (OMG. I love this post. Srsly.)
• “Valerie Abati … you suck.”
• Live … from a fence.
• How I feel about bugs. Let me give you a hint: DIE, YOU MISERABLE IMPOSSIBLE-TO-KILL SON OF A BITCH! DIE!
• HOW ABOUT THOSE HAND-CROCHETED TAMPONS, LADIES?!?  Those were full of win.

I’ll see you again on August 19!

Wow. You seriously need to take some deep breaths into a Dunkin’ Donuts bag or something. Look at you all, “OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!!!!!”  Save some punctuation for other readers for gosh sakes.

Big news coming soon. Giant news. GIANT FRESHLY SHOWERED news.

Enjoy the archives for a week or two if you’d like until the GIANT FRESHLY SHOWERED news is ready to be revealed.