The Average Princess and The Horny Toad: An Urban Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there lived a princess. A simple, average princess named Jones. She grew up in an average sized castle in an average kingdom not far from the greatest kingdom in all of the world, Big Appleshire. Now in her average kingdom Princess Jones lived an average life. She went to school, she played sports and was friends with many other princesses.

As the princess grew older she began to day dream about one day moving to the great kingdom not far away but she was scared. She saw many of her princess friends meet princes and they were happy. But being that Princess Jones was a modern princess, she knew how to dream big. She dreamed of breaking out of her average kingdom and getting a job working for a big magazine. But, all of the jobs at the magazines were in the greatest kingdom in the world. How could an average princess make it on her own in such a large place? She had many doubts, but her Fairy Godmother told her to head to the big city and study hard. Then she could make it at a big magazine that every princess in the world would read. Princess Jones was brave, and with the help of her mother, the Queen of Residence Park and a loan from the government of all the kingdoms, she moved into Big Appleshire in a small hamlet called Hell's Kitchinia.

Princess Jones immersed herself into her studies and on the completion of her hard work she was offered a job. She didn't work for a magazine that every princess read. No, this was a much more magical magazine that was targeted towards an even better audience, QUEENS!

Our princess was very happy and worked very hard to become more than just another average princess. She became very smart and learned to love her average self which she found out was more beautiful than she ever knew. But still, Princess Jones thought something was missing. All of her other pretty princess friends were in love with wonderful princes. One even became a Queen! Princess Jones began to dream of nothing but finding her own prince. She started to believe in fictional tales told to her by Julia Roberts, Sarah Jessica Parker and Meg Ryan. She even started to believe in an old fairy tale told about another princess, who kissed a frog who just so happened to be an enchanted prince.

Now, Princess Jones had a few other friends who were looking for their own Prince Charmings. One was Princess Carly, who lived in her own hamlet called Upper East Sidius. One stormy night, Princess Jones and Princess Carly (who was a modern princess herself) decided that they needed to be proactive. Afterall, the princess who kissed the frog prince ended up happily ever after.

Armed with nothing but the most fabulous little blue princess dress (and an enchanted bra that made her bosum look incredibly more ample than it actually was), Princess Jones and Princess Carly braved the storm to try and meet some princes. The two traveled to a magical tavern, known only to the people who weren't turned off by the giant fiber glass pig propped outside. The people at the tavern were wonderful and gave both princesses free popcorn and a delicious ale (which both princesses were drinking very quickly due to the wine they had drank earlier in the night).

Princess Jones like to dance when she drinks wine.

Once they decided that no princes, just wonderful common folk, were to be found at this tavern they chose to journey to another tavern not far away. The tavern was full of very handome knights in white pants that traveled in on large boats for a week in the large kingdom. But the knights were already with younger, sluttier princess. So Princess Jones walked around until a prince approached her. He was quite handsome, a little buck toothed but quite handsome, and was a high ranking knight. Princess Jones liked the prince, but he was boring. The prince introduced the princess to his friend. Who was a frog. With warts. A tall frog with warts. Princess Jones was frightened, but as she turned to be rescued, her prince had left, to woo Princess Carly.

Then, Princess Jones remebered her favorite fairy tale. Maybe she had found her prince who would return to his human form when she kissed him. But even Princess Jones couldn't stomach that sober, and the frog knew that, so he gave her some poison called Bud Light, knowing that it would impair her vision and overall judgement.

Princess Jones began to feel drunk, and she was amused by the frog, who it turned out, was from a far away land called Alabama. The frog kept moving closer to the princess and eventually she gave in, and kissed the frog in a tacky bar makeout that all princesses are advised against. Her prince even kissed like a frog with his creepy long tongue that would rival that of Sir Gene Simmons, a minstral in a band called KISS.

Princess Jones will do crazy things when poisoned with beer.

When Princess Jones opened her eyes her prince was still not a prince, but an even more horrifying frog, nay, a TOAD! He wasn't even a knight like his friend. Rather he was a recovering frat frog with very large beer gut. The princess used her clever getaway line but the toad could not be stopped. He begged and pleaded for the princesses phone number. What was she to do? Princess Jones was normally very honorable, and did not want to hurt the toad's feelings. But she gave him a fake number anyway, promising herself that this was an exception because the toad was horrifying.

The next morning, she awoke to a feeling of nausea and light sensitivity. In part because she had been given too much poison and in part because she had believed in a fairy tale. She
vowed never to do it again and to wait, like every other successful princess, for her perfect prince to find her. Even if it meant she had to makeout with some not-so-perfect princes along the way. And she knew she would one day live happily ever after.

The End.

Finally, some clarity! Maybe it's because I didn't drink this week....

So this past week I’ve had many moments of truly inspired thought leading to new and interesting revelations that I would like to share with you.

1. Revelation: I am officially too jaded and cynical to believe in something that never was. As I explained, I lost my iPod in a vodka induced trance last Friday. I didn’t mention that I lost a lot more than that. On Wednesday of last week I found out that my biggest crush of all time, the guy I swooned over for all four years of college was going to be in New York City. I haven’t spoken to him since 2002 and even then, I was choppy at best. We shared one awesome night (no sex, I swear) together in 1999. Yes, this is pre-new-millenial crushness. It never worked out but we had talked about that night and he agreed that it was something special and there was something there, even it was just a brief encounter, clouded with Parliament Lights and a haze of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. He was the guy that my friends forbid me of mentioning about halfway through our junior year because I refused to do anything about it. I had planned on stalking said crush, but chose not to, because it’s been 4 years and really, I like to remember him in the context of the ways things were in college. In a word: hopeful. Unfortunately, fate decided to spin her wheel and bring us back together, in an accidental meeting outside of an Upper East Side watering hole. I had no choice but to say hello (already the vodka had taken over). Again I was hopeful, but the look on his face suggested otherwise (I swear, it was like I was breaking a restraining order) so I left him alone all night, avoided any and all contact. My friends can rejoice: this crush is over. Fate let me know he’s not the one and I’m over it. Finally. Really. I swear.

2. Revelation: Divas are funny, especially Clay Aiken. American Idol. Two words that I haven’t really held value to since the first season, aka, the launch of my true idol, Kelly Clarkson. But this finale was perhaps the funniest thing I’ve seen on TV since watching Ashlee Simpson and her hoe-down idiocy on SNL last year. Tony Braxton drunk of her as trying to grind on Taylor = funny. Dionne Warwick looking like she may break hip = pretty damn hysterical. And the Gaiken comes out (unfortunately, not all the way out) and reveals to America that he is slowly morphing into Barry Manilow and/or a woman. Gives his Diva look to the sad sack trying to sing like him and then proceeds to serenade his look alike. Creepy? Sort of. Not as creepy as Kevin Covais singing “What’s New Pussycat?.” Comedy gold? Most Def.

The G in Gaiken stands for G-UNIT!

3. Revelation: I miss the Mastercard ads. Here is mine of the week. Losing my iPod and having to buy new one= $193.00. New makeup to impress Fleet Week seamen = $15.00. Getting gussied up and walking by a group of hot sailors and having brand new iPod randomly shuffle to Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” = Priceless.

4. Revelation: Ugly guys can be sexy. Not gonna lie. Was a little upset to find out Elliot Yamin had a girlfriend. Whatevs, I think I made out with him on a spring break somewhere.

Elliot Yamin's offspring will look like this:

Let’s hope this week (and especially the upcoming long weekend) is as full of clarity and insight as the last. And let’s hope I get to have fun with some seamen. What do you do with a drunken sailor? I can think of some things. [insert evil plotting laugh and envision Jonesy rubbing hands together maliciously here]

See you at the crossroads (crossroads)...so you won't be lonely.

Folks, I lost my iPod. My little blue pal who has given me my soundtrack since May 17th of last year. I did a post on it as soon as I received it. It was a happy day.


Friday was a happy day too. Because of the excessive amounts of vodka that made me happy. I know what you are thinking, "Jonesy, why do you drink vodka when you know the result will be loss or bodily injury to you and others?" My answer is it makes me forget and it's tast with some club soda. And I have short term memory loss so I usually forget what it does to me. Memory loss probably caused by the vodka.


So my iPod is gone. Either in a taxi of picked up by some ne'er do well on 9th Ave. RIP blue iPod and blue iPod sweater. I still have the headphones (haven't figured that out yet) but the iPod is indeed gone.

I will have a better post after I am finished sitting shiva (and when I've figured out how to work my brand new iPod nano, haha!)

Silly Rabbit...Trix are for kids. Oh wait, can I not have them anymore?

Don't fence me in, bitches!

I am a large child. I have refused to grow up for quite some time. I still play video games. I still read Seventeen (sometimes). I still watch cartoons (Spongebob anyone?) and I still eat Lucky Charms. I sleep in a twin bed. n fact, the shirt I am wearing right now was purchased in the kids department at Old Navy.

When I was in College, Carly and Little would always joke that I was like an overgrown child. Partly because of the food I ate (CoCo puffs and Kraft mac and cheese), partly because I would rock out to 'NSYNC, and partly because, well, I refused to grow up.

I realized yesterday that it was starting to happen. Sometime, somewhere, my Peter Pan thought it would be a good idea to exchange Neverland for the life of corporate drone, and forget about chasing his shadow so he can pay rent.

I am officially a coffee drinker (I hated it growing up). I listen to Lite FM at home sometimes. I just bought a classical music cd. Sometimes I stay at home on Friday nights because I'm tired. I am starting to save money--well not really, I'm starting to pay my debts. I like Sunday morning.

I've been trying to find the source, reasoning or any explanation to my recent changes in lifestyle. I can blame it on work, the fact that after a year and a half of grad school I'm back to the grind and therefore miserable because I'm lazy and I hate work in general. But that's not a good enough excuse because I actually sort of like my job and at least I'm in the right industry now.

I can blame my issues on my friend's recent breakup, like my friend Penny, (http://pennythinks.blogspot.com/) but I know that's not true. I'm just not close enough to the situation to do that.

I can blame it on my family, who l also blame for the three white hairs I picked out of scalp yesterday. Fully white. Thanks for the stress guys.

I can blame it on Lost and Grey's Anatomy for making me spend countless hours on the internet looking for clues and spoilers to their stupid shows.

I can blame it on my boss, my colleagues and my friends, who are now settling into married/almost married/dating life, while I stay behind praying for someone to go out boozing with me.

Translation: This baby rules!

I can blame it on the bossanova, but that would be downright idiocy.

And I do blame it on everyone. Everyone including myself. For the pressure, for making the world move to fast, for not letting me appreciate my childhood while I had it and for making me jealous of the little girl I saw yesterday, who was twirling in her Communion dress like there was not a care in the world.

So I am taking a stance. I am taking my life back and staring all over. I will eat my sugary cereals, fruit snacks and roll ups with glee. I will blast The Spice Girls. I will stop looking for a potential provider and start looking for a soul mate and best friend. I will continue to act like I’m 19 when I’m drunk. I will continue to drink like I’m 19. I will party like it’s 1999.

And I will throw temper tantrums like this one and have to suck it up and continue my drone-like existence. I will continue to grow up, grow old and let’s face it, grow out (I expect the moon to start orbiting my ass once I pop out a few kids).

Ok, I won't grow out that much.

But this I promise, I will never get a mom haircut (short and sort of messy). I will never stop wearing thongs. I will never stop eating Lucky Charms (even if I don’t let my kids have them). And I will never, ever, ever, ever, lose my sense of wonder. Because at this point, it’s sort of all I’ve got.

Maybe the Dingo Ate Your Benes

I'm here to address the bad hair movement of the moment. Ladies and gentlemen meet the Benes.

Before

After

Named after Seinfeld character Elaine Benes who made the 'do popular in the early seasons. After realizing her own stupidity, she changed her do to a much more refined look.


Now through some twisted form of fate colliding with extremely bad taste, young Hollywood has readopted the Benes. Taking a cue from the faux hawk (now known as the no-hawk) many a Hollywierd young-blood is rocking a Benes. The unfortunate hairdo is sweeping the country. From a younger, humbler, Jessica Simpson:


To one of the two Olsens (Ashley to be exact):


To everyone's favorite young hussie, Lindsay Lohan:



This offensive coiffure can be seen running rampant on the Manhattan club scene. Known offenders: 1. Girls who work in PR or Fashion with long straight hair (extensions) who cannot do anything with their hair but this so they do it often. These girls are most likely coke heads. THey probably did their hair when high on nose candy.

2. Anyone from Long Island or New Jersey.

3. One of my friends who will remain nameless, but I totally caught a picture of her Benes the other day.

Anyway, I am taking a stand against the Benes. And you Hillary Duff, for rocking it way too often. You look like an ass.












And that's what really grinds my gears.

A BILF, a Liar and a Crush: Glorious!

Yesterday was the kind of day that Bono writes about. The weather was absolutely perfect. Not too hot, tons of sunshine and little breeze. That’s right folks, it was drinking weather.

It didn’t surprise me when I received an email mid-afternoon from a friend saying she needed a cocktail STAT. I agreed. So we met up at a local bar, chosen only for it’s glorious outdoor roof deck which lets boozehounds alike drink and smoke under the glorious moonlight. It's glorious!

As we approached the makeshift bar they have set up outside, we both noticed him. A hot barkeep. A BILF if you will (not to be confused with the BILF who works in a bar in Amsterdam, appropriately called “Amsterdamned”). He was talkative and smiled a lot, in a cute, only mildly cocky way. My friend and I were immediately smitten. Drinking weather and a reason to keep ordering drinks. Perfection.

I was almost ready to have a crush. The crush I have been waiting to find for over a year. The one that lasts long term. Then I noticed he was too charming. He was charming everyone, even guys. Basically, he was charming his way into my wallet in hopes of big tips. Luckily I caught this early and only gave him the standard. Damn hustler.

So not crushworthy (I also spotted neck pimples…gross). He was like a mirage. Looked like something I really wanted but turned out to be nonexistent. So it got me thinking. Can I no longer crush because I’m too cynical? Too jaded by the ghosts of dramas past? Or am I picky? Could I have overlooked many a quality guy for stupid reasons? I know I can be quite, well, abrasive to men (only undesirable men) who approach me when I am drunk, but am I that awful?

I choose to think I’m not that evil and that any evilness that comes from me is only a result of an excessive intake of vodka. But I’m sure there are people that will argue with me on that one, including a ton of guys at Cheers London who had o deal with my wrath and the liar I met last night who swore he did promos for Showtime, and when I asked him about one he froze, mumbling something about things being “in development.” Tool.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this all day. And I may sort of have a crush. He’s all wrong, we’ll never EVER be together, and if we did get together it would be more of a disaster than Tom Cruise recent dancing on BET. But something is alluring about this person. I wish I could dish more, but I won’t for fear of incrushinating myself (Jonesy’s friends tend to have big mouths). And I don’t want my friends to find out (even though I think most of them already know). It’s not the die-hard, can’t eat, daydream believer kind of crush. Just an animalistic kind of thing. It’s not serious and I’m sure it will pass. But it’s nice to think that maybe, someday, in a perfect world, it could work out.

In the mean time, I will enjoy the sunshine, the flip-flops, and God Bless Mother Nature, perfect drinking weather. Happy Cinco De Mayo!



Cinco De Mayo = perfect crush weather!

Don't hate me because I work...

love me because I promise i will put up a new post sometime this week. If only Tom Cruise would stop unchain me from my desk and stop filling my head with tohoughts of Xenu.

Free Jonesy!