Move over, Kate Middleton

My parents used to call me "Princess" all the time when I was a child. Then I grew up and realized that other people did not agree with this title, nor did they realize I was actually royalty and would not treat me like one. So when I got to work today and the salon needed guinea pigs to try out prom up-dos, I was actually OK with being a test subject. I never went to prom so I didn't get to go through the whole "Princess for a day" thing. I just never saw the point of having to pay to get back into the school dressed like a cupcake-human hybrid that escaped from Candyland. So I decided that today was going to be my one day of royalty. Of course, things never go my way and I attracted every crazy in the store.

The first peasant travelled far to see her princess. Unfortunately, I couldn't understand her accent from a foreign land. However, I did understand a little bit that this Asian lass said to me while I was waiting on her. I believe this bit was "Oooh. Sexy lady."

The second subject I encountered could possibly be a good jester in my court. A young lad walked up to me, shoved his wrists in my face and said "Smell these." First of all, peasant, please address me by my full name and title, Princess Jen HiremeChristopherNolan from the land of Gotham City. Second of all, please tell people what is on your wrists before they smell them. (No, this one is real advice. That was a bit of a super creep move right there, sir). Turns out it was cologne, but I still didn't smell it in fear that I might catch the Black Plague.

The third and serf with a bad dental plan walked up to the register and had the audacity to look me in the eyes. It was slightly more audacious that he asked "Is everything in this store for sale?" I took pity on him and replied with "Yes, except for the mannequins." Then, as if he stole a line out of The Blues Brothers, but made it less funny and more creepy, he replied with "Well, babe, I'd like to buy you." Maybe I should learn to shut my mouth sometimes, but it was my princess day, damnit, so I said "I think that's called human trafficking and I'm pretty sure it's illegal." Oh, and this man also had no teeth. I'm not sure what it is about me, but I sure know how to attract those types. If only they were toothless men worthy of my princess-dom. Say, maybe, a hockey player?

And finally, one young lady finally saw me for the royal I am. She and her mother were buying a flower girl dress. The young talkative girl said that she is going to have her hair up and curly, like mine, so she could look like a princess too. But then she paused for a bit and said "I don't know if we both could be princesses though." I was quite nervous that she was going to suggest a joust or a duel to the death, but rather she said, "You might have to be a queen." Queen, huh? I like that better. Move over, Freddie Mercury.

Oh, Canada, My Pretend Home and Native Land

In preparation for my upcoming role as Robin in the back of a police car speeding away from The Dark Knight Rises set, I have decided to pretend to be a different person every day I am stuck in retail hell. No, I did not give up on my dream of the behind the scenes drudge work for the glamour of the silver screen. I haven't gone all Norma Desmond yet. Actually, I prefer the term "dramatic lying" instead of acting. You might also think I've gone even more insane. Well, as the oh-so-dreamy Fox Mulder once said "Sometimes the only sane answer to an insane world is insanity."

So, in honor of the playoffs, since I can't grow a beard, I am going to develop a Canadian accent, eh? I figure this will also be useful for my upcoming web series featuring 2 Canadians stuck in post apocalyptic Pittsburgh (the only drug I was on when I came up with this gem was an overload of caffeine. I wish I knew how my mind works) Also, thanks to the nightmare I have of Sarah Palin (or Donald Trump) winning the 2012 election, I may have to flee to the igloo neighborhood of the north. But let's not get political, eh?

Thanks to Netflix watch instantly, I have spent many hours studying the Canadian people. I'm not sure I'd be able to survive their high school though. It appears as if many of the students are addicted to pretty much any drug imaginable, teenage pregnancies, and the rapper Drake in a wheelchair. All my high school had was one girl who popped out a kid every year and a girl that tossed nachos onto a guy's lap and that's what got us dubbed as the "worst class in Latrobe's history." An honor everyone in my class was proud of. I also don't know if I can pull of the "nice and polite" Canadian stereotype. Because...well, I'm neither of those things. I can't help it. If MC Nickels is retail hell, I'd rather be one of the demons than just some helpless soul.

Perhaps I can just start out with learning the Canadian accent and work on my character's backstory later. Maybe I witnessed my parents' murder as a child and I swore to seek revenge by fighting every criminal master mind in the city. No one would expect your local retail associate would actually be a heroic crime fighter. Since I am Canadian, I would shape my costume as a moose, in order to strike fear in the hearts of evil-doers everywhere. I am... MooseWoman.

Addendum:

Dear Christopher Nolan,

If you get bored after you finish this whole Batman thing and want to go back to the superhero genre, feel free to use my "MooseWoman" idea... Just let me work on it... in any capacity. I have a Keurig, I could make you coffee!

Love and Bat Signals,

Jen

Na na na na na na na na N'Atman!

It's official. Our pierogie races and sandwiches topped with fries and coleslaw lured Christopher Nolan and his posse here for the next Caped Crusader flick. I am bound and determined to at least see the set of this film... and maybe grab onto Mr. Nolan's leg and refuse to let go. So there is a chance that I might get arrested. Please click on the ads to donate to my bail fund. Speaking of Bale, if I can't work on the set, be an extra, or get adopted by Morgan Freeman (because who doesn't love a madcap Punky Brewster-esque situation?); then I want nothing else for Mr. Christian Bale to get angry, yell, and throw a light at me (all so someone can record it and make a techno remix). Once again, please click away to support my bail (Bale?) funds...

Ways I am capable of making Christian Bale angry...

- Screaming "Hey! Hey! Heeeey! King of New York! Yeah, you! Open the gates and seize the day!'

- Sneak into the back of the Batmobile and ask "Are we there yet?" a million times, sing "99 bottles of beer on the wall" and/ or the "song that never ends," or try to engage him in a thrilling game of "I, Spy"

- Dress as Robin and demand to know where my trailer is

- Claim that Jean Claude Van Damme is the true hero that the 'Burgh deserves and Christian Bale would never match the action, drama, or true passion of "Sudden Death." All this while dressed as Iceburgh, of course, because who doesn't love seeing the NHL's most lovable mascot being punched in the face?

- Dress in a raincoat and dance to "Hip to Be Square"...with an axe. And then hand him my business card that will surely look better than his business card... but then he might kill me.

-If these do not work, I am prepared to go after Michael Caine and his best role yet as Ebenezer Scrooge in A Muppet Christmas Carol. I have a Kermit doll and I'm not afraid to use it.

In conclusion, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME BE ON THIS FILM! EVEN THOUGH THIS BLOG READS TO THE CONTRARY, I ACTUALLY AM QUITE SANE AND COMPETENT.

(If I type in all caps, that construes yelling, correct? So maybe Mr. Nolan will hear me? Hopefully?)