Monday, September 29, 2008

Rubber Ducky You're the One...

Yesterday I spent the day with D2, my person and her DH.

We had a lovely lunch at some bakery whose name is escaping me, and my person and I decided to buy some things from the display case. Cause - well they were on display. Chocolate peanut butter brownies- hello!
Then I realized that I was supposed to be trying to lose weight, so last night I got out of bed, and in a fit of self-preservation I threw out the box. This morning I realized I could have brought it all into work and not completely wasted my money that way.

Whatev.

Anyhow, after the lunch, we decided we weren't quite sick of each other yet, so we went for a walk in Assiniboine Park. It's a lovely park with a zoo, and sculptures and an english garden and all sorts of happy things.

The flowers in the garden were pretty much on their last legs. One more coolish night and I think they were done for. I realized to my dismay (and D2's delight) that I had forgotten my camera. Well that's what phones are for right? (Well, maybe it's not their sole purpose, but I think it's their second purpose anyhow...

English Garden (with only minor Photoshoppage):

Sculptures: 1 of Moses and one called "Europa". Now my darling European readers - why is a naked chick sitting on a bulls horns representative of Europe?? It is supposed to be semi-erotic since the bull lis licking her hand? I don't get it...

I actually ran back on my own to get Moses and told my people I would catch up. Then they decided to hide on me. Can I say that's in my top 3 pet peeves (The other 2? People who walk really slow, and people who stop dead in a busy aisleway). People? If we ever meet? Don't hide on me. I won't end up making a good impression on you cause I'll be so irritated that you pulled such juvenile crap.

Anyhow, we then moved on to the Duck pond. Mmmm ducks. They looked kind of bored and hungry so I ran to D2's car and grabbed some of the baking. I think the ducks liked me better. Who wouldn't prefer a cinnamon bun to dry bread crumbs?

And so concluded our lovely day out. Ahh bliss.

And then I woke up today with a killer headache and sore throat because my allergies can't handle me being outside for that long.

Why do I avoid all the men on the internet sites who proclaim that camping and hiking are their favourite things to do?

Le sigh.

xoxo

Friday, September 26, 2008

OMFG!!

So I was at my Aunt's the other day having dinner, playing cards etc etc since another Aunt was in from Edmonton visiting.

My little cousin was of course winning every hand and hoarding all the money, so my very lady-like response was "Jesus Christ Cousin! Will you bet something so we have a chance to win?"

There was a stunned silence, and even I realized that I perhaps could have admonished my 14 year old cousin a bit more gently. Anyhow, it was awkward for a few second, then we moved on.
Later on someone said something to which I responded "Jesus!" And my Aunts jumped all over me for it.

Now before all my readers jump all over me too, I realize that this is inappropriate. I have trained myself out of saying "Oh My God" etc because my father and step-sisters have asked me to. I am in no way advocating taking the Lord's name in vain. Not the point of this post.

My question is about the later part of the evening when my Aunts were playing Rock Star and dropping F-bombs all over the place. I had left by this point, but another out of town cousin pointed it out.

In general I don't swear. And if I do, it's to prove a point and I hear myself saying it. That's the difference I think. I don't hear myself saying "Jesus!" like I should. And because of that very fact, I have decided to make a concentrated effort to change this behaviour.

I do hate it when I'm around people and they're constantly swearing. To be honest I think it makes the person in question sound less intelligent. There are a million words in the English Language- could you not choose another one that isn't so offensive?

Do I say this aloud? For the most part no. At my old job I used to share an office with 3 men, and I would give them a hard time about it occasionally, but it became kind of a joke. I am a goody-goody, but I am not so ridiculous about it that I'm going to skip about scolding people for their coarse language. It's life-I can deal with it.

But my question to you, my darling readers is this: what do you think is worse? Blasphemy or profanity? Is one worse or are they equally bad? Or are people in general just too uptight?

I do have a poll (that looks wonky, I love this new layout but it makes all my "gadgets" a bit askew) on the side over there, but I would really like to hear some opinions on "why" people feel the way they do on the topic.

xoxo

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Drama Trauma

*Note from the Princess: this was supposed to go up on a couple of weeks ago with my guest posts, but clearly I'm a spazz and don't know how to schedule things properly! Thanks for the guest post Dee! xo

Hello…my name is Dee of SexyWhispers. I am excited to step outside of my usual body of work where I chat about women, sex, and sexuality. Welcome…to my world as “Princess for a Day…”

I often refer to the premeditated explosions and fall out caused by the people in my life as drama trauma. To me, this means the effects of all of the residual emotions and commotions surrounding a situation that may or may not represent reality. Following me? Yeah…we all know those people who wake up with the purpose of creating drama in life!

One of my favorite people always says to me, “You should only spend time with those you like.” Although it is easy to grin at the simplicity of such a statement, few people would admit that it is possible to do just that…spend time with people who make you feel stronger with their positive support.

  • How many of us love every person we work with enough to share our afternoon hours over a meal?

  • How many of us enjoy the people we meet at social gatherings like church to plan a weekend trip?

  • How many of us pick up the phone to touch someone we met at a dinner party?

Be real…after all, how many people do you really enjoy in your life? In reflection, the real answer remains in the people to share their life without sharing their drama. The sharing of a life is a real experience that reaches out for support, strength, and comfort. A unity of understanding the ties that make our experiences similar as well as a comfort with our differences….we don’t see the prettiness of a face or figure…our insight reaches for the heart and soul of a person who shares themselves with others….and builds a close knit community of friends. We all have this neighborhood…this community… this place. It is here…in our blogosphere.

  • We don’t design drama into each other’s lives. We rush to support each other with kind words and kisses of wisdom.

  • We don’t let those moments of weakness pass without gathering around to form a circle of strength reassuring everything from self-esteem to self-worth.

  • We don’t let life throw a punch at one of us without getting together to push the bully back.
In short, “we are spending time with people that we really like” when we blog together. We are getting all of the greatest benefits of friendship without the drama trauma. We call, text, and email each other through the good times and the bad times. We meet up in cities near each other to laugh, drink, eat, and shop. We blog on each other’s blogs and we write fill in posts.
Oddly enough…all of that sounds like friendship! ~~Dee

Monday, September 22, 2008

I'm Thankful for Jensen Ackles


Ok, so yesterday's post apparently made me look all pitiful and stuff. SO not my goal.

Next topic please!
So I've lived in my condo about 3 1/2 years now. In the beginning I tried to have everyone (i.e. my family) over to show it off, but they were remarkably difficult. They don't even remember being so (typical). So the other night at my niece's birthday party a few of them made comments about how I never invite them over.

Rather than hiss out the plethora of nasty comebacks that whizzed through my brain at lightning speed, I responded with: "Fine. Why don't we do Thanksgiving at my place then?" (FYI- Thanksgiving here in Canada is October 14).

I showed them.

Um, except for the part where I need to fit 9 adults and 4 children into my 890 sq. feet.

So what did I do? Well, obviously I went to wikihow for advice on how to make it the best Thanksgiving ever!

OK- search "Thanksgiving"

How to Buy Nothing

How to buy nothing?? Wtf?! Someone needs instructions on that?
Don't get distracted Princess...

Why don't I create a new Thanksgiving tradition? Cool.
Track down an old teacher that I'm grateful to?
Next.

How to make a Thanksgiving centrepiece? Ahhh lovely.
Uh no. I don't do pumpkin guts. There's a reason I never have a jack 0' lantern on display.
Next.

How to make a day after thanksgiving sandwich?
Who are these idiots?

Why don't I just clean my condo and make a dessert? It's not like I'm doing any of the cooking anyhow. And don't get me started on how my step-mom cooks a turkey every year and tried to make me think it was a turkey cause I can't tell the difference anyhow.

Anyhow. So while I may have placated my family for never inviting them over, I think I'm the real winner there. I don't have to drive anywhere, and I bet I'll get to keep all the leftovers!

xo

Sunday, September 21, 2008

I've Lost My Mojo...

K and I got together today. It was lovely.

We shopped and lunched and giggled. We told secrets and talked about Astrology. She bought her husband a birthday present, and graciously let me wrap it for her.

I told her about an awkward situation I had at work this week.
I asked a guy in my office if he was married. He said no, then quickly mentioned that he had a girlfriend.

Although I do appreciate him both aesthetically and for his quirkiness, I wasn't flirting. It just fit into the conversation (I will be kind and spare you from a word-for-word recital of the whole thing, but trust me, it was relevant).

As I was sighing at K for how silly I thought it was that he felt the need to qualify his status to me, I acknowledged that I may be over-reacting. I admit that I don't "get" men.

We discussed my single-ness (singledom?), and explored the reasons why it might be.

We decided the fact that I need to lose a few pounds has nothing to do with it. We concluded that it has to do with confidence. You see I have none. I don't know where it went, but somehow it got lost somewhere in my mid-twenties. And because of this I've lost the ability to flirt and be coy and engaging.

I'm good at clever and quirky. I'm good at smart and sarcastic. But cute and girly? You would think I would be all over that.

Not so much.

Men: I don't get you. I don't know how to relate to you. I don't know what you want. I don't know what to do with you.

Do you really think about sex that much?
Do you really want women to approach you?
Do you want someone independent or someone who is vulnerable and needs you to take care of them?

See, the way I see it? You guys have no clue.

And this little Princess? Doesn't want to take the time out from dwelling on her own demons to figure out what's going on in your heads.

So yeah. I'm gonna be a crazy cat lady.

I do kind of miss sex though. Have I mentioned that like a zillion times on here already?
Yeah, I thought so.

xo

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Don't Drink, Don't Smoke, What Do You Do?

So I'm totally a goody-goody.






And one of the annoying things that come as a part of that is the fact that I don't lie.
And herein lies the problem. You see, occasionally everyone has to lie. And I really don't know how to do it.

I wear my emotions on my face for anyone to see.

Today my boss asked me how I was. I didn't know how to answer the question. I wasn't OK at that moment. I was overwhelmed and floundering. Not something you really want to admit when you're still working on making a good impression.

Why couldn't I just plaster a big smile on my face and say that I was fine? I am quite literally incapable of doing so. And if I can't think of an acceptable half truth fast enough, then it's pretty damn obvious I'm lying anyhow.

I used to think that it was so noble and saint-like. Oooh Princess is so honest...
Whatev.

Sometimes I think there are reasons for it. I think if there are good reasons to do it, and they genuinely don't harm anyone, then they may have a purpose in this world.

But I can't do it. And I'm not so sure that it's a skill that I want to practice and perfect, you know?

So now I just have to be all awkward and pitiful...and completely open.

It's annoying.

xo

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

I'm Totally Uninspired, So You Get a Post All About Me


Name: uhhh Princess for the sake of this blog...
Age: *sigh* 33
Status: Single, and Ok with it for the most part – but it has been a while…
Children: Nope.
Job: Let’s say I’m in education – but I’m totally not a teacher or anything.
Living Arrangements: I have my own lovely condo
Pets: Do stuffed animals count? I have a few of those on a shelf somewhere.
Hometown: Winnipeg, Canada – born, raised and never left…
Family: Dad, stepmom, brother, 2 stepsisters (both married with kids).
Mom: Died when I was 11

Tattoos: 2 - an angel on my back and daffodil/bluebell on my ankle

Why “Princess of the Universe”: This totally goes back to university when I used to make up stories about how I was cursed by “the wicked stats fairy” and that’s why I was doing so poorly in honours stats. You really had to be there. I have a whole collection of “Princess” stories though. It kept me amused in class. (Why did I get bad grades in Stats? Oh yeah, cause I was daydreaming about being a Princess. Whatev.) I will post Princess stories only upon request.

Favourites:

Movie: Moulin Rouge.
TV Show: Buffy/Angel or Lost
Music: Well I was in the Bon Jovi fan club in high school (Ok, and in University too) but now I lean more towards Great Big Sea.
Food: my brother’s lasagna, California rolls, chocolate, most curries
Author: Jane Austen, Guy Gavriel Kay

Randomness:

Fact 1: I don’t: drink coffee, smoke, touch any kind of drug, including alcohol anymore. It’s shocking that I have any friends.
Fact 2: I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life
Fact 3: I’m MUCH funnier in person than I am on my blog. I think I need a live audience :P

Celebrity Crushes:

Jensen Ackles, James McAvoy, sorta Mark Wahlberg, mildly Matt Damon, often David Boreanaz

Embarrassing things that I’m totally into: Broadway musicals, cheesy teen movies, gift wrap/ribbons/bows,

Have I ever had a crush on a blogger? Yup. Not that he reads mine or anything (Wow, did I ever have a high school moment there- “I like a boy, but he doesn’t even know that I exist!”). But seriously, if I ever saw him IRL, I would most likely offer to mother his children within the first few moments of meeting.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

I Wish I Blogs Had Existed When I was Doing My Psych Thesis...

So I've been blogging for a little over a year and a half now.
A friend convinced me to do it, and it's been a fabulous journey.
I've learned lessons from it though- some wonderful, some humbling.

Blogging shows you a certain side of humanity. The generous, compassionate and giving side, yes. But it also shows you the mean-spirited mob-mentality.

I've been fortunate to only receive a few nasty comments on here. And people were quick to jump to my defense. But I've seen a lot worse on other more popular* blogs.

I wrote a blog once that was mildly controversial, and Avitable made a comment about "taking umbrage" about what I had written. After I recovered from my awe that I knew someone who knew how to use the word "umbrage" in conversation, I analyzed what it was that I had written. As it turns out, the offending comment was something that I had wavered on including. I wasn't 100% firm in my belief in what I was saying. But it helped to move the post along, so I let it remain.

However, in my back-tracking, after being called-out for writing it - I realized that I didn't like the fact that it sounded like I was backing down. It appeared that I was simply trying to placate my readers, which wasn't the case. So lesson #1: I will never again write anything that I am not 100% willing to stand back and defend in the face of all the backlash. (Or in my case, one polite comment).

My next lesson? Well, if you've been here more than a few months- you've seen it. My Tabula Rasa post when I had to clear out virtually all my archives. I had said some things in my blog that...well they didn't gov over so well, so I essentially had to start afresh. The best advice I received as a result? From Britt: she told me that she writes as if the entire world is reading it. Don't write anything that you wouldn't want people to see.

So these are the lessons I've had to learn. And I think that I truly did need to learn them. But then there are other lessons that I see other people learning.

This goes back to my comment about other bloggers...

I read a post recently by one of my favourite bloggers that was on a fairly sensitive topic. I have no doubt in my mind that she expected backlash based on the content and subject-matter of her blog. I checked her comments throughout the day and saw that she did indeed get a range of responses. For all the "bravas" she received, there were as many "hey wait a minutes." Cool. You have to appreciate a post that generates 100 comments and makes people think.

But then I saw the other stuff. The comments that went deeper than the point of the post. The comments that said she was obviously referring to another blogger with her post. And why wasn't she just open about it? When this writer disagreed with this, the commenter then got personal with her.

Now I've seen this in blogs before. "If you're really objecting to someone else's post, why not just say so?" Are you for real?

How is that better? Are you telling me that you think it's better to say: "Hey, I hated this person's opinion (insert link and name and social insurance number of said blogger) so I'm gonna totally diss them here on my blog." Do people really think that is the moral high ground?

I for one have been inspired by many blogs that I've read, and have written posts as a result of them (uh, kinda like what I'm doing right now). And yes, if I feel that credit is due, and would be appreciated then I will link to them. But if it's a complete disagreement of their opinion, or if it has just gotten me thinking about their topic in a different way, I'm not going to call them out. 1. It's rude. And 2. Why do I have to?

But it's the mob mentality. That and the spark of not so much anonymity, but distance that the internet provides. Would you really get all personal with your friends, to their face about something like this? I would hope that if you took offense to something your friend said or wrote you would discuss it with them in a friendly way. Not get all personal with them in the comments section of their blog. That's not being a friend.

So fine, you don't consider yourselves friends with this blogger. They're just someone you read every once in a while. Again- courtesy. Don't get nasty and personal with them. Express disagreement, yes. But don't call them names. Just because you're staring at a computer screen doesn't excuse you from manners.

I know I'm being all Canadian here- but courtesy. And a little thought and time. Just cause these people are just words on a screen to you, doesn't mean that there isn't a real live person behind the typing.

End rant.


*This is not meant to be a comment about my popularity. I have a plethora of wonderful readers, and I am not complaining at all.

xoxo

Monday, September 15, 2008

And Then I Got High...


So I'm off my crazy pills.
I told my doctor that I had a new job and he pronounced me cured. Once the pills I had ran out, I wasn't getting any more.

I've been off them for 2 weeks, and I still have the withdrawal headache.

It's not so much a headache as a throbby, trippy, pulsating thing. And not so much in a good way. Well, the trippy bit might be a little fun, but on the whole it's still kind of annoying.

I keep putting myself to bed at ungodly hours like 9:00 PM. And I still wake up all dazed at 6:30. Of course that's always been the case, probably nothing to do with the withdrawal.

However this has given me a wee bit of perspective on things. I mean, the thought occurred to me a couple of times to tell my doctor that I wanted the pills back just to make the headache go away.

And on the whole- all trippiness aside, it hasn't been unbearable.

What do people with addictions to cigarettes or a non-prescribed drug do?

I had mentioned to my doctor that when I would accidentally forget to take a pill I would end up with these headaches. His suggestion? Take some of my sleeping pills. Hence the going to bed at 9:00 thing.

It doesn't so much help during the day. Although it is tempting to go through my work day in a drug-induced state of sleepiness. I'm off probation in a couple of weeks. Maybe if the headaches aren't gone by then I'll try it.

So I wanna know- have you ever gone through withdrawal? Smoking? Caffeine? Sex?
Was it all trippy, or did it just kind of suck?

xo

Sunday, September 14, 2008

A Little Princess Visits the Big City

So I went to Toronto for some work training.

I arrived at the hotel around 10:00 PM or so. The lobby was more than a little bit intimidating. (I knew I would totally regret not bringing my camera with me).

There were some glorious signs proclaiming: Fairmont Gold Floor Express Elevators. Yet for some reason in my exhausted state, I couldn’t sort out which elevators went to the Gold Floor. Uh yeah- little Princess needs to stop going to bed at 9:00 if being up at 10:00 made her that incoherent.

Oh wait, isn’t 10:00 Toronto time actually 9:00 Winnipeg time?

Whatev. Moving on.

So I get to the room and found a lovely note welcoming me to the Fairmont, some chocolate and some cheap wine. How do I know it’s cheap? And why would a five star hotel like the Fairmont stoop to such a level? Well, when D2 was kind enough to get me upgraded to the Gold Floor, the concierge there asked him what I like.

D2’s response? “M & M’s and cheap wine.” He knows me so well.

So I fall into bed and luxuriate in the plethora of pillows and cushy duvet. I could go on and on about that bed. And the pillows. I NEED a king-sized bed. I'm totally adding that to my Amazon wish list on my side bar.

I get dressed the next day in a very appropriate dress and jacket.

Oh crap, I forgot the camisole I always wear underneath the dress! So I go to the private lounge (where they’re already serving us complimentary breakfast) and ask for a safety pin at the desk. They hand me a sewing kit.

Dude! Do I look like I know how to sew?

Oh wait, I guess next to all the Prada and Gucci types who actually paid to be here instead of sneaking in on a favour, I guess I do.

So I pin myself my dress semi-successfully and carry on to the conference, confident in the fact that I won’t be known as “that girl from Winnipeg who liked to show off her d├ęcolletage.”

Blah blah scholarships. Yadda Yadda administrative blah…..

We can go? Uh, it’s only 1:30. This is supposed to go until 4:00. Seriously my department paid for me to fly to Toronto for 4 ½ hours? Wait, the bag of goodies aren’t scheduled to come out for another hour? What kind of goodies? Juicy couture necklaces? M & M’s? Free manicures?

Le sigh. No goodies for the princess. (Or anyone else for that matter).

OK now what?

So apparently below the hotel there is an underground world that includes a spa. Now we’re talking! My poor little nails have been neglected of late. I managed to book an appointment for 3:45 and went up to the room to take a nap.

I set the alarm for 3:00. And of course being technically challenged it didn’t go off. Annoying since I also didn’t get my wake up call this morning. It was only by the grace of whomever that I happened to wake myself up on time both times.

So I manicured and was told that “Elizabeth Milan” is big in the spa world. Uh huh. Never heard of her. I was also told that Brad Pitt was staying at my hotel for the Toronto Film Festival. (Seriously, do you think I would have waited this long to mention it if I even caught a wee glimpse? No. I didn’t see him.)

Now one might think that since I was in a big city with a night free I would go out and live it up. Well, that would be people who don’t know what it’s like to work in an educational setting in September. Seriously, even off the crazy pills, I feel like all I do is sleep.

Post-manicure I crawled into my pj’s, called room service and ordered a movie. (“21” if you’re interested…not bad). I snuggled into the duvet and pillows, ate a $45.00 dinner of soup, salad and a piece of cake and read a book.

Bliss.

I watched Iron Man again, and read “Bitter is the New Black.” A fabulous book by blogger Jen Lancaster. Random Musings of My Life was kind enough to send me that and “Such a Pretty Fat” and I love love love them. I devoured the first book in one day and was cursing myself for not packing both. The second I got home I immersed myself in “Such a Pretty Fat.” Seriously do you read Jen Lancaster's blog? If not, go. Now. Immediately.

Oh, and remember the 3:00 alarm I set so I would get to me 3:45 PM manicure on time? Well guess what happened???

Le sigh.
It's dark at 3:00 in the morning. Hard to figure out how to turn off the alarm.

3:09 AM. Crap - I had only hit snooze.

The next day I had to be out of my room at noon, but didn’t need to be at the airport until 2:30. No prob
lem! That’s what the Fairmont Gold Lounge is for.

They stored my bag, and I read another book. I checked my email on the free internet. I ordered a $25.00 lunch. Seriously, I could get used to that kind of life. I wonder if D2 will marry me?

Hmm- I really was meant to live a more patrician life.

xo

This is the lunch they brought up to me in the lounge. They even brought a wee vase with a flower. Seriously. Can I just move in?

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Post Secret Card


Sometimes I wonder if this isn't true for me...

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Princess Pointful: Girl Detective

Hi internets and fans of the lovely Princess. This is another Princess, Princess Pointful to be exact, visiting from my normal habitat of ...and hijinks ensued.


The career goals of most children tend to be a little, well, idealistic. I generally tended towards the artistic, aspiring to be a writer, "drawer" (very specialized form of artist, you know), movie star, etc. For some reason, clown briefly entered the picture. 
I also ignored my terminal lack of balance and inability to skate in my dreams of being the first female hockey player in the NHL (I gave up my goal after Manon Rheaume beat me to the punch, although I didn't give up on my dreams of marrying Pavel Bure quite so easily).

However, by far my coolest aspiration was to be girl detective extraordinaire. 
Like most girls my age, I devoured Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew novels.
I took my fandom a little further than most, however.

For one, I developed a raging crush on Joe Hardy.
Fictionality couldn't stop my love.
I frantically flipped through each new tome I checked out of the library, scouring for the one illustration every forty pages, and hoping it would be a sketch of Joe doing something courageous, and therefore dreamy, such as spelunking for a lost key or deciphering a pirate's map.

I also delved into the unfortunate realm of fan fiction, writing tales in which the boys discovered a secret passageway between Frank's girlfriend's shady uncle's house and the bank. These tales usually contained a new feisty brunette character, who was always a thinly veiled version of myself.

As I got further sucked into the subculture of amateur sleuthing, the tales began to vary. Instead of writing about the aforementioned characters, a new series was developed: The Dudette Detectives. The DD were myself and a close friend, who, in these tales, always somehow ended up in the middle of the mystery action, and surprised all those know-it-all adults with our profound powers of deduction.

Then, much to our excitement, the Dudette Detective had their first real life case. Sure, the mayor didn't come directly asking for our help, but our sleuthing skills were clearly needed. An unknown culprit had smashed my partner's science fair project. As such, we gathered together our special detective kits (baby powder and scotch tape for taking fingerprints, a paperclip for picking locks, and, of course, a note pad for writing down leads). We created a case profile, with the primary suspects and possible motives.

The odd thing is that I remember the preparation more than the actual detective work. I'm not even sure how the case actually resolved itself. Perhaps, just as my stories often commenced with greatly details beginnings, and tapered off into oblivion somewhere around Chapter 3, the actual intricacies of "real life" detective work were nowhere near the Nancy Drew level of glamour I was expected. With no rocks with threats attached being thrown into my bedroom window and no signs of an international conspiracy, the regular 10-year old level of ADHD returned, and I likely moved on to the next obsession-du-jour.

Still, something does remain appealing about searching abandoned houses...

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

The Princess's First Ever Video Blog!

video

Of course that wasn't really The Princess, it was me, Chief Rock Chef, hastily filming himself in some woods on the way home from work!

I do think, though, that the real Princess should do a quick VBlog for us all, don't you? Come on, Princess, if I can do it I am sure you can!

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Ode to my Boyfriend


Hello loyal subjects of the Princess, allow me to introduce myself, I am Dear Anon!
My friends call me Nichole.

The Princess asked me to write a blog for her, at first I said no, you see I'm really not a writer - more of a creeper? Is that the right word?

Anyways the Princess had herself a royal temper tantrum, and treatend to banish me from court until I relented, so here I am!

I thought long and hard: "what shall I write about?"
Until someone said write about what you are passionate about...
Well thats easy. I'm passionate about my boyfriend

My boyfriend has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.

He has seen me at my best, and worst, and still turns on for me.
He has made me laugh till I almost pee myself.
Cry till I had no tears.
He has taught me about the world and environment.
And ladies I hate to brag.. he is a nice 27 inches!!!!!
His name is Sanyo

Lately though, I have been eyeing other models.
Thinner, flatter models.
They call out to me...
"Look at me."
"Touch me."
"Turn me on...."
I am being seduced by Samsung, who has boasted to me that he is 42 inches...
WOW!

What is a girl to do?

Thank you all for reading I hope you liked it!
In case you were wondering, yes my boyfriend is a TV.. dont judge!
Nichole


*Note from the Princess. It really is true. She loves her bloody TV. I don't think we've ever gotten together and watched a movie at my place or anything. It's always me and her taking advantage of her boyfriend together. At least she shares.

xo

COMING SOON!

The Princess of the Universe's first ever VBLOG!
It will appear here on Saturday morning! Don't miss it!

Monday, September 08, 2008

That Which Got Cold by Accident

Does anyone remember “The Iceman”?

People tell me I look young. And most do not believe me when I do tell them my real age. I suppose this sounds like a blessing. Truth be told, at times it is. Many others it is not. This bit of information is very important to this blog entry. I figured for a long time that I have some good genes in my family. I have come to find that genetic dispositions are not the case. I know many women who would give anything to find the fountain-of-youth. But, I believe my parents actually found the answer. Believe it or not, it's free.

Most of you may not know that I am from a state in the great white north. I wasn’t born in that state, but I essentially grew up there. This is not insignificant. Why? Because winters are freakishly cold. They are what I call “abnormally arctic.” No humans (or even animals for that matter) should have to sustain these sub-freezing temperatures.

For example, the state I grew up in has consecutive days of zero to subzero conditions. That is not normal. It’s just cruel and unusual. And, let me reiterate the crotchety coldness of the cold in this area of the US in case you underestimate: the average mean temperature for these winters is between 14 and 18 degrees Fahrenheit (-10 degrees Celsius to -7.78 degrees Celsius) during the winter, which is 8 months long. This does not even factor in the wind-chill either. I can’t even begin to go there. . . .

I’ve been irrevocably damaged!

Where is the Texaconsin Diva going with this? Let me begin by telling you a story. I like being cold at night. I believe I sleep better. Also, I don't sweat. I'm too much the princess for that. Or this odd phenomenon could be reminiscent of my childhood, teen and young adult years in the great white north.

As I embark on this narrative, I need to tell you that my family moved when I was 11-years-old. What were traumatic about that specifically were the winters. Especially at night.

Each night during the months of cold, I slept with an electric blanket set to high, 4-goose down comforters and a 20-pound ancient; some might even classify it as antique, blanket made by my great grandmother's own hands. That blanket was a tank built to last and was one tough coverlet. Each winter morning I dreaded to push that first leg out from the covers. It was freakishly freezing in that room. For example, if I went to my room at night with a full glass of ice water, in the morning there would be the same amount of ice in my glass. The ice cubes did not change. The ice cubes did not melt. The ice cubes remained strong in number. There would also be frost growing up the insides of my windows every. single. morning. One might think this is absolutely horrifying. And also, that I am exaggerating. It is. And, I am not.

Read on.

Why, you ask, did I not do anything? I did. I told my parents each and every winter day that my room was a bit nippy. Their collective response was along the lines of, “your room is furthest from the furnace. It’s going to be the coldest.” Which did not make much sense of anything to me, because my brother's room was right next to mine - neck-in-neck - and his was always deliciously warm. But, for years and years and years I settled in to live this way each and every winter. Believing my parents words as if God Himself spoke to me.

.. . . . Shoish! I am not a drama-queen! . . . . .

A few years later, I moved out. A few more years later, I moved to a city south of our current Longhorn City. . . .

Four years after that, which was five years ago now, I found myself having a conversation with my father on the telephone. He had called me. He was laughing and asked, “Remember how you always said your room was cold in the winters?” I had some trepidation in answering, because I was not entirely sure where this might be going or even where it was coming from and I grudgingly said, “Yes . . .” My father continued, “Well, your mother and I were cleaning out the basement the other day and we found vents for each of the bedrooms. The vents are the one’s that provide the heat from the furnace to every room in the house . . . .”

I began to shudder as I understood what was about to befall me as my father continued ". . . . yours has been entirely shut since the day we moved in here when you were 11-years-old!” He started giggling uncontrollably once more as I heard my mother in the background, "I told you not to tell her."

Um . . . . COULD YOU REPEAT THAT? !

You see, I’ve been pre-eternally preserved in growing up in the great white north winters by sleeping in a sub arctic sub zero temperature bedroom.

It has nothing to do with having good genes.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Committing suicide is the worst way to find out you're a superhero.

Hi! I'm butting in on my own blog for a moment. How's everyone doing with their Princess withdrawal? I would like to thank all you lovely people who are totally saving me by doing guest posts. I really appreciate it. And seriously - send me an email with an address and I will send you a thank you! You don't have to write anything else in the message- just an address and you'll get a special treat!

And everyone, please show Goth some love in the post below this one. He's totally a sweetheart super cool and ultra intimidating guy for doing one for me!

Anyhow, I'm still immersed in work craziness, but I had to come out of hibernation for a moment to talk about something. Something very important to me that I just HAD to share with all of my darling bloggies.

You see I found a boy.
A hot boy.
A cool kind of broody boy.
A boy who won't ever leave me.

You wanna see him?
I thought so.
Everyone - meet Blake.
Blake Undying.
Isn't he dreamy?


You see Blake has a wee bit of a problem- as much as we love each other...well....he kind of wants to die more. The problem? He can't.

Let me tell you a bit more about him:
"In a world where crime is rampant, business has corrupted the intent of democracy, and humanity is spiraling ever downward into chaos, Blake is tired of the grind.

A man mired in mediocrity, Blake decides to turn his back on the world and end it all, only to find that he cannot die. Ironic amusement gives way to desperation when repeated suicide attempts reveal to Blake that not only is death denied him, but he is slowly becoming harder to kill. He has been shot, stabbed, blown up and electrocuted, to no avail. Though each brief foray into death ends in failure, it still hurts every time.

His doctor is baffled, the government can't stop him, and his ex-girlfriend can't decide whether or not to return his calls. Blake's last hope is to use his abilities to become a superhero in the hopes of attracting a nemesis as evil and ingenious as Blake is indestructible, to finally find a way to put him out of his misery once and for all."

So OK, just maybe I've been single a bit too long and I have to invent imaginary boyfriends for myself. And maybe even in my imagination they would still rather commit suicide than be with me. Hmmm- perhaps I shouldn't have quit therapy.

So the story on Blake? One of my oldest and dearest friends from University has created him.
And Blake Undying is now in contention with fifteen other properties to win a grant from the Harold Greenburg Fund worth $15,000 for the development of the property into a screenplay.

So because I think it will be ultra cool to have a friend who has a comic book, and a movie deal, and because he promised me a free ComicCon pass if he wins and I want to be a supportive friend, I am totally asking you a favour.

Go become a fan at his facebook page, visit Blake's website and become a fan there too, and hey- we're all bloggers right? Go read Blake's blog! The boy really does have some adventures. I mean there was this one time that he was eaten by a bear....

So help a Princess out everyone. Get in on the ground floor of supporting a guy who might become the next Stan Lee. Read through a few chapters of Blake Undying and tell me that it's not about to be the next big thing. Go on- I dare ya!

OK- back to hibernating. I'll be back on the 16th everyone!


xo

A Gothic Interlude

As my lovely Princess is taking a short break, she asked me to contribute - feel free to contact the complaints department which is located on floor 69 of the Bat Cave.

Goths and holidays don't really go together - the temptation to stuff annoying small children into overhead lockers appears to anger even the most ambivalent parent.

It would also appear that the general populous take everything except their brains on holiday.

I'm sure there is possibly a valid reason to take a 42 inch flat screen TV on holiday with you but, Mr & Mrs Fajoukalot - you might want to wait until your country has discovered electricity.
However, it is not for me to criticise the intellectually bereft - I will just stand in line, mentally envisaging your death from a pack of rogue hamsters.

When one does make it as far as the chosen destination of your holiday, it's peaceful to relax, have a long drink and marvel at the serenity that surrounds you. Generally, this is best accomplished at about 4am whilst the British tourists are snoring peacefully in their own vomit.

Waves of serenity will sweep over you as you contemplate the wonders of nature.

Occasionally, strange questions might linger tantalizingly on the edge of your enlightened spirit but, Jack Daniels can eradicate any foolhardy attempts to improve your wisdom.

As the owl alights silently on the tree to your right, you can raise your glass silently in homage and acknowledge that it would be rather unfortunate if you were a mouse about now.

At roughly 6am, the dawn tourists will descend upon the breakfast bar like scampering hyenas and you know the time has arrived to go to bed.

With a smile you can fall into the welcoming bosom of your bed and, if you so choose, envelop yourself in the comfort of your partners arms.

Well, that's how holidays work for me any-hoots.......

Grand Bisous Princess
XXXXXX
*tips hat and wanders off to the bedroom of Love*

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

haiku for the corner shop

the piggie market
cookies in the redwood grove
remember the smell. closed

I grew up in what would nowadays be called 'the country'. It was a 25-acre cattle ranch in the middle of rural Aptos, on the coast of California. My parents rented a house on the property from the rancher and his wife, and when I was about 12 or so, they bought half of the land and the house it stood on. Looking back, I suppose it was an idyllic place to grow up, but to me and my brothers it was just Home. (Or, as some of my friends called it, "The Compound". Perhaps a little more cult-y than I would have gone, but I see their point.)

We were 3 winding miles from the nearest shop, the 'corner store' of its day - nothing as elaborate as a supermarket, but they had a deli counter, a hot meat case, and plenty of staples*. It was in a Redwood grove with several other small shops - a florist, a coffee house, a video store, a beautician. The area was an after-school gathering place for the kids from the Junior High, an early morning stop for the caffeine-addicted teenagers on their way to the High School. The Piggie Market sold sundries, groceries, and chewy gingerbread cookies in the shape of (what else) a pig. 

I am reliably informed that Piggie Market is now closed. The downturn in the economy, the rise of internet shopping, the superstores within easy reach have probably all contributed. The Market had its time - and a good one at that. I haven't thought of it in years, but now it all comes flooding back to me, that little shop nestled in the trees. Another piece of my childhood gone (did it ever even exist?), and from 6,000 miles away, I mourn. 

* By 'staples' here I mean things that should probably be in one's pantry, not small pointy pieces of metal. I don't think they sold office supplies. 

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Surfin' Safari on the Sea of Galilee

Hey, gang. Karl here from SecondHand Tryptophan. Glad to help out here at The Princess Diaries. My schedule is all loopy now, since I recently got a job, so I'm pulling out one of my classics from the archives. Hope you enjoy it.

There's this professor at Florida State University who believes that Jesus of Nazareth did not, in fact, walk on water. Instead he walked upon a slab of ice. Doron Nof - and yes, that's his real name - says that a patch of ice floating in the Sea of Galilee would be all but impossible to distinguish from the lake water around it.

I love how Jesus is made out to be a biblical David Blaine.

Rather than say Jesus didn't exist, Mr. Nof says well, maybe he did exist and he surfed across a lake on a chunk of ice to impress the apostles. Right. He found a big piece of ice...on the Sea of Galilee. Then he got on it, shoved off and hoped he'd cruise in a straight line and arrive at the boat full of apostles. That sounds plausible. Ah well, what do you expect from a guy named Doron Nof? This is the same professor who said (14 years ago) that the parting of the Red Sea by
Moses could be explained by wind and sea conditions.

Still, it's interesting to think about:

Jesus (to himself): Hmmm...after all that healing and exorcising, how am I going to follow that up with the guys? This messiah thing is really a lot of pressure. Hey, what's that? It looks like a big ol' sheet of ice. Don't see many of those around here. Hey...wait a second. I wonder...

Paul (in a boat on the Sea of Galilee): Look how choppy the water's getting. Man, if we were on the shore we could be catching some real gnarly waves.

Matthew: Maybe if we finish our meeting early, Jesus'll let us take the rest of the day off.

Paul: You think?

John: Yeah, and he can do that water-into-wine thing again. Did you see that at the wedding? Man, that was friggin' wild.

Matthew: Wonder if he can do that, except make the water into beer.

All: Oooooooooohhhh, beer.

Peter: Hey! Look! Is that a person?

Mark: Where? Oh, that? Dude, that's the middle of the sea. How could it be a person?

Matthew: It does rather look like a person.

Thomas: I doubt it.

Peter: Well, you would.

Thomas: What's that supposed to mean, eh?

Peter: All I'm saying is that you wouldn't believe a knife was sharp until you cut off your hand with it. And even then you'd want to put your other fingers in the bloody hole just to be sure.

Thomas: Listen, I believe in sound evidence, OK? What's wrong with a little empirical science?

Peter: Seriously, that's a dude, dudes.

Matthew: Wow, you know something? I think you're right.

Mark: What, walking across the water? How could anyone do that?

Peter: It's Jesus.

Thomas (laughs): You've got to be kidding. You think Jesus is walking on the water?

Peter: Why not? He's the Son of God. He can do anything.

Thomas: I don't know about anything.

Matthew: He expelled that demon from that man the other day! How do you explain that?

Thomas: Head cold. The guy blew his nose and said he felt better.

Matthew: Ridiculous! He was possessed, Thomas!

Thomas: Did you ever actually see the demon? No, didn't think so.

Peter: It is. It's Jesus.

Mark: Yep, sure is.

Matthew: Incredible.

Thomas: Huh, whaddya know?

Jesus: Hey, guys. What's up? Wow, this is some weather, huh? Calm down, water, calm down.

(The water calms.)

John: Great, so much for the surfing.

Matthew: Jesus, how are you doing that?

Jesus: What? Oh, standing on the water? No biggie. I am the Lord, after all.

Peter: Yes, but...how can your body's density not bring you below the surface of the water and cause a certain amount of displacement - ?

Thomas: Now who wants empirical science, eh?

Jesus: Listen, we don't have time for this. I've got dinner to serve and I heard there are at least 500 people with reservations.

Thomas: Wait. What is that? Is that...? Are you standing on...ice?

Jesus: What? (coughs nervously) What are you talking about? Of course not.

Thomas: I think it is. Look, it's flat.

Peter: Well, all of the water is flat right now, isn't it? He just calmed it.

Thomas: No, no...see right there? It's like there are...edges.

Jesus: Thomas, you haven't been smoking those strange poppies again, have you?

Matthew: Wait, I see the edges, too.

Mark: Oh yeah...right. I see what you're talking about.

Jesus: Where on Earth am I going to get ice? This is Galilee, for my sake!

Thomas: Well, you can just conjure it up, can't you? Or freeze a pail of water or something.

Judas: I don't think I've ever seen ice. What is it, anyway?

Jesus: Kiss off, Judas.

Mark: Wow, I have to say this is mighty suspicious, dude.

Jesus: Listen, are you all going to let me on the boat or what? I have to conserve my energy so I can turn water into beer.

All: Oooooohhhh, beer.

 
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