Options

The Princess just told me it was her "option" to punch me in the face. I disagreed completely because I wanted to eliminate that possibility from the equation, but in disagreeing I had that philosophical realization that "yes" it was in fact her "option" to punch me in the face. Scary.

Chocolate Weapon

The Princess bought a candy bar at lunch and on the way back to work she hit me over the head with it. Two hours later I received a message on the computer that read, "hey fat head, your big fat head broke my candy bar."

Catch Phrases

The Princess is her own biggest fan, and I think it's fairly obvious by now that she reads the blog, and even goes so far as to influence its artistic direction. But rest at ease, the Scribe is no puppet and often refuses and even ignores her attempts. Today, for example, she wondered why I did not comment on her anger for me not bringing her a sonic blast from Sonic. I explained to her that I've already mentioned the sonic blast several times throughout the blog, and the thought of mentioning it again did not sit well with me. The Princess said, "it's good to have a recurring theme." I explained to her that I thought the recurring theme of anger displayed toward her lack of a sonic blast was the equivalent of "Ya' Got Any Cheese?" from Family Matters, "Oh Have Mercy!" from Full House, or "How You Doin'" from Friends. It had become, in my eyes, a catchphrase. The Princess replied, "No...it's way more than that." I asked her how it was "way more than that" and she replied that if "Steve Urkel didn't get any cheese it didn't matter because there were no violent consequences."

Mirror, Mirror...

The Princess used the phrase "immensely irate" to describe herself today. Even after I brought her a burrito for breakfast, she found a way to translate my act of kindness into a failure, stating that I got only hot sauce and no mild and that she personally had to spend the effort to come get the burrito from my desk which made the burrito "not as hot as it could have been" had I brought it to her first.

Predict a Word

Sometimes while I'm texting, my phone will predict humorous words that have absolutely no relevance to the sentence I'm composing. It will also skew my misspelled words in peculiar ways. Today, for instance, I typed: "I'll have a gallon-sized martini please," and the result was, "I'll have a gallon-sized marino," which of course made me think of Dan Marino, but then I thought, "Why the hell did my phone predict Dan Marino?"

Being Content

[The following dialogue took place today]

The Princess

I wasn't sure if you were here, so i sniffed and then smelled it was bad, so i knew you were.

The Scribe

Ahhhh, yes yes, the ol' poo smell.

The Princess

It's sad that you are okay with stinking.

The Scribe

I'm not okay with it really.

The Princess

Well try harder then.

The Scribe

To be okay with it?

The Princess

No, to not smell.

The Scribe

Oh, well that was weird there for a second because I thought you were telling me to try harder at being okay with smelling, which would mean that you were telling me to try harder at being sad.

The Princess

Well you also obviously need to try harder at being smarter.

Spilled Drink

boob 2noun (usu. boobs) informala woman's breast.

Today The Princess and I took a brief break from our labors to go get a snack from the vending machines. After much deliberation, I finally decided on chocolate milk, and The Princess got a soda and peanut M&Ms. When we sat down at the cafeteria table I challenged The Princess if she could toss one of her peanut M&Ms into my chocolate milk from the distance of five feet. She perked up and began practicing her toss. In mid-practice she just reached over the table as far as she could and placed the M&M into my chocolate milk, but in the process she knocked over her soda. She began laughing.

"Are you laughing because you think you fooled me?" I asked. "I certainly expected you to do that."

"No," The Princess said, "I'm laughing because it was my boobs that knocked over the soda." She had a big smile on her face, and it was then that I noticed that this whole scene had justified the size of her breasts in some way.

The Monster D-Bag Extavaganza

hiatus |hīˈātəs|noun ( pl. -tuses ) [usu. in sing. ]a pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process : there was a brief hiatus in the war with France.

It's been quite some time since my last update. Over the course of two months I've learned that there are more than a few people who actually check this thing from time to time, and I have been razzed and encouraged more than once to update it more frequently. The Lonely Scribe appreciates this. I'm truly thankful for the support and glad people get a kick out of these scribbles. The Princess, however, has pretty much written me off. She's quite angry with me because, you see, The Princess is a star. She feels she's owed a spot light. And I certainly haven't told you near enough about Rosencrantz. The Princess will be frustrated to share the billing. Even now, as she reads this, she is most likely thinking, "why is this not about me only?" Anyway, I've been reviewing some of my notes in order to post this update.

One day The Princess asked me if I had any chocolate. I said, "no, but I have a taco." She then asked me if it was a "choco taco" which apparently is a chocolate taco? I don't know. I told her, "no". The Princess then told me that I become "more of a disappointment every day." I thought to myself, "I'm sorry I don't keep chocolate tacos on hand."

Here's another quote which is probably best left out of context: "I'm surprised you're even able to feed yourself." Sometimes when The Princess talks to me I picture an angry teenage girl, with braces, strangling her doll, yelling at her little brother.

I also told her that I invented a sandwich called The Monster D-Bag Extravaganza. When she asked me how to make it I told her that it consisted of bread, meat, and cheese. She was not happy with me.

It's sad to say that this is all I came away with from my two month hiatus. Some friends have been nice enough to employ monthly goals. In the month of January, for example, I was expected to make twelve entries. That did not happen. I didn't make one. We had all just spun out of 2009. The air rushed into our nostrils for warmth and froze our bones. Call it an existential hiccup? The Princess has told me repeatedly that I should just update as soon as something of note presents itself. "Don't think about it," she says. "Just write it down." But I don't. It's hard to say what keeps me from being consistent. I'd like to say I'm a perfectionist, but I know I'm not. Speaking of existential hiccups. Last Saturday I cleaned my apartment for the first time in a few months. I told The Princess and my friend Rosencrantz that the bathroom's odor was remarkably similar to an opened can of Vienna Sausages. They recoiled in disgust and called me insane. But I think the real question here is why do Vienna Sausages smell like a neglected bathroom? It puzzles the mind.