A Bedtime Story

Author's note: This is a story as old as The Hills (you know, the t.v. show?). We've all seen it before. But, Saturday night I was sitting all alone & had no one to enjoy the train wreck with me. So here it is in all its gory glory. With a little artistic license, of course. Pardon the puns, I assure you, I come by my sense of humor honestly.

I'm going to tell a sweet little story about a Princess and a Frog as I observed them.

Once upon a time in a happy, yet surreal, land called Collegeville, a pretty Princess and her Friend sought Saturday night refuge in a noisy, popular bar. That night a fantastic band was entertaining the crowd as they escaped their families on Easter/Passover weekend.

The Princess and the Friend sat watching the band and talking with a boy who was employed by that establishment, and therefore was distracted for much of the time he spent with them. The Princess and the Friend downed several beverages and then got up to dance.

There were many handsome young men who took notice of the Princess swaying back and forth, but the Frog was watching and waiting in the background all along.

All of a sudden the Frog hopped over to the Princess and ribbetted, "My Man-servant over there didn't think I would come talk to you, so I had to prove him wrong!" The Princess hesitated. Everyone who overheard the Frog thought, "Oh Princess, don't fall for that old line!" But the Frog was smart, and the look in his eyes said, "If you'll only kiss me, you'll see I'm a Prince in disguise."

And the Princess fell for it.

Of course, this required the help of the Man-servant, who was quick to win the affections of the Friend. The quartet danced and laughed and switched partners. And this, seemingly innocent, supposedly temporary, partner swap was the beginning of the end for the Frog.

For the Princess realized the Man-servant was the more handsome and suave of the pair. As she danced, she noticed the band through her haze and realized the man playing to entertain the audience was debonair, as well. The spell was broken.

The Frog panicked and kicked wildly (as frogs are apt to do in a tight squeeze). He tried in vain to pull the Princess away from the other gentlemen while she batted her eyelashes and trilled her voice in their direction. The Princess grew bored of this game, and asked the Friend to retire to the powder room with her. She was discovering the truth that the observers already knew, he was not a Prince at all!

All in attendance recognized this as The Kiss the Frog did NOT want. This, unhappily for the Frog, was The Kiss of Death.

Within minutes the Princess was saying her goodbyes to the Frog, while he unashamedly tried to convince her to come home with him. Not wanting to be outrightly rude (she was a princess after all!) she begged off, saying, "I like you, but I'm going to my house," all the while making starry eyed glances at the good looking man on the stage. The Princess pulled away from the Frog as he tried to kiss her--landing ineffectively on an awkward spot somewhere between her cheek and the back of her neck. She parted with a hug, dragging the Friend away from the Man-servant.

Once free from the Frog, the Princess tried one last time to garner the attention of the man on the stage, to no avail. As the Princess and the Friend walked out into the night, arm in drunken arm, the Frog and the Man-servant regrouped and turned their attentions to a table of older, married women.

And the moral? Well, there is more than one to this story, so take heed:

1. Never let a Frog do all the talking.

2. Keep an eye on your Princess--and keep dancing. If you're not fun, you'll lose her attention and affection.

3. Kiss off Princess. That handsome man on the stage is most certainly spoken for.

More Like "P.T. Loser"

I'm not going to say I'm the worlds greatest driver. I have my share of, "oops, didn't see you there" moments. My bumper has a couple of war wounds from losing battles with walls. In addition, although this tends to be a bad combination, I get a little aggressive in traffic. I usually limit my frustrated reaction to the inside of my car.

All that being said, I'm a fairly conscientious driver. I learned to drive with a lot of other people on the road, I know how to merge, I do a good job paying attention. Minor blips aside, I'm safe to be around on the road.

However, today I did not make a new friend on the road. In fact, I got called a "bitch" and flipped off by a 75 year old man driving a periwinkle P.T. Cruiser.

Seriously?

Let's recap the situation shall we?

I was in a lane that was ending and needed to merge into the lane that continued to go straight. I looked in my rear view mirror and had room, so I merged. Next thing I know the car behind me is flashing his lights at me like it wants to moonlight as a strobe in a nightclub. I'm trying NOT to be so distracted by this that I drive off the road, when I realize lanes to my right have opened up but the lane I am in is ending (it's a convertible center lane across a bridge). The Flasher gets over before I have a chance to, speeds up to trap me in the middle of the bridge and then just as I get a glimpse of his silvery hair passing me, yells "BITCH" out his window. Then, once I was behind him, he flips me the bird. Now--we're driving down city streets, so the lights keep us close together. I end up in the lane on his right. The old Cooter rolls down his passenger side window and continues to yell at me every time he gets next to me.

Two things I wish I'd done:

1. Rolled my window down and 'sincerely' apologized. Honestly, I don't think I did anything wrong, and I don't know what his deal was. Still, I wonder what he would have said or done if I'd just said, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't think was cutting you off. I apologize for making you nervous or angry."

2. Blown him a kiss mid-rant.

I have to say, this was the first time I've ever been sworn at by a septuagenarian.

Then again, I might be angry too if I was driving a lavender P.T. Cruiser.

Let's talk about blogslacking

I kind of love the way I can make a new word out of anything if I just put "blog" before or after it.

I was just trying to type up a bunch of examples, but my brain is mushy at the moment.

So I'll go on to say that I slacked off last week. I didn't even read any of my regular blogs because I felt guilty opening up my dashboard knowing I had no intention to add something to mine.

It's not like I haven't had anything to say since the last time I wrote. Really, exciting things are happening at work and at home. I just end up with this brain mush situation by the time I get to the computer. Then I want to play mindless games like Peggle (Ridiculously addictive game. Run if you still have a chance.) and Spider Solitaire on 'easy,' and watch my favorite shows, the bachelor, and teen mom (both of which have just gone off the air...the day before my return to my blog...coincidence?). Luckily I now have the second season of 16 and Pregnant to keep me company. Let's talk about ungrateful 16 year olds who get pregnant and then think it's their mom's job to take care of the baby while they act like, well, 16 year olds. Is anyone surprised by this amazing cycle?

So here I am, tired, and mushbrained, and feeling old. (My little brother turns 21 next week. 2-freakin-1. I can take my baby brother to the bar with me. That's enough to make anyone feel old.) And I'm blogweary <-- see how that works. I don't even have a good excuse like "I need a mental break for health reasons," or "I'll be without internet in Zimbabwe for 2 weeks while I build huts with twine and palm fronds." Nope, I just blogslacked my way into oblivion.

I said that I didn't make a New Years resolution, per se, so I'm not feeling all guilty about that. Actually, I don't usually feel all that bad when I break a New Years resolution, but this way I don't have to pretend.

All that to say: I'm back. For at least the next couple of weeks consistently.