Friggatriskaidekaphobia & Other Morbid Fears & Broken Promises

It’s true that Princess Pissant is having a difficult time transitioning back to the workaday life after the festive holiday season. And yes, she may have requested a “Venti Mocha with Peppermint Schnapps” this morning at The Office, which some of you will recall (from before the festive holiday season) is actually a Starbucks.

Princess Pissant begins 2013 – a year that she fully expected would be conveniently skipped over, as is often the case with the 13th floor of buildings and hotels (turns out triskaidekaphobia is not nearly as widespread as PP thought) – with surprisingly few (read none) contracts hanging over her head.

PP also began 2013 the same way she commenced 2012, and every preceding year with the possible exception of 2004, when she was massively and soberly pregnant; that is, with a sickening feeling of utter regret and consummate self-loathing.

Agree; this is no way to start a brand spanking new year, but it goes without saying that adages like you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, a crab to walk straight, or a pig to sing apply in equal measure to Princess Pissant and the avoidance of being over-served on New Year’s Eve.

Anyway, today is the second day of the year, and those sensations of regret and self-loathing have all but disappeared, thankfully; PP is back to feeling herself, and even better (than everyone else.) And all the more so because – unlike any of her “coworkers” – PP is back at The Office; not to mention hard at work . . . on her New Year’s resolutions.

Therefore [insert sound of throat-clearing], let it be known that on this the 2nd day of January 2013, Princess Pissant resolves:

1)   Not to throw MHTP – My Husband the Photographer— “under the bus” in this blog quite so much or as often as she did in 2012, and only in those circumstances when he does something egregiously wrong, like, for example, taking a whiff of obviously-soured milk and instead of throwing the carton away, as any civilized person might do, replacing it to the refrigerator for PP to pour on her morning cereal, thereby causing an unpleasant start to an otherwise promising day.

2)   To ascertain once-and-for-all if the kids’ Tae Kwon Do master really is teaching them to count in Korean or if – as PP has long suspected – he’s indoctrinating them with catchphrases denouncing their parents, and thereby preparing for the eventual DPRK takeover of the United States – sometime in 2013.

3)   To resist the urge to post what PP considers adorable photos and videos of KN2 (Kid Number 2) and HOB (His Older Brother) on Facebook, which she mistakenly thinks showcase their talents and personality, but actually serve only to reveal PP as a complete tool.

4)   To do more charitable work.  (Or at least some charitable work.)

5)   To educate herself about economics, starting with figuring out what the Fiscal Cliff is, or was; and also some world affairs – like is Djibouti a country? Or a city? And do the residents of Djibouti think the name is as funny as PP does?

6)   To avoid political discussions and debates at social gatherings, especially when alcohol is involved, which – according to MHTP – have caused countless episodes of embarrassment and early departures from otherwise enjoyable get-togethers.

7)   To take more pains with her personal appearance, especially before heading to The Office so that the (inexplicably supercilious) barista does not hesitate before handing over the bathroom key, as she did this morning when PP was looking, admittedly, somewhat worse for wear.

8)   To watch her language more around KN2 and HOB so that they don’t repeat questionable phrases in front of other (seemingly judgmental) people, like “The grapes are in the goddamn crisper.”

9)   To get to know, personally and on a first-name basis, some of the other losers around this joint, such that come December 2013, we might commence the festive holiday season with our very own Office Christmas Party!

10)                  And finally, to not endlessly procrastinate all the real shit there is for PP to do while instead wasting unfathomable time recording petty thoughts and useless observations that no one gives a goddamn about.

There!

And while that last resolution might lead you, my faithful followers, to conclude that Princess Pissant will no longer be writing her blog, AnotherDayAtTheOffice, fear not. And rest assured: there is not a single day, month nor year in her life that PP has ever accomplished anything she resolved to do. Nor has she ever successfully refrained from doing all the stupid stuff she promised she wouldn’t do at the inception of any given year. And if you don’t believe me, just ask MHTP.

And a happy new year to all.

The Morning After Spill

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Princess Pissant Coulda Had a V-8

Like many successful and high-functioning personages, Princess Pissant lives by the familiar adage, Everything In Moderation!, which is why − in the wake of several consecutive days now of state-mandated thankfulness for the bounty and good-fortune bestowed upon her and her family − PP is going to pause for a moment in order to feel profoundly sorry for herself.

Today is no ordinary day at the Office for PP, since PP is not even at the Office, which of course you all know is a Starbucks, and since the reason for PP’s absence from the Office is, well, nothing short of a tragedy along the lines of Romeo and Juliet.  As some of you will recall, PP fell in love recently.  Head over heels in love, in fact, with none other than a new MacBook Pro with 15-inch Retina display laptop computer, whom she named Tina.

And, yes, it may be true that PP paid more attention to Tina than she did to her own children − KN2 (Kid Number 2) and HOB (His Older Brother).  It may also be accurate to say that, on occasion, PP would stare lovingly at Tina for hours, effectively ignoring the protestations and even presence of MHTP (My Husband The Photographer.)  And, yes, perhaps PP did bring Tina into their marital bed from time-to-time, or maybe even every single night.

But that is no reason, and really there is no excuse, for MHTP to do what he did, which was – are you ready for this? – in a fit of jealous rage, dump a pint-sized glass of orange juice all over poor, defenseless (and eighteen-hundred-effing-dollars) Tina!

You’re entirely right; that does not sound like something MHTP would have done, deliberately.  And, in all fairness to him, I may or may not have left the pint-sized glass of O.J. in dangerous proximity to Tina on the coffee table, while MHTP, KN2, HOB and I all were involved in the family-friendly activity of editing a homemade video production entitled Zombie Hunter.  (Not PP’s choice of title, BTW.)

Yes, I left the O.J. there next to Tina, never anticipating, naturally, that when MHTP quite suddenly abandoned the video project and jumped up from the couch to (I shit you not) shoot a squirrel off the birdfeeder with a slingshot . . . Did I mention that MHTP comes from a long line of people who display a zealous bigotry toward squirrels? . . . that he would knock over the O.J., thereby dousing my Tina.

So where does that leave us?  Well, of course, there was a lot of screaming and cursing on the part of Princess Pissant, in stark contrast to the baffling − and frankly infuriating − Zen-like equanimity of MHTP, who issued forth this completely unhelpful statement of the obvious, “Well, no one died.”  (Might I add that the squirrel himself escaped the assassination attempt, and ensuing calamity, entirely unharmed?)

Anyhoo, naturally, PP wasted no time in making an appointment at the Apple Store Genius Bar, which as any of you who owns an Apple computer well knows is utterly void of any semblance of geniuses.   And is a misnomer on two counts, come to think of it, since at the so-called Genius Bar, the so-called geniuses don’t serve any goddamn drinks, which is precisely what PP was in serious need of by the time she got there.

Now anyone who has ever, say, taken a bath with her cellphone − as Princess Pissant did back in 1997 when the things first came out, and a mere two hours after purchasing it, resulting in the prototype device being drowned before even receiving its first incoming call or issuing a single ringtone, and PP rushing back to Radio Shack and making the dubious, but miraculously convincing (salespeople must’ve been suckers back then), claim that her new cellphone seemed to be “sweating,” and that she would need to switch it out at once − knows that certain types of damage are not covered by the warranty or AppleCare or any other sort of consumer protections.  Namely – water, or shall we say, liquid damage.  That sort of blunder seems to fall under the category of operator carelessness and incomprehensible stupidity.

But back to our story: few people would describe Princess Pissant as “honest to a fault,” and so it should come as no surprise that she had absolutely ZERO moral qualms whatsoever about handing over Tina to the resident Genius at the Genius Bar and feigning complete and total ignorance about what would or could have caused a brand-spanking-new-eighteen-hundred-effing-dollars-laptop-computer to simply stop working.

Everything seemed to be going well, as the Genius himself turned Tina over every which way in his hands, and tried a variety of “diagnostic tests” with an even greater variety of techie-looking tools, and looked increasingly perplexed and even genuinely sympathetic, and audibly mumbled something along the lines of, “well we might have to just get you a whole new machine,” causing PP’s heart to race (because no matter how much I love Tina, there are plenty of other sleek and stylish girls JUST like her), but then he said, “Do you mind if I just take her in the back and have a look?”  And the way he said it reminded PP of all those episodes of Law and Order she used to watch where the detectives separate the suspects and see who will stick to her story, and who will break.

Well, I knew I would never cave.  But what I couldn’t anticipate was that MacDaddy Effing Genius would come back with some kind of forensic evidence − actual photographs taken with his iPhone of gooey orange liquid oozing across Tina’s logic board, and ask me if I had any idea how that might have occurred?

If PP has learned one thing from her life of resolute dishonesty (only when necessary of course), it’s that once you’ve decided to outright lie, you just need to stay the course.  Even if it’s going to cost you another twelve hundred − yes, you are reading that correctly − effing dollars.

Well, Tina’s been sent away temporarily − some kind of home for battered laptops.  But she’ll be back within a few weeks, and I have to say, this entire episode has been a huge learning experience for Princess Pissant.  Foremost, I’ve learned not to ever, ever, ever, in a million years, drink orange juice anywhere in the vicinity of a laptop computer.  Secondly, I’ve learned that those guys at the Genius Bar might not be exactly “geniuses,” per se, but they can sure make you look (and feel) stupid.  But mostly what I’ve learned − and what I am forced to reflect on in the absence of Tina − is something that we all, not least of which Princess Pissant, already know.

Love hurts.

 

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Princess Pissant on LSD (for President)

Princess Pissant has been indisposed of late for a reason that she is somewhat embarrassed to share with you, her faithful readers.  But in view of the fact that our close online relationship makes us “like family” – and, yes it’s true that most, if not all, of PP’s readers do happen to be blood relatives – she is going to go ahead and divulge her shameful secret.

I’ll just come right out with it then.

My name is Princess Pissant, and I am an addict.  Not a drug addict, mind you but an addict nonetheless.  I am addicted to Living Social Deals; hitherto – LSD.

And the problem with my addiction to LSD is not so much the endless purchasing of Brazilian hair-straightening treatments, cellophane body wraps, pumpkin-innards pedicures, foie gras facial treatments, dinners for two at obscure Indian restaurants, and family four-packs to minor league baseball games and modern dance performances.  The problem is that I buy all this shit, and then wait until the day before the voucher is about to expire to use it.

So for the past several days, PP has been running all around town with a stack of about-to-expire vouchers for LSD, trying desperately to get the most bang for her buck.   And in doing so, she has attended neither to the multiple contracts now hanging over her head, nor to her blog.

Anyway, notwithstanding my struggle – which, yes, I do fully own – PP refuses to accept defeat.  Indeed, she is proud to announce that the winner of the “Name Princess Pissant’s New MacBook Pro Laptop Computer” contest is none other than . . . drumroll please . . . Princess Pissant herself!  Which is why she is here today at the Office, which of course is a Starbucks, with her winnings – a $10 gift certificate to spend however she pleases.

Granted, the contestant pool was small, consisting of no entrants other than Princess Pissant, which as MHTP (My Husband the Photographer) pointed out, “doesn’t bode well for readership,” but never you mind.  After all, PP doesn’t.

So what is the name of PP’s new MacBook Pro Laptop Computer?  I went with something that spoke to her strengths, and uniqueness – Retina.  Tina, for short.

So Tina and PP – hair-straightened, toenails painted, and face rubbed raw from three consecutive days of pore extraction – are here at the Office today.  And, in between bouts of LSD, and surfing Facebook, we are hard at work.

Much to PP’s dismay, Facebook is much ado about politics these days.  And the spirit, subsequently, is mean and divisive.  Some of you may be wondering about PP’s politics.  Where does she stand on issues of importance to our nation?

While PP has always prided herself on being close to totally apathetic, she did take a moment recently to consider: which candidate better represents the interests of people who spend all F-ing day sitting in Starbucks?

She was surprised to discover that Obamacare, contrary to popular opinion, offers nothing to people like us!  Universal healthcare, shmuniversal shmealthcare!  Turns out, there are absolutely no social programs that serve the special interests of people who do nothing but lurk coffee shops all day every day.

But what of Mitt Romney?  With the exception of her LSD addiction, PP has always lauded herself on sound economic decisions and fiscal conservatism (read cheapness), and likewise admires persons with rare and profound business acumen, such as Mr. Romney.  But PP sees nothing in the Romney-Ryan platform to suggest that the professional and personal prospects of people like – Princess Pissant; FSGA (Former Secret Government Agency) guy; SAHM ISO Nanny; Evidently Homeless Lady; WoW (World of Warcraft) geeks, who desperately need a new acronym but which will have to wait b/c they’ve moved on to a new online game that PP doesn’t recognize . . .; just to name a few – will improve with the election of these two guys.

In fact, people like us have been virtually ignored in the debates, and, quite frankly, throughout the whole election season.  And let Princess Pissant assure you – she has binders full of incessant loiterers of Starbucks.  (Some with addictions to LSD.)

And just like everyone else, we deserve to be heard!

Anyway . . . I am Princess Pissant, and I approve this message.

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Hope Springs Eternal at the Genius Bar

Princess Pissant is in LOVE!  With her new MacBook Pro, who – just as PP aspires to be – is SO thin, she makes you uneasy just to look at her.

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Love and Loss

Well, after an otherwise fulfilling five-year relationship, Princess Pissant’s dear laptop took her own life over the weekend.  Somehow I didn’t see, or perhaps ignored, the warning signs.  I can’t bring myself to go to the Office without her . . . although PP is officially in the market for a newer, younger and sleeker model, as of today.

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Princess Pissant, Galileo, MHTP, Dubya and Other Once-Forsaken Souls

It may come as a surprise to many of you, as it did to Princess Pissant, that MHTP (My Husband the Photographer) did a bang-up job with the kids while PP was away on her extended GW (Girls’ Weekend).

Not only did MHTP keep KN2 (Kid Number 2) and HOB (His Older Brother) alive during the several days of my absence; they also were well-nourished – pancakes even on school mornings; I know because MHTP texted real time videos of the batter bubbling on the griddle.

And they likewise were kept in an unprecedented state of cleanliness (which we all know is next to Godliness) – real honest-to-goodness baths in the bathtub, which PP otherwise uses to store items like cleaning supplies, belts and scarves, and (just once) a misplaced package of Jimmy Dean link sausages – as opposed to Sunday swim lessons in a heavily chlorinated public pool, which PP considers ample children’s hygiene.

So kudos to you MHTP on a job well done!  Couldn’t have done it better myself.

So here I am back at the Office, and I’ve just received the most unexpected but definitely exciting news.  And here it is: the deadline on that contract that’s been hanging over my head?  Postponed!  Unbelievable, right?

But – unlike the word on the street about Jesus having a wife, which turns out to have been not true (I know because the Vatican said it wasn’t true, and the Vatican also affirmed – oh, about ten years ago – the notion that the earth actually orbits the sun, which of course had been in long-standing doubt) –  the rumor of my contract deadline being postponed is inarguably true.  True, true, true, true, true!  I am doing the true dance – in my head at least – here at the Office, which of course you all know by now is none other than a Starbucks!

And this exciting news means a number of important things, not just for PP, but also for humanity at large.  See, not only does PP have two more full weeks of uninterrupted procrastination ahead of her, but this development in her life is nothing less than proof-positive that, well, God exists.

Indeed, PP can now say with 100% certainty that there most definitely is a God.  And thus settles a question that has been vexing not only PP but countless scholars, philosophers and theologians alike throughout the ages.  And he’s not just any God; he’s a God who is wise and kind and who listens to our prayers.

You see, late last night, as I was eating the contents of one of KN2’s party favor bags from some birthday party he went to while I was away, and also watching back-to-back episodes of season one of Homeland – and yes, I know there was a Presidential Debate on, and no I didn’t watch it, so get off my back – when I was supposed to have been fact-checking and putting the finishing touches on my PowerPoint presentation that then was to have been presented a mere twelve hours later, I actually felt moved to pray.

PP prayed, and she prayed to God, and this is what she prayed for: I prayed that the client would call today, or maybe even send an email during the night, and that he would inquire about the possibility of . . . postponing.

Well, I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say: PP’s prayers were answered.  And just like Billy Cundiff in Sunday’s game against the Buccaneers, my faith – at long last – has been restored.

Okay, enough about me and God; here’s a shout-out to all you haters who turned PP in to the po-po!  And not just any po-po; the almighty Facebook Police.

Yeah, you know who you are, even if you have no idea who Princess Pissant is.

For those of you who haven’t been drinking the Hatorade, and who have no earthly idea what I’m talking about, grab a seat and get a load of this:

First, by way of background – in an effort to increase her readership, PP created a Facebook page, and then attempted to enlarge her circle of (three) “friends” by sending out an evidently unprecedented amount – save for Richard Dreyfus; check out how many friends that dude has!  And PP didn’t know he was still alive meanwhile – of “Friend Requests.”

Yes, I sent out the multitude of these invitations-to-connect at one sitting, and no, I didn’t know personally everyone to whom I sent a Friend Request, but I figured if someone didn’t want to be PP’s friend, he could just ignore her.

I mean, there’s an actual button you can click for that – IGNORE – on Facebook, which is genius if you think about it.  (And too bad you can’t use something like that in the real world; say for instance, when some kid is screaming incessantly from the bathroom, “Mommy, can you help me wipe?”)  Anyway, I digress.

Suffice it to say, I certainly didn’t intend to alarm, upset or harass anyone out there in the social media world.  But later that day, PP was about to log-on to FB in order to peruse photos of other people’s fabulous vacations and read with delight the subtle braggadocio regarding their precocious toddlers, when she was stunned to discover that she had been locked out!

Banned from FB.  (Albeit temporarily, but in today’s world, where if a tree falls in the woods and it wasn’t on Facebook, did it even happen?  I mean, that’s like being put in an induced coma.)

Indeed, right there for the clicking-on-and-opening in PP’s inbox was a rather snippily-worded warning, something along the lines of, “It has been brought to our attention that you have been sending multiple Friend Requests to persons whom you barely know. We suggest that you re-read Facebook’s Code of Conduct, lest you be permanently banned from the site.”

Facebook’s Code of Conduct?  Really?  The whole site is designed to enable two types of people – stalkers and exhibitionists.  And I’m supposed to read their Code of Conduct?

Anyway, whatever.  Princess Pissant was given the option to retract all of her outstanding Friend Requests, and thus remain on Facebook in good standing, or to really dig in her heels and wait for more snitches out there to surface and pull the cyber-carpet right out from under her.

Well, needless to say, PP is nothing if not rational.  Not to mention in desperate need of friends.  Or at the very least, attention.  Some attention.  Any attention.

So I withdrew those 361 unanswered Friend Requests, and all I can say to those people – aside from “No Harm, No Foul” or some other conciliatory gesture – is: you missed your chance.  Yeah, that’s right.  Don’t you go sending PP any Friend Requests somewhere down the line.

And in the words of one of our illustrious former Presidents – who incidentally did get reelected for a second term after a rather lackluster performance in another round of debates that Princess Pissant probably didn’t bother to watch either . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKgPY1adc0A

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Sour Grapes and Other Secret Missions

Well, it is O-Dark-Thirty here at the Office.  (Full disclosure: Princess Pissant is not at the Office.)  But coincidentally, it’s also O-Dark-Thirty here at home, where PP is up at the shank of the morning, making final preparations for a business trip.  (Full disclosure: It’s not a business trip.)

Indeed, my up-and-coming travels – in just a few short hours – are a far cry from anything even remotely related to business.  Yup, you guessed it; PP is embarking on a GW!!!!!

Girls’ weekend!!!!! (Full disclosure: It’s not the weekend.)

But Wednesday seems as good a time as any to get an early jumpstart on the WE.

Likewise, Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year in the Jewish religion, seems an excellent day to fly.  What’s my reasoning, you ask?  Well, terrorists and hijackers are less likely to be out and about when they know that the majority of their main targets are at home, fasting and asking for forgiveness.

Some might argue, as My Husband the Photographer (MHTP) did, that the holiest day of the year in the Jewish religion is the most inopportune day to fly, if you’re “neurotic and obsessive” about terrorist attacks, but PP happens to know that MHTP was just looking for any excuse to put the kibosh on the GW.

MHTP’s less-than-veiled resentment over the GW starting on a Wednesday has not stopped PP from getting up long before the crack of dawn here to work on a multi-page document of detailed instructions and helpful hints – like, “It’s best if you don’t leave the kids’ wet towels in the trunk of your car for four days where they get irreversibly mildew-y and thereby unusable, and represent a huge waste of my hard-earned money, and frankly a lack of respect for my contribution to this household, not to mention setting an example of complete disregard for the value of money and our possessions to the kids . . . but it’s entirely up to you.” – for MHTP.

Doesn’t he know not to leave towels in the trunk of his car for four days, or where to find the kids’ socks and backpacks, or even where to find the kids for the matter?

One would think so.

But sadly, not.

Hence, the four pages of instructions and helpful hints.  As you know by now, PP is just that kind of self-sacrificing person who, rather than spend these precious last few hours before the GW trying to cram five pairs of boots into her carry-on, is instead entirely focused on helping a man in (obvious) need.  By the time I finish the four page document – incidentally I need to get started on that in just a minute here – MHTP will have every second of my absence completely programmed for him; there will be no way he can fail to find (or later lose) KN2 (Kid Number 2), HOB (His Older Brother), their swim goggles, their shoes, their homework, their class photo order forms, or their mouth guards; nor will he even need to forage in the fridge for the milk, ketchup or anything else that’s right in goddamn front of him.

Okay then, back to today’s blog topic: terrorists and hijackers.  Now, it may come as something of a surprise to you that PP is in fact relatively knowledgeable about this topic.  Have you ever asked yourself what are all those contracts hanging over her head even related to?

Well, whether you’ve asked yourself that or not, the fact of the matter is: I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.  (Full disclosure: PP took that line from a movie; she wouldn’t really have to kill you.)

But, yes, just like FSGA – whom early readers will remember as Former Secret Government Agency guy, and one of my favorite Office-mates – Princess Pissant spent her younger years working for a very secretive branch of the U.S. government.

Which is just one of the many reasons that PP now writes about herself in the third person at the local Starbucks . . . or as I sometimes think of it, the SCIF.  Pronounced skiff.

What’s a SCIF, pronounced skiff?  FSGA knows exactly what I mean: Safe Compartmented Information Facility.  (Also, known as Starbucks.)

Anyway, all of that’s a story not to be shared some other day.  But suffice it to say, PP just might have some insider knowledge or information – what we (who used to be) in the bizness call intelligence – about when and where there exists the least likelihood of some lunatic with a bomb strapped to his underwear attempting to board a plane.

Or she may not.  (Full disclosure: she does not.)

PP does recall reading a sensitive report once – back in her single days, when her whole life was one long, hazy GW – indicating that she had more chance of dying in a terrorist attack than of ever finding a mate.  (Full disclosure: it was not a report, per se, but rather an article in Cosmo.)

Anyway, that was a loooooooong time ago, and circumstances surely have changed.  For one thing, PP did not die in a terrorist attack.  And she did find a mate.

Finally, let me conclude by saying: PP is nothing if not a risk-taker.  A calculated risk-taker, that is.  And she has determined that once MHTP gets his hands on that four-page document of detailed instructions and helpful hints – loaded as it will be with double-edged comments and incisive barbs – she has a much better chance of surviving the underwear bomber, or any of his cohorts, than she does a WE with the family here at home.

It goes without saying, she sure will miss them though.

And, God willing, she will be back at the Office next week.

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