Translation FAIL

The Facebook status updates that weren't

An aside-- would you like to find out what movies I'm glad I didn't see in 2008 and my thoughts on the great Tom Cruise debate? Come visit me in the land of Brandy!

***

... alternately titled my Saturday night, in hypothetically Facebooked form.

(Background: Annual Christmas party, now held in January, with seven of my besties, mucho wine, cheese, and debauchery)

Princess thinks that an average of nearly two bottles of wine each is a little frightening.

Princess still has not reached her maximum cheese capacity.

Princess is giving Snoop a run for his money.

Princess is doing the limbo beneath a Swiffer.

Princess is now spanking her friend with said Swiffer.

Princess is all about having whip cream sprayed liberally into her mouth.

Princess is sharing a lollipop with a cricket in it. It apparently tastes nutty.

Princess hates it when she falls while enacting sexy dance moves.

Princess is the walrus... koo-koo-ka-choo!

Princess is laughing at S's dogpile related injuries and her resulting washcloth and ribbon bandage.

Princess does not think that picture is a very good idea at all.

Princess is perplexed as to why her friends are singing along to the Chipmunks.

Princess is surprised at the cornucopia of salacious information exchanged in a game of "I've Never".

Princess wonders why her boyfriend doesn't respond when she texts him "Wooooooo!"

Princess thinks it is time for bed when people starts singing Achy-Breaky Heart.

(and today... "Princess' head and tummy wish she would stop pretending she is 19.")

Birthday girl!

Why, yes, that is my armpit, in all its glory!
...specifically, at around 2am last Friday, after many martinis and shots to celebrate my birthday, and my development of a new dance, called the Sexy Robot.

(But before the 45-year old man with a mullet tried to pick me up, and acted shocked when I didn't follow simply follow him like a lapdog as requested.)

(And also before the Duke, in a very drunken state, pointed at said mulleted-- and very large-- man and shouted "He tried to pick you up?!")

If anyone is counting, it doesn't look like 27 has magically granted me that sudden burst of maturity, either... though I've kind of stopped expected it now.

So, yes, another year has came and went, and here I am, diving head first into my late 20s. I suppose I could do a retrospective of sorts, you know, 26 things I learned at 26.

However, I'm afraid this is where my age may actually start to show, my lessons may start to be becoming a little more tedious--less about how to seduce guys and rid hangovers (though, seriously, Gatorade before you go to bed will save your life), and more about practical and academic matters.

#7- Make sure to always run your garburator before you leave for a week, for there may still be some food in there, which gets smelly in a hurry.

#18- Asparagus is great steamed and baked!

#24- Think about which statistics package you want to use for your data before you decide on a Mac or a PC, because some stats programs aren't readily available on Macs.

LAME.

So, instead, I'm passing the buck over to you (birthday girls have this right)-- come out and play! Delurk for my birthday! Say hi and tell me about your best or worst birthday ever!

(or you could, you know, bake me a cake, but I'm expecting this may be a little simpler)

(and, for an extra side of guilt trip, keep in mind that I am always secondary this time of year due to my birthday's proximity to Christmas, as any holiday baby can attest to.)

Random things I have a hate on for

Sassy birth control advertisement.

Alesse, I'm looking at you. Secret agents? Bad puns like "I'm flaw-alesse!" and "Science drives me sense-alesse!" (which reminds me far too much of the now infamous "math is tough!" talking Barbie-- girl power!)? 

You know what is the selling point of my birth control pills? The fact that they stop me from becoming pregnant.

Skin on hot chocolate.

Overly obscure crossword clues.

I really shouldn't need to have a degree in Russian literature or physics to complete the crossword puzzle in a free daily paper. And I'm good with random trivia!

Silverfish.

I almost posted a photo, but they are too nasty to look at.

I never seen this quick skittering little insects until I moved to a damp city... let's just say I wasn't missing out.

Plug earrings.

These things just creepy me out, particularly the extremely large ones. I can't help but imagine how nasty and floppy people's ear lobes are when they are taken out.

Plus, I have an exceedingly gross story about these bad boys. One time, my friends and I were having breakfast at a greasy spoon type diner, and, when we got to our table, there was a plain silver ring sitting on it. My friend aimlessly twirled it around her finger... until we realized it was someone's plug earring. Ewwww.

People who bob their heads dramatically while listening to their iPods.

This bugs me about a million more times than people tapping their feet, for some reason. Do you really have to prove how catchy the music only you can hear is?

Shaquille O'Neal.

Forever and for always.

People who invade your personal bubble while waiting in line for a sandwich so much that you can practically feel their breath, and then  laugh into your ear about your order.

I'm not talking about a specific instance or anything....

And there is nothing wrong for asking for only a little bit of lettuce and lots of pickles. There is something wrong with you spying on my sub order, though.

Men in tank tops.

I'm fine if you are working out, playing sports, on the beach, etc. But as general public attire? No dice. Armpit hair bothers me. As does the possibility of nipple spottage.

Adults who use text speak.

There is no reason for anyone above the age of 18 to use "4" instead of "for". Ever.

The two day shelf life of bananas.

Why are bananas only tasty for such a limited time? I can't keep on justifying saving them for the banana bread I will only actually make twice a year.

Hangnails.

Crows cawing from above my head.

This means they are within dive bombing range.

Almost everyone eating at Denny's at 3am except myself.

The fact that you're drunk and craving hashbrowns doesn't make you any better than the person serving you hashbrowns. In fact, you are very likely a worse person, I would wager.

Christmas music in November.

The December 1st rule is rigid, in my eyes.

Unpredicted onions.

Why are onions the one thing restaurants never label in their menu??

Observations after cutting loose on a Friday night

For the first time in months and months, I decided to go bar-hopping with a few of my single, party animal girl friends. As one would expect by the title, a few hijinks may have ensued, and a few observations were made. (Is it bad that I try frantically to memorize such instances when they occur due to the possibility of a good blog anecdote?)

***

It is always a better idea to wait in line for 15 minutes for a bacon cheese potato in principle than in reality.

Especially when your friend runs into a former one-night stand in said line-up.

***

Best text message sent to a boyfriend ever? "Jagerbombs + Journey = Best Drunken Night Ever".

Yes, I mean that Journey.
I actually heard "Don't Stop Believing" two times last night, and, for some reason, was thrilled about this.

***

My friends are far bigger style mavens than I. The lessons I received from them whilst gussying me up for the evening included "never put your bangles on the same arm as your biggest ring". 

***

Best accessory ever?

Gangsta' rings, bee-otch!

***

Pretending you are someone you are very obviously not is grand fun. 

Example:

Cheesy guy: So how old are you ladies?

Friend: How old do you think we are?

Cheesy guy: Around 22. You seem too young to know Journey so well.

Me: I'm actually 45.

Cheesy guy: Shut up.

Me: No, I really am. I'm actually here for my son's 19th birthday party. He's at the bar getting some beers.

***

Gatorade is very possibly the nectar of the Gods.

***

How is it that I despise Womanizer when sober, but it becomes my new favourite song when drunk?

***

My friends, along with being big stylistas, are also far too adept at playing the bar star.

Despite my attempt to convince Cheesy Guy of my middle agedness, my girl friends decided to take him up on his offer to buy us Jagerbombs. They then talked to him for the appropriate five to ten minutes, and quite obviously were not feeling him (though I may have been too into lip syncing "Return of the Mack" to notice). Instead of simply making an excuse to leave, they had a far more histrionic plan- pretending to have an argument. 

I was confused as anything at first, looking at the two of them wide-eyed, whispering plaintively "Why are you fighting?" It was only after one winked at me that I realized this was a well-honed act on their part. Cheesy Guy looked especially distraught at the dramatic turn of events, and let us leave without protest. It was only when we got a sufficient distance away that they broke into peals of laughter.

Perhaps it says how boring that I am that I would rather not take the drink, and therefore not have to talk to Cheesy Guy and not fake a fight. But, then again, what do I know?

Two stories to prove my classiness

In an attempt to verse my mother in big-city multicultural life, I took her to an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant around the corner from my place. With the menus placed in front of us, I may have went a little crazy with the checklist, ordering us a cornucopia of rolls, noodles and other dishes. As the first appetizers arrived, we ate at a frenzied pace; however, as the trays continued docking, we gradually slowed, until our eating tempo halted completely... with an array of full dishes still in front of us.

Bolded letters on the menu reminded us that "Wasted food will be charged on the bill at regular prices."

And this is where I had the opportunity to demonstrate to my mother the true skills I learned in the city. In stealth fashion, each time a server turned the corner away from us, I would drop a piece of sushi into the napkin spread in my lap. After a few pieces, the napkin was wrapped around the random pieces of food, and I shuttled them to the bathroom garbage, where I gathered more paper towel for wrapping purposes. There is no greater display of class than smuggling paper towel wrapped sushi out of a restaurant in your purse with your mother.

***

Last night, as a large group of us sat around my friend's living room in a turkey induced daze, a fellow dashed into the room with a purple egg shaped electronic device in hand.

"This thing is amazing!" he proclaimed. "You pick any item, and it asks you twenty yes or no questions about it. It will seriously figure it out. It actually got poutine!"

Sure enough, this device had some serious psychic powers. As we grew more astonished by its powers, we also grew more dirty (note- many, many glasses of wine were had at this point). After it guessed "panties" correctly, it was decided that we would determine whether it could identify a certain part of the female anatomy.

We giggled while replying to its questions, such as "Is it usually exposed outdoors?"

After twenty questions, the red letters flashed on the screen-- "I know what it is!"

We all peer over the holder's shoulders expectantly.

"You are thinking of pussy!"

Seriously.

The children's toy said pussy.

The Twenty Questions Electronics Game by Mattel-- keeping drunken perverts entertained for decades.

Mouse in the house!

A mouse has been spotted in our kitchen.

There is nothing okay about this.

I never realized I had a problem with rodents until I heard I may be sharing residence with one. Now, I can't stop panicking about accidentally stepping on a poor furry critter in the middle of the night.

My usually barefooted self has taken to wearing my infamous cat slippers at all times, and stomping very loudly each time I'm within proximity of the kitchen, shouting "No mouses allowed!" I'm a little hopeful that the kittens on my feet may be mistaken as real felines by his little mouse eyes. As such, I have taken to random meowing or purring to help seal this image.

My boyfriend may or may not think I am crazy.

The acting out of scenes with my feet probably doesn't help.

(EDIT: Exterminator is coming in soon, don't worry, we haven't merely accepted Mr. Mouse as a houseguest! This just seems to be a side effect of old buildings...)

Clicking for royalty!

I know, I know, I keep on sending you away from my blog this week.

But, I promise, it is so worth it.... because I'm guest posting for fellow royalty today.

So come visit me in the Kingdom of Princess of the Universe, where you can read all about my fierce lust for Joe Hardy and my career as an amateur sleuth.

PS. Congrats to Crushed and arguably Yoda (I suppose I may be showing the most leg) and Nilsa (I am technically wearing orange, but maybe it looks pink) for choosing the correct legs!

I Be Skymallin'

(written while in the air very early yesterday morning)

Yes, yes, y’all, it’s that time again.

Okay, truthfully, I was enjoying United’s exciting inflight entertainment… but then an E! True Hollywood Story on Donald Trump came on. Considering Mr. Trump is Number Three on my Most Hated Persons EVER List (secondary to only Shaq and Dr. Phil), I decided that an amusing look into the life of those with too much disposable income was warranted.

I also like pretending that I may actually be purchasing something by virtue of my careful note taking and furrowed brow whilst flipping through the Skymall catalogue pages. I just like to fraternize with the little people in Economy Class every once in a while.

So what is on the Princess’ Gift List this year?

#1- So you’ve met Jerry Seinfeld and have your own puffy shirt? You are still only secondary to the Seinfeld fan with their very own autographed photo of The Soup Nazi. For only $199, you will have the immortal words “No Soup For You!” inscribed on your very own glossy photo.

The oddest thing is that the Soup Nazi and Don Knotts are the only celebrity autographs in this whole catalogue.
I’m actually planning to hold out for Mr. Belvedere.

#2- For the discerning bird watcher, the bird song identifier pen scanner can play a whopping 206 bird songs (and 10 frog calls!). For a cool $99, never make that embarrassing mistake of mistaking a seagull for a grey-cheeked thrush again.

(Bird watchers can be a pretty fierce bunch.)

#3- Tired of the mess and complications involved in making hotdogs?

The Pop Up Hot Dog cooker prepares both your bun and wiener (heh heh… prepares your wiener... sorry, I can’t help it) with the simple push of a toaster button. You will be the envy of chefs and assorted meats coinnoseurs worldwide!

#4- Even the most staid of couples enjoys a little “cuddle” time every so often. But nothing disrupts the mood like the awkward mattress bump when you push together the twin beds! Thank God for the Create-a-King, which slips along the sides of two twin mattress to create a seamless King-sized bed. Never has once a month been so easy!

#5- You know the problems with blankets? When you go to use your Pop Up Hot Dog cooker on the coffee table or reach to admire your Soup Nazi photo, you have to expose your arms to the cold outside world. This is a problem due to the innovative genius of the Slanket.

Sleeves + blanket = Slanket
Slanket = awesome!

#6- Your “Hang in There” poster not cutting it? Need something a little more inspiring? Successories thankfully has a variety of motivational pieces artwork perfect for right above your desk.
My favourite?
Teamwork: With a clear vision and room to run, the true power of the team is unleashed.
And it has wild horses running together, as a team! OMG! So fitting!

#7- Skymall says it better than I in this one: “A great steak is a work of art and now you can sign your work!”
That’s right… personal branding iron for your steak! Make sure everyone knows whose hard work made that cow so tasty!
Or, for the true fan, NASCAR logos are also available!

#8- If you are like me, and hate the effort involved in using a calendar (let along those smug kitten photos), why not pick up the DayClock?

Never mistake a Monday for a Wednesday again! Plus, it is a great conversation piece.
“Say, it’s Thursday.”
“Yep, the day after Wednesday.”
“You don’t say.”

Thank you, Skymall, for making my plane ride that much more entertaining, and my life that much more convenient. Mr. Trump would be proud.

The one in which I discover my low kidnappability score

Me: Hey, could you help me get unplug my phone charger from behind the dresser?

Him: Why do you need it for such a short time?

Me: I don't want my phone to die when I'm gone.

Him: *rolls eyes*

Me: What happens if you try to call me and it's dead?

Him: Then I know your phone died.

Me: How do you know I wasn't kidnapped by gypsies?

Him: That wouldn't happen.

Me: Why not?

Him: Gypsies are very selective, honey.

Princess' Patented Projective Test

I think the way someone eats a chocolate Easter bunny says a lot about them.


Take me, for example. I start from the very bottom, and methodically eat it in vertical stripes, until I reach approximately the neck. At that time, I switch to the ears. Once the ears are done, I nibble around the head, leaving the nose second last, and the eye absolutely last.

I think this is in part a result of my tendency to anthropomorphize everything-- such as my pang of heartbreak when I see an abandoned teddy bear, or a pile of random stuffed animals in the budget bin at Value Village (I have been known to buy random animals, such as a beat-up albino bison, simply because I was afraid that if I didn't buy it, no one would. As I've said before... way too much Velveteen Rabbit as a child).

When you talk to ketchup bottles and lamps, it is easy to see how eating a bunny would feel a little cruel. 

In contrast, the Duke describes his bunny eating strategy as "I go for the kill strike as soon as possible, which you know when you feel the sugary crunch of the eyes against your teeth. I then scavenge the rest over a period of days."

Though, granted, he may be exaggerating a tad for shock value, his bunny is generally decapitated in his first round of gorging. 

When I told him I thought this may be psychologically significant, he told me I was the cruel one, for keeping my bunny conscious as I slowly ate my way up. And here I thought I was being humane!

Seriously, though, ink blot tests are a little passe. 

How about chocolate Easter bunnies as the new projective test?

The eagerly anticipated return of Skymall!

A personal note: Yep, still sick. I actually ordered a giant pizza yesterday morning to prevent myself from needing to cook for the day, as I wasn't feeling up to leaving the house. In an attempt to save what little brain power I have and actually get some real work done today, I am resorting to a half-written post from my plane trip.

***

Frequent fliers are all too familiar with the opulent symbol of the wastefulness of the wealthy that is Skymall.

For those of you who aren't familiar... a little background.

For the most of us, our money goes to the necessities (food, rent, utilities, gas, etc). We may even have a little to spare for, say, shoes or electronics.

Then, there are the upper class, who have multiple cars, lounging rooms, pool tables.

And then there are the people who purchase stuff from Skymall-- they've tired so much of the predictability of vehicles and vacation properties that they find it suitable to spend their hard earned cash on such cherished artifacts as cereal dispensers, and don't know what to do but shop when stuck in the same seat for over an hour.

Think of me as an anthropologist of sorts, educating you on the ways of the Skymall.

Product #1

I know how frustrated I get when I have to walk allllll the way from my cubicle to the lounge of my workplace to heat up my noodle bowl, or how aggravating it is to have to leave the couch when I want a hotpocket.

That's why I was thrilled to find out about the iwavecube Personal Microwave. Measuring at less than a foot cube, it will fit on top of my computer tower or on my end table (or in my poolhouse, as recommended in the ad), meaning I will never have to use my feet again!

Product #2

Tired of your children's complaints and seeming inability to do their chores?

Annoyed that your wife won't take your Princess Leia in a golden bikini fetish seriously?

In need of someone who really respects your authority?

The voice-activated R2-D2 will meet all your servant and geek needs!

Responds to over 40 commands, unlike your no good children,  and can even act as a motion detector to stop any no good thieves trying to make off with your personalized microwave.

Product #3

Do you ever have hostile urges to shoot something?

Do you ever wonder what the hell you are going to do with all these marshmallows?

The Marshmallow Gun will solve all your problems! With pump action grip and the ability to hold 20 bullets mini-marshmallows. Plus, dishwasher safe, so you can get rid of the DNA in a hurry!

Product #4

Great, you may think.

Now I can heat up my Hungry-Man dinner, get R2-D2 to play tag with me, and shoot my no-good children with marshmallows... but who will get me a beer?

Why, the Beverage Buggy will! 

This remote control tool will has enough space for two cans of beer.

Now if you could only get your damn wife to put them in the buggy for you.

Product #5

You know what I hate? Going on a vacation, and realizing I forgot my boating shoes. Awwwwk-ward.

Thank God for the Torrent shoe! It's 5 shoes in one, with detachable soles, so you never find yourself with only golfing shoes when you need fishing shoes again.

Product #6

You know what's embarrassing?

Cat crap.

Unfortunately, we haven't been too quick at figuring out how to make them use the toilet just yet.

*cue canned laughter*

However, what you can do is hide it... with a hidden litter box. Your guests will only see a stunning Tuscan handfinished claypot. They'll never know the shame that lies beneath if you turn the entrance to the wall.

Product #7

Books are so passe.

Don't be the last person on you street lugging around a paper version of the Bible to church.

All the hip kids know the solar powered speaking King James Bible is the way to go!

So, remember, folks, when that extra money is burning a hole in your pocket, and the folks at MyFreeImplants have taken out a restraining order against you, don't think charity... think Skymall.

Wine + blog = super awesome dance party!

Disclaimer: The writer of this post may or may not have been on the slightly tipsy side during its composition.

Being downtown on Saturday at 3am is an exercise in avoiding eye contact. While in the light of day, random bus stop conversations with drunken strangers may make for amusing blog fodder, beneath the glow of a streetlight and surrounded by the echoes of intoxicated whooping  sort of ruins any conversational atmosphere. This is the time I tend to put on my unapproachable face (okay, actually better deemed my bitchy face, in all truth)-- particularly when my iPod is dead and pretending to be distracted by a taxi with Denny's hubcaps can only get you so far.

The things I pondered whilst willing the bus to hurry itself and be miraculously free of wasted 21-year olds:

- Sangria is the biggest (and most delicious) restaurant con on the earth. How else do they get rid of cheap red wine and browning fruit by the pitcher full?

(mmmm.... sangria....)

- Anyone who spends a dime on a stretch SUV limo really deserves to have their rights to financial independence revoked.

- Why do drunk people think that "EVERYONE WITHIN A 5 BLOCK RADIUS WANTS TO KNOW HOW FUNNY MY IMPERSONATION OF ADAM SANDLER IS".

- Potentially the saddest sight ever is girls who are done up to the nines, yet have still failed in their night's goal of picking up. Even pseudo-lesbianism didn't get them enough attention. The teeter down the street so very precauriously, slowing down a little as a crowd of drunken university students walk by, desperate for just a little reassurance.

- Boys, on the other hand, who have failed in attracting a member of the opposite sex to revel in their unwashed sheets, won't give up in the thought that maybe, just maybe, though they couldn't meet anyone in the club, maybe they can on their stumble home. So they grunt/hoot/holler at every woman who walks by. And, very likely, berate them as "sluts!" when they don't respond to these ever so appealing mating calls.

- How is it that, in charades tonight, I actually had to act out diabetes? And, when I tried to indicate blood, someone shouted out "self-mutilation"!

Then again, I couldn't even successfully act out turtle.

As these thoughts run through my mind, the bus approaches... and is remarkably full of sleepy looking homeless guys rather than drunk frat boys. Although the drunk frat boys do get on a few stops later. When I get off the bus, one tells me that my purse is a "Stanley Kubrick bag", perhaps trying to show of his brilliant cinematic knowledge, though I'm not quite sure where the association came from.

Walking down my street, I hear what sounds like a high-pitched child's voice, when out of the shadows emerges a cat. In typical Princess fashion, I start cooing and baby talking him. He looks remarkably like my old cat, so I see fit to tell him so. And then Cat follows me home, and starts rubbing up against my front door expectantly. I try to reason with Cat. I tell him that he has to stay outside, and pet him for another five minutes in some attempt at appeasement. I somehow slip in the door, and he starts mewing.

My heart breaks a little.

I search frantically in my fridge for something to suit Cat's palate. Do cats like mustard?

I settle with a dish of water, for I am out of milk. I place it on my front stoop, which he promptly ignores, demanding more cuddles. I get sucked in again. I eventually dash back through the door when Cat's back is turned, for he looks ready to dash through my entryway if given a chance.

Cat mews some more, and even though he wasn't especially skinny, I find myself googling "what to feed cat when no cat food". No dice. Thankfully, by this point, Cat had given up on me, and scampered off to greener pastures.

*sniff*

And, yes, dear readers, I lied. There is no super dance party at all, only a Princess about to crawl into bed.

However, I will leave you with a rather entertaining little snippet from my week...

The scene: Friday morning, 8:30am, coffee shop.

I am stirring in some cream into my coffee, when I suddenly hear a series of pigeon noises. I look around, only to catch the eyes of a smiling man who appears to be homeless.

Him (upon noticing me noticing his bird impression): You are so beautiful.

Me: Pardon?

Him: You are so so beautiful. So beautiful. I hope your day is as beautiful as you.

Me: Oh, thank you!

Him: My name is Dan. *stretches out hand*

Me: Nice to meet you. *stretches out hand in return*

Him: *kisses my hand*

Me: *thinking I need a way to end this politely, as he is still trying to engage me in prolonged conversation* Well, I have to get going, but thank you, you made my morning.

Him: I could make your night, too.

Me: Uhhhh... I think I'll have to decline that offer.

That's right folks, not only pigeon cooing, but dirty pick up lines, before I've even had my coffee. I am a stud magnet and a half.

Quotes of the day- Gender stereotypes edition

The scene: Post-dinner at a friend's house, playing Taboo (if you aren't familiar with it, basically you have to get your team member to guess a word without saying the top five words associated with it- e.g., get them to guess "Frequent Flier" without saying "airline", "plane", "miles", "travel" or "discount")-- boys vs. girls.

The players: The Duke, myself, female friend (cleverly deemed Girl) and male friend (cleverly deemed Boy).

***

Boy: New England's quarterback's name with the last syllable taken off!

The Duke: Uh...Braid!

Boy: Yes!

***

A few minutes later...

Me: What a princess rides!

Girl (without missing a beat): A unicorn!

Me: Right!

Boy: How on earth did you get that so fast?

Girl: There really are only two options to what a princess rides... a unicorn or a Pegasus.

***

Could we be anymore stereotypical?