Couch Potato Princess

Have I given up the search for a prince? It's been a while since I've kissed any frogs, after all, and if my theory is true, I've got a lot of puckering up to do before one of these adorable little amphibians transforms into the prince of my dreams.

The short answer is no - my optimism knows no bounds and hope is alive and well here in Princess-ville. I most certainly believe that falling madly in love is possible. But I'm not going to lie to you. I'm awfully lazy - and the relentless pursuit of frogs is mentally, spiritually, and physically exhausting. Unless I can find a shortcut, I might spend the next inning sitting on the bench.

It's not that I don't enjoy the company of frogs. I do. But given the choice between hanging out with a frog or laying like a beached whale on my couch, inhaling potato chips and watching reality TV, nine times out of ten I'm picking the potato chips. Why? It's pretty easy to explain. The couch doesn't care if I'm having a bad hair day. I don't have to wear makeup or shave my legs to sit on the couch. The couch doesn't care if I'm wearing giant granny panties, a food-stained t-shirt, and mismatched socks. I don't have to be witty or charming or polite to the couch. If I've had a shitty day at work, I can lie on the couch and feel sorry for myself without worrying about how unattractive my behavior is. I don't have to feign interest in the couch's life. I don't have to laugh at the couch's jokes. And I don't have to wonder if the couch finds me attractive. I don't have to wonder, "Is the couch going to kiss me?" or "Why won't the couch kiss me? What's wrong with me?"

Simply put, the couch accepts me just the way I am. Our relationship is simple and it's well-defined. We know our roles. There's no confusion with the couch. I'm never left wondering, "Is this a date? Or are we just friends?" where the couch is concerned. I never wonder where I stand with the couch. Because let's face it. Where the couch is concerned, I'm not standing.

If the frog community showed up for me the way the couch does, I might still be in the game. The couch has never let me down the way frogs have - but at the same time, it's a pretty one-sided relationship. Frogs do have a slight advantage over the couch in that respect. But damn, frogs - you are complicated! I don't know what you're thinking, what you're feeling, what you want. I actually think frogs should come with an instruction manual. I'd read it, and then I'd adjust my behavior and expectations accordingly.

For example, a frog instruction manual might read something like this: This frog's divorce was just finalized. He thinks he's over it. He's not. He is SO not ready to date yet, but he won't admit that. He thinks you're cute and smart but he is going to FREAK OUT the second you kiss him. You will never know where you stand with this frog because frankly, he doesn't know either. He has a lot of great qualities and you'll enjoy spending time with him. But for the love of God, keep your expectations low. He won't transform into a prince but he is a fun companion. Eventually, you and this frog will evolve into "just friends" but for now, if you can tolerate the ambiguity, this frog will show you a good time. Personally, I think this type of instruction manual would be extremely helpful. It would save me a lot of obsessing, and I would always know exactly how to behave. Why hasn't anyone invented this yet?

For now, this Princess is laying low and spending most of her time showering the couch with love, affection, and potato chip crumbs. Am I on sabbatical from dating? Absolutely not. I'm just not relentlessly pursuing Prince Charming right now. Should he show up, I'll change clothes, get my fat ass off the couch, apply Chapstick, and pucker up ASAP.

© 2010 Princess D

Anger Management: A Cinderella Story

My first thought upon waking up this morning wasn't, "Must. Sleep. More." or "Time to make the donuts" or anything remotely normal. No, no. When I hopped out of bed this morning, I thought to myself, "Self," I thought, "I'd like to kick Cinderella's ass!"

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's not just Cinderella who needs an ass-whooping. Her smug friends Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are on notice, too. Why am I so irrationally angry at fictional characters, you may wonder? (Translation: is Princess off her meds?) It's pretty damn simple. My whole life, I've been waiting for the fairy tale ending. Hell, I've been waiting for the fairy tale beginning! But here's what I can tell you about Cinderella that's changed my mind as of late . . .

She's a lousy role model for a little girl, first of all. Mind you, I was never what you'd describe as "little". My mother claims I came out of the womb over 5 feet tall, but my family has a penchant for the melodramatic. (Shocking, I know.) My entire life, I have been waiting for little woodland creatures to spring to life and make over my wardrobe. The closest I've come is when I accidentally washed a bat with my whites. Every time I scrub the toilet, I wonder where my fairy godmother is and when she's going to free me from the domestic purgatory that is my own filth. And don't even get me started on the number of humiliating dances I attended in the vain hopes that my Prince Charming would show up and sweep me off my two left feet.

So, Cinderella goes to the ball in her fancy glass slippers and meets a prince. Unlike in real life, her prince doesn't appear to have an angry ex-wife, an Oedipus complex, or a receding hairline. He's not conflicted about his sexuality and just waiting for the right moment to come out. He's gainfully employed and he even has his own horse! Of course, it's love at first sight. He dances with her without stomping on her feet and breaking her glass slipper - and apparently, he does so without complaining about how he'd rather be watching hockey. He takes an interest in her. He genuinely wants to know her as a person and he is heartbroken when she pulls a runner at midnight, leaving only a sweaty shoe in her wake.

Now, I've never run off on a prince at the stroke of midnight, so I'm speculating a little bit here. But I've got to tell you, I think it's a little unrealistic to think that a guy who doesn't know your name, who met you for three hours at a ball, and who you ran off on is going to drop everything to return your shoe. Most of the time, I can't get a frog to return a text message, much less personal property. I know that Cinderella wasn't purposely playing hard to get, but the message I got from this story is that if you show up places looking cute and wearing good shoes, handsome and successful frogs who may or may not have their own horses will fall madly in love with you.

I don't begrudge Cinderella her fairy tale. What bugs me, though, is the idea that she lived happily ever after. Really? She never woke up on the fat side of the bed? Her skin never broke out? She never felt sad or lonely or irrationally angry even though she lived in a castle and had no reason to complain? The prince never came home late? Never forgot an anniversary? Never hogged the remote or farted in bed? She never had a cavity or high blood pressure or needed to color her hair? She never worried about how to pay the mortgage or about her parents getting older or about the meaning of life? And I'm sure she never had to see a therapist.

Hey, Cinderella. I don't live in a fairy tale. I live in a 100 year old house in the city with my dog. I worry about everything. I see a therapist. A lot. I have bad hair days and acne and tooth decay. I want my life to mean something but I can't figure out what that something is. Even though I know your story is bullshit, I'm still holding out hope that I can have my own fairy tale ending. And that, my dear, is why you are going down.

© 2010 Princess D

Helmet & Kneepads Required

The Elf's inconveniently-timed extended spring break 2010 actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise. While I may have gotten on my two friends' last damn nerve pining away for my one true love, the Elf-Therapist, his absence forced me to remove the training wheels, pedal like mad, and learn to ride the big-girl bike.

When you're learning to ride a bike, you typically stick close to home. You don't show up at, say, Lake Calhoun on a sunny July Saturday and get on the bike path, unless you are either a delusional optimist or actively trying to piss off as many people as possible. You don't suddenly start riding your bike in downtown traffic, either, unless you have a death wish on top of everything else. Unless, of course, the bike in question is a metaphor and your name is Princess D.

I may very well be one of the most boring people I know. My life is just not that exciting - which is fine by me. A typical day in the life of the princess consists of things like getting out of bed, working out, showering, walking the dog, going to work, doing school work, eating, peeing, and occasionally watching TV or reading a book. A five star day for me is when I can find a suitable dining companion to enjoy a meal with. If said suitable dining companion will indulge in wine and dessert, even better. And if said suitable dining companion can whomp up a home-cooked meal, well - that's pretty much my idea of nirvana. (Sidebar: apparently, I find food very exciting. In every way.)

Due to the aforementioned "boring" classification, I didn't expect excitement to ensue the second the Elf-Therapist printed his e-ticket, but that's exactly what happened. Let's just say I had plenty of opportunities to practice my bike riding skills. I reconnected with two old and dear friends after years and years of being out of touch. I made peace with my past and decided that the best place for it is behind me. Permanently. I promoted an acquaintance to friend (A competitive benefits package is also available - although that has led to no small amount of awkwardness, anxiety and near-nail biting for the princess. Until I realized, without any elf-help, that sometimes, it's okay not to know all the answers and to just roll with it in the moment.) I invited my parents over for dinner - and cooked a meal that didn't food poison anyone. I broke a frog's heart when I told him I wouldn't be his bride. I finally said I'm sorry for things I should have apologized for years ago. I faced a crossroads in my career and at my job, and I made good decisions about my future. I failed a class. I made a friend cry when I meant to help. I completed a detox/cleanse. And I stared a scary anniversary date straight in the eye and finally realized the meaning of "a misty morning does not necessarily signify a cloudy day."

Waking up in the morning and realizing that no matter what, everything is going to be okay doesn't sound like a big deal to most people. It was a huge deal to me. It's been so long since I've felt just plain okay that I almost didn't recognize it. And that's when I realized it was time to take the training wheels off the bike. Of course, you know me. While it may or may not be safe for me to ride without training wheels, I think we all know that a helmet and knee pads are still required to ensure my own safety and the safety of those around me.

© 2010 Princess D