Friday, September 4, 2009

if ye can't say anything nice, saith the princess, cram a cupcake in your mouth.

Princess TF is frequently confused for a 15-year-old. (She is not 15.) At one point this was mildly humorous, but now it makes her contemplate creative methods of torture. (Current fave: Locking offender in a dark room and forcing offender to listen to Reba McIntyre's Fancy until offender's ears bleed.) Princess tries to compensate for this by wearing authoritative-sounding shoes (heels) and acting important. Yet the second she puts on her Rainbows, she hears conversations like this one, which happened yesterday:

Woman 1: You look just like a little girl!
Princess TF: Stare.
Woman 2: Oh she always looks like that! Laugh laugh.
Woman 3: Yes, I always think you're a high schooler!
Princess TF: Glare. Awkward silence.
Woman 2: Well you'll be grateful for it someday!
Woman 1: So true.
Princess TF: Okay. Bye.

Princess glanced in the mirror after this exchange. She saw angry, red, cracked eyes and Edward Scissorhands hair. Princess then wished she had scissorhands so that people would think twice before making demeaning comments. And also because she can never find a good pair of scissors when she needs them.

Sometimes Princess gives herself over to the darkside and decides to act the way she looks. Her recent birthday was a perfect excuse for this. Hoorah!

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

blogs are silly

Yes, they are.

First, let's discuss the word "blog." It's a ridiculous word. Like fiddlesticks, guacamole, noodle, and oink. And cattywhompus. (See the following image for a visual interpretation of this word, also known as the way Princess Truffle Fluff's hair looks in the morning and when it rains.)
Second, oh my goodness, why do we think that everyone cares to hear what we think about everything? I DON'T KNOW. But we all do. The Princess included.

Just wanted to throw that out there.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

finger-lickin' not-so-good

Princess TF has been thinking a lot about pet peeves, mainly because she's witnessed an excessive amount of paper-licking lately. You know--licking fingers to help flip through papers. Lick fingers, touch paper, lick fingers, touch paper. Is this even helpful? The Princess can honestly say that her spit has never helped her grip anything in her life (she is proud to have successfully avoided the temptation to stick her tongue to a frozen flagpole for 22 winters). It's unnecessary, borderline offensive (a wet willy on paper), and it's got to be a sanitation issue.

In high school, the Princess had to put a lot of effort into controlling her gag reflex when she spotted a smudge of teacher spit at the top of her test paper. Really, Mrs. Krebs? Was it necessary to put her through that?

But it's not Mrs. Krebs' fault. That's the reality of pet peeves--they're just meaningless actions that can unintentionally land you on someone's hit list. The Princess is aware that every time she pops her elbows in a public place (it happens more than you think), someone standing nearby is out for her blood, and not in an attractive Edward Cullen way.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

an error in judgement

Princess Truffle Fluff is feeling very guilty about something. (This is not shocking. Her conscience is militant.) A few days ago, she spotted a girl in the hallway at work who had toilet paper stuck on her shoe. To many, toilet paper on the shoe is a phenomenon that only occurs in cartoons, like slipping on a banana peel. (Really? Has anyone EVER in the history of the world actually slipped on a banana peel?) But there it was in real life: a long, really unfortunate tail of toilet paper trailing behind this girl's penny loafer. (The Princess is not entirely sure what a penny loafer is, but has decided that since it sounds boring and brown that all boring and brown shoes should henceforth be called penny loafers.) It occurred to the Princess that she should say something, perhaps rescue the girl from further embarrassment, but then she thought, no, that would be a weird conversation. The Princess doesn't like weird conversations. So the Princess just said hi, and let the girl walk away, out of the building.

The opportunity to prevent someone from embarrassing themselves in front of the other people they'll see that day is also an opportunity to feel a little awkward yourself. The Princess feels that awkwardness is excruciating and so not as funny as Michael Cera would have us believe. In fact, she has avoided these kinds of opportunities so frequently that now it rarely even occurs to her to say anything at all. For example, if she is eating dinner with a friend, and that person has huge chunk of spinach in his or her teeth, the Princess doesn't say anything. She just stares at the spinach. Later, that person is all, yikes there's spinach in my teeth, why didn't you say anything, and the Princess is like, um, I just didn't think about it.

But she actually thought about saying something to the toilet paper girl. She even turned around twice after deciding not to tell her, and each time decided again not to tell her. It's so unfortunate.

Monday, March 30, 2009

birds, blogs, and babs

Today a girl walked outside and spotted her car covered in gobs of bird feces. Now, apart from this particular girl's irrational fear of birds, her distaste for poop humor, and the fact that she has named her car Babs and allowed Babs to take on an unbecoming Diva-like demeanor, this alarmed her. She felt at once that the unfortunate state of Babs' exterior was a metaphor for her life. And what does one do when faced with such a metaphor? "Start a blog!" says she. And how to counteract the literal crappiness of the blog-inspiring metaphor? "Name it something silly!" she says. And Princess Truffle Fluff is born.

The name is derived from a silly conversation this girl had with her cousins over her and her sister's dream of owning a cupcake shop. A cupcakery, of course. Named Cuppycakes, no less. So the girl's silly cousins decided they all should have silly cupcake-inspired names like Yummy Crumbs, Queen Frostine, and Captain Cuddle-cups and the girl happily settled on Princess Truffle Fluff. Grouchy cousin Duncan, who, in Princess' mind, is perpetually 6-years-old (he's 15), hates his name (Glitter Boo Duncan) almost as much as he hates his silly older girl cousins, but they don't care. A family fortune in cupcakery awaits, surely.

So why did the girl eye poor Babs in the parking lot and immediately think of starting a blog? I don't know, maybe she's that arrogant, that she thinks people actually want to know about the times that nature literally craps all over her life. (Oh, you better believe the bird poop was just the icing on the cupcake of the dumb, unnecessary events of her day.) Or maybe, she sees herself in a sparking hot pink tutu, a wand, and a nametag that says "Princess Truffle Fluff" and this is her delusion of choice when she see Babs all covered in crap, OKAY PEOPLE??