Here's the story.
Last weekend HRH was over at my apartment with a friend of hers.
Now, I am a rabid hostess. I love ramekins. I spend time starching and ironing linen napkins on a regular basis - which I exclusively use in my home. When I ask friends over for dinner, you can be sure there will be placecards, and if there is time, a menu card.
As an event planner I have learned myriad napkin folds and have become obsessive over place settings and using the correct glass for the correct beverage. I am proud of the fact that even if someone drops by unexpectedly, I have snacks and can in a pinch, make a full blown meal.
Upon HRH and friend's arrival, I set about doing everything I can to make them comfortable -- even HRH who has been at my house almost as much as I have and is more than happy to serve herself. No matter. People have come into my home and I am now Hostess. Like it's my superhero alter ego.
I start to create a sausage and cheese platter and people. This man. This "person" HRH has brought into my home does not eat pork. ("No bacon?", you ask? No. Not even bacon.)
First of all, I'm stunned, as I always am when I hear someone doesn't eat pork. "Are you Muslim?" "Are you Jewish?" "Are you just a really big fan of Samuel Jackson and refuse to eat pork ever since that scene in Pulp Fiction?" "What about cheese? You at least eat cheese, right?" It baffles me.
Then, I look into my fridge for options. This is when I learn that I have a pork problem. I have prosciutto. I have sopressata. I have left over meat sauce I made the night before -- what's the main ingredient? ... sausage.
So, you know what no-pork-please guy ends up with? An English muffin.
This is the point in the story where I have a epiphany. Where I am able to finally recognize what I feel my duties as Hostess to all who enter my home are in respect to my intolerance for non-pork-eating people.
No-pork-please guy, who I only met 20 minutes prior, has come into my home to play my Wii and to (after he notices the bar in the back) drink my mediocre tequila, and I allowed his no pork policy to make me question my hostessing abilities. I felt that I had somehow failed because I was unable to come up with any pork substitute for him other than a Thomas' Light MultiGrain English muffin.
Dear people. My millions and millions of adoring fans. Don't worry. Your Princess has come to her senses. She is as incredible a hostess as she has ever been. And, I realized that this wasn't a failure in my abilities as a hostess. This was simply a lesson on implementing stricter door policies.
10.19.2007
10.17.2007
I Even Look Pretty in Stripes
Fear not my true and loyal subjects, HRH will not be taken off to debtor’s prison. But had the judgment come down on her for this, fear not, The Princess had promised to bake her a cake, with tweezers inside. HRH can not live without her tweezers.
Alas, I wouldn’t have faired so well anyway. We are all aware that Royalty is never allowed the pleasure of being whisked away to pay off their debts by serving time, but are more likely to lose their heads as a punishment for their financial failings. My head is a good deal too pretty to be parted from my body.
For those of you not in the know (I can’t really imagine who that could be because we only have three readers, including ourselves) I have, in the past had the slightest, teeniest, tiniest, problem with my finances. As in I had no money so my solution for handling my debts was to throw the bills away, unopened. Thus allowing me to somewhat maintain the illusion that I was not poor.
Now, as we have learned not only does no good deed go unpunished, but no idiocy can go on unacknowledged forever and ultimately I became a responsible adult (albeit somewhat unwillingly) and started paying my bills.
Of course, this did not mean that I sought out my creditors, but rather waited for them to come to me, though I did learn to respond to them when they approached me. A lesson learned in a very hard way when my bank account was ceased. Did you know that a credit card could do that? I did not. And of course this was on one of those rare occasions when I actually had money.
This means, that this summer when I received a bill for $1000 from a debit collector, collecting on behalf of Marshall Fields, a debit that was more than 10 years old, I did the correct mature thing (lead by example I say) and called these lovely people (One can’t help but wonder if they have overextended themselves in payroll given that there have got to be larger debits than HRH’s).
What followed was a very interesting conversation where the lovely young man on the phone made me the fantastic offer of a payment plan of $500 that day and $500 on another.
“Um, Sir, I do not have that much money to pay you today. But, I’d be more than happy to work out some sort of a payment plan.”
The lovely, “I can’t offer you anything less than three payments.”
“But I can not make these three payments. Wouldn’t you prefer to say take a little money each month rather than nothing.”
Once again, the lovely, “Don’t you have a boyfriend or husband who can pay this debit for you?”
“Do you have a wife or girlfriend who pays your debits?”
Lovely, “Yes, I do.”
“Does she have a brother?”
Such insolence can not be tolerated. Had I been more like my fellow royal, The Queen of Hearts, you can guarantee it would have been “off with his head.”
Don’t worry my dear and loyal subjects, HRH always triumphs, she does indeed have the cold and blue blood of the late, dear Tsarina Anastasia running through her veins. Of course given my day in court, I was awarded the exact same payment plan that I had asked for initially. So it is with a keen sense of responsibility that I will make my monthly payments, but also wonder, would it not have been better for me had a debtor’s prison existed? Because honestly, walking out having no debit as well as not having had to pay NYC rent for a while would be delightful. Not to mention that a prison diet must do wonders for the figure.
Alas, I wouldn’t have faired so well anyway. We are all aware that Royalty is never allowed the pleasure of being whisked away to pay off their debts by serving time, but are more likely to lose their heads as a punishment for their financial failings. My head is a good deal too pretty to be parted from my body.
For those of you not in the know (I can’t really imagine who that could be because we only have three readers, including ourselves) I have, in the past had the slightest, teeniest, tiniest, problem with my finances. As in I had no money so my solution for handling my debts was to throw the bills away, unopened. Thus allowing me to somewhat maintain the illusion that I was not poor.
Now, as we have learned not only does no good deed go unpunished, but no idiocy can go on unacknowledged forever and ultimately I became a responsible adult (albeit somewhat unwillingly) and started paying my bills.
Of course, this did not mean that I sought out my creditors, but rather waited for them to come to me, though I did learn to respond to them when they approached me. A lesson learned in a very hard way when my bank account was ceased. Did you know that a credit card could do that? I did not. And of course this was on one of those rare occasions when I actually had money.
This means, that this summer when I received a bill for $1000 from a debit collector, collecting on behalf of Marshall Fields, a debit that was more than 10 years old, I did the correct mature thing (lead by example I say) and called these lovely people (One can’t help but wonder if they have overextended themselves in payroll given that there have got to be larger debits than HRH’s).
What followed was a very interesting conversation where the lovely young man on the phone made me the fantastic offer of a payment plan of $500 that day and $500 on another.
“Um, Sir, I do not have that much money to pay you today. But, I’d be more than happy to work out some sort of a payment plan.”
The lovely, “I can’t offer you anything less than three payments.”
“But I can not make these three payments. Wouldn’t you prefer to say take a little money each month rather than nothing.”
Once again, the lovely, “Don’t you have a boyfriend or husband who can pay this debit for you?”
“Do you have a wife or girlfriend who pays your debits?”
Lovely, “Yes, I do.”
“Does she have a brother?”
Such insolence can not be tolerated. Had I been more like my fellow royal, The Queen of Hearts, you can guarantee it would have been “off with his head.”
Don’t worry my dear and loyal subjects, HRH always triumphs, she does indeed have the cold and blue blood of the late, dear Tsarina Anastasia running through her veins. Of course given my day in court, I was awarded the exact same payment plan that I had asked for initially. So it is with a keen sense of responsibility that I will make my monthly payments, but also wonder, would it not have been better for me had a debtor’s prison existed? Because honestly, walking out having no debit as well as not having had to pay NYC rent for a while would be delightful. Not to mention that a prison diet must do wonders for the figure.
Oprah, Can You Hear Me?
This morning as i am walking to the train, I drop by Mazzola's to pick up an iced coffee and a bagel. Then I pause at the bench outside the pizza joint across the street to get my straw, napkin, bagel out of bag situation in order before continuing my walk.
I also decide to put on my iPod. As I'm scrolling through the songs looking for something to start with I see, "London Bridge." Excellent. I'm already singing as I select the song and start to play it ... How come everytime you come around,
My London, London bridge, wanna go down.
Then I realize. It's not Fergie.
It's Bread.
And I think, "Oh yeah. It's MY iPod."
Moving on to better news. After I recovered from the shock of learning that not only am I approaching my 40's, but also my beloved iPhone (which also functions as the afforementioned iPod) is nothing more than a prop used in an attempt to make me look hip and up-to-date, I made a decision.
This is my ticket to fame and fortune. This blog. And I decided that HRH and I, with the support of our millions of fans, will gain the stardom we've dreamed of since HRH was (in the tradition of Miss HeatherJeanne, who was the original) the wind beneath my karaoke wings. (I was Sassy of Meow Mix Karaoke for a very, way too long time.)
HRH never sang (nor did she perform Britney Spears choreography - HJ) but she showed up and she drank. And she hooked up with a girl named Lola. (She did not have public sex with a Beyonce look-a-like - HJ)
So, here's what's really exciting! The first magazine that will do a cover story on me will be O! Not only that. It will be one of those stories that is an interview, but also a special, exclusive glimpse into my home and my day-to-day life. There will be shots of my apartment, and shots of my insanely expensive, modern artwork. There will be shots of Erica cooking with me in the background playing with Chulo.
HRH will also be featured on the cover, but O will have a separate article about her. Her interview will focus on her jet-setting lifestyle, and will be conducted during her annual month-long retreat at the Canyon Ranch Spa.
Even better ... both interviews will be conducted by Miss Oprah Winfrey herself.
Afterwards, we will all meet up -- we being me, HRH, Oprah and the ever present, Gail -- and we will have lemondrop martinis and play Taboo.
Just you watch, people. I'm gonna be a STAR!
I also decide to put on my iPod. As I'm scrolling through the songs looking for something to start with I see, "London Bridge." Excellent. I'm already singing as I select the song and start to play it ... How come everytime you come around,
My London, London bridge, wanna go down.
Then I realize. It's not Fergie.
It's Bread.
And I think, "Oh yeah. It's MY iPod."
Moving on to better news. After I recovered from the shock of learning that not only am I approaching my 40's, but also my beloved iPhone (which also functions as the afforementioned iPod) is nothing more than a prop used in an attempt to make me look hip and up-to-date, I made a decision.
This is my ticket to fame and fortune. This blog. And I decided that HRH and I, with the support of our millions of fans, will gain the stardom we've dreamed of since HRH was (in the tradition of Miss HeatherJeanne, who was the original) the wind beneath my karaoke wings. (I was Sassy of Meow Mix Karaoke for a very, way too long time.)
HRH never sang (nor did she perform Britney Spears choreography - HJ) but she showed up and she drank. And she hooked up with a girl named Lola. (She did not have public sex with a Beyonce look-a-like - HJ)
So, here's what's really exciting! The first magazine that will do a cover story on me will be O! Not only that. It will be one of those stories that is an interview, but also a special, exclusive glimpse into my home and my day-to-day life. There will be shots of my apartment, and shots of my insanely expensive, modern artwork. There will be shots of Erica cooking with me in the background playing with Chulo.
HRH will also be featured on the cover, but O will have a separate article about her. Her interview will focus on her jet-setting lifestyle, and will be conducted during her annual month-long retreat at the Canyon Ranch Spa.
Even better ... both interviews will be conducted by Miss Oprah Winfrey herself.
Afterwards, we will all meet up -- we being me, HRH, Oprah and the ever present, Gail -- and we will have lemondrop martinis and play Taboo.
Just you watch, people. I'm gonna be a STAR!
10.15.2007
I Hate HRH and I Hate Her Assface
People, people, people. Are you sitting down?
Today, October 15, 2007.
The Princess got in a fight with HRH.
!
It's true.
I won't get into specifics, but let it suffice to say that it involved an IM hang up.
However, as the case usually is with conflict, HRH and I learned from this 4 and a half hour long argument.
1 -- HRH and I are not the same person. Now, that may seem like a joke to the millions of our readers, but, it's the truth. Apparently, according to recent findings, HRH and The Princess actually have their own separate brains. The thing is, this has actually been under investigation and up until today we believed that there was only one mind and we shared it between us.
On particularly hard days, we'd ask permission to use the entire mind and not just the half designated for us. (Yes. We were stoned.) (And probably drunk.) (Especially The Princess.) When we'd have these feelings, we were always eating cheese. And pork products.
2 -- Dear people, take note. HRH is WAY more discreet than The Princess. The Princess is the Sarah Ferguson of this royal family. HRH is Queen Elizabeth. i.e. if you want the broad strokes, ask HRH. if you're looking for dirty details ... The Princess is your potty mouthed girl. She's always got a good story.
3 -- Now, pay attention to this. It's important. Today, HRH and The Princess learned that each of us has multiple people in our lives because we have multiple needs. And, those needs are complicated and unique and can not be fulfilled by any one person. Excuse the sappiness, but HRH and I learned (she will never admit this) that soul mate should actually be plural.
Here's to you, Assface.
(I'm totally stoned.)
Today, October 15, 2007.
The Princess got in a fight with HRH.
!
It's true.
I won't get into specifics, but let it suffice to say that it involved an IM hang up.
However, as the case usually is with conflict, HRH and I learned from this 4 and a half hour long argument.
1 -- HRH and I are not the same person. Now, that may seem like a joke to the millions of our readers, but, it's the truth. Apparently, according to recent findings, HRH and The Princess actually have their own separate brains. The thing is, this has actually been under investigation and up until today we believed that there was only one mind and we shared it between us.
On particularly hard days, we'd ask permission to use the entire mind and not just the half designated for us. (Yes. We were stoned.) (And probably drunk.) (Especially The Princess.) When we'd have these feelings, we were always eating cheese. And pork products.
2 -- Dear people, take note. HRH is WAY more discreet than The Princess. The Princess is the Sarah Ferguson of this royal family. HRH is Queen Elizabeth. i.e. if you want the broad strokes, ask HRH. if you're looking for dirty details ... The Princess is your potty mouthed girl. She's always got a good story.
3 -- Now, pay attention to this. It's important. Today, HRH and The Princess learned that each of us has multiple people in our lives because we have multiple needs. And, those needs are complicated and unique and can not be fulfilled by any one person. Excuse the sappiness, but HRH and I learned (she will never admit this) that soul mate should actually be plural.
Here's to you, Assface.
(I'm totally stoned.)
Mother…
I’ve been thinking about The Princess’s mother and the very complicated, non-descript seemingly harmless emails that she chooses to send to her daughter. It’s hard for any of us to really know what was meant. I have to trust the Princess’s initial reaction though because most of us know our mothers so well, that just a slight change in the tone of their voice allows us to know what they are thinking.
That said The Princess has had a time or two where she definitely was a freak about her Mother. My favorite was the time we were in Georgia, on our way to see her Mother and we were in the car smoking (I’ll note here that we were not drinking yet, as it was before noon and we never partake before noon, we are classy ladies, unless of course we meet for brunch before noon, but you know every rule must have its exceptions). Well, The Princess’s Mother called and let me tell you The Princess made a mad dash to rid herself of not only the cigarette she was smoking but also to hid the entire pack. (Which was sort of hard given that being from New York, we were so excited by the cost of cigarettes in the South that we were buying cartons every day). It was like witnessing a drug bust go down, from the inside. Mind you, her Mother was still a 40 minute drive away. I asked, “Can your Mom see you smoking through her cell phone?” Who knows, maybe she could, HRH’s own Mother always claimed to have eyes in the back of her head.
On Saturday the Princess and I took an hour and a half long yoga class. Let me tell you people, it was intense stuff. Honestly, I think Marco, the instructor, and I got to second base. He was pushing and pulling me in ways… and his hands went places… well let’s just say, it hurt so good. So now we are officially addicted to yoga, where we are learning that the pains in our bodies are emotions and we must forgive these pains because they are lessons. Also, we learned that we are not the same person today that we were yesterday. Listen people HRH and The Princess are growing.
I might add as a side note, The Princess claims to still be sore from Saturday’s yoga and therefore will not be meeting me at the gym for cardio. All, please look forward to soon seeing your HRH hotter than ever and your Princess wearing an eye-patch.
That said The Princess has had a time or two where she definitely was a freak about her Mother. My favorite was the time we were in Georgia, on our way to see her Mother and we were in the car smoking (I’ll note here that we were not drinking yet, as it was before noon and we never partake before noon, we are classy ladies, unless of course we meet for brunch before noon, but you know every rule must have its exceptions). Well, The Princess’s Mother called and let me tell you The Princess made a mad dash to rid herself of not only the cigarette she was smoking but also to hid the entire pack. (Which was sort of hard given that being from New York, we were so excited by the cost of cigarettes in the South that we were buying cartons every day). It was like witnessing a drug bust go down, from the inside. Mind you, her Mother was still a 40 minute drive away. I asked, “Can your Mom see you smoking through her cell phone?” Who knows, maybe she could, HRH’s own Mother always claimed to have eyes in the back of her head.
On Saturday the Princess and I took an hour and a half long yoga class. Let me tell you people, it was intense stuff. Honestly, I think Marco, the instructor, and I got to second base. He was pushing and pulling me in ways… and his hands went places… well let’s just say, it hurt so good. So now we are officially addicted to yoga, where we are learning that the pains in our bodies are emotions and we must forgive these pains because they are lessons. Also, we learned that we are not the same person today that we were yesterday. Listen people HRH and The Princess are growing.
I might add as a side note, The Princess claims to still be sore from Saturday’s yoga and therefore will not be meeting me at the gym for cardio. All, please look forward to soon seeing your HRH hotter than ever and your Princess wearing an eye-patch.
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