FTLOUIE: I meant the student government. We’re in the red for five grand. And Sixteen rejected me.

SKINNERBX: Sixteen rejected “No More Corn!”? How could they? That story rocks!

You see? You see why I love him?

FTLOUIE: Thanks. But I guess it didn’t rock enough for them to publish it.

SKINNERBX: Then they’re fools. And what’s this about being five grand in the red?

Briefly, I explained to Michael about the non-returnable recycling bins and the fact that I am going to be drawn and quartered by Amber Cheeseman as soon as she hears about her commencement taking place in Hell’s Kitchen instead of Lincoln Center.

SKINNERBX: Come on. It can’t be that bad. You have plenty of time to raise the cash.

Normally my boyfriend is the most astute of men. That is why he goes to an Ivy League university where he takes a course load that would prove a mental challenge even to Stephen Hawking, that genius in the wheelchair who figured out mini black holes—as well as how to get his nurse to fall in love with him—let alone your average college student.

But sometimes…

Well, sometimes, he just doesn’t GET it.

FTLOUIE: Have you ever seen Amber Cheeseman, Michael? She may have a 4.0 and sound like a chipmunk when she talks, but she can throw a two-hundred-pound man over her shoulder in a split second, and her forearms are as big as Koko the Gorilla’s.

SKINNERBX: Hey, I know. You could try selling candles. We did that to raise money for the Computer Club one year!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! NOT YOU, TOO, MICHAEL!!!!!!!!!!

SKINNERBX: They have these candles shaped like strawberries. Everybody in my mom and dad’s therapy groups bought one. They smell like real strawberries.

AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!

FTLOUIE: Great! Thanks for the tip!

Change the subject. NOW.

FTLOUIE: So, how was YOUR day?

SKINNERBX: Not bad. We watched THX 1138 in class and discussed its influence on later dystopic films from the same era, such as Logan’s Run, in which, like THX, a young man attempts to flee the stifling confines of the only world he knows. Which reminds me, what are you doing this weekend?

Oooh, fun! A date! Just what I need to cheer myself up.

FTLOUIE: Going out with you.

SKINNERBX: That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Only how about staying in instead of going out? My mom and dad are going out of town for a conference, and Maya’s got to have her feet scraped, so they asked me if I could come home for the weekend to stay with Lilly—you know, on account of what happened last time they left her alone.

Did I ever. Because the last time the Drs. Moscovitz let Lilly out of their sight, when they went to their country house in Albany for the weekend and allowed Lilly to stay in the apartment alone because she had a report due on Alexander Hamilton and needed Internet access, of which there is none at their country house, and Michael had finals, and the Moscovitzes’ housekeeper, Maya, had to go back to the Dominican Republic to bail her nephew out of jail again, so neither of them could stay with her, Lilly invited her foot fetishist stalker, Norman, over to interview him for a segment she was doing on Lilly Tells It Like It Is titled, “Why Are Only Weirdos Attracted to Me?”

Well, Norman took umbrage at being called a weirdo, even though that’s what he is. He insisted that a healthy appreciation for the foot is actually extremely sane. Then when Lilly was busy getting them Cokes in the kitchen, he snuck into her mom’s room and stole her favorite pair of Manolo Blahniks!

But Lilly saw the stiletto heel sticking out of Norman’s anorak pocket and made him give it back. Norman was so mad about the whole thing that now he’s started his own website, IHateLillyMoscovitz.com, that has message boards and stuff that all the people who hate Lilly and her show can come and post things on (and it turns out there are a surprising number of people who hate Lilly and her TV show. Plus, there are some people who don’t even know who Lilly is but they joined just because they hate everything).

I have to say, after all that, I’m kind of surprised the Drs. Moscovitz would leave her without parental supervision, even with Michael there.

FTLOUIE: Fun! I’ll totally come over! What are we going to do? Watch a movie marathon?

Only, please, not a screening of one of the hideous movies he has to watch for that sci-fi film class he’s taking. He’s already forced me to see Brazil, one of the most depressing movies of all time. Can Blade Runner, another giant bummer of a movie, be far behind?

FTLOUIE: Oooh, how about we watch the high school seasons of Buffyon DVD? I just love the prom episode, when she gets the twinkly parasol…

SKINNERBX: Actually, I was kind of thinking of having a party.

Wait. A what? Did he say…PARTY?

FTLOUIE: A party?

SKINNERBX: Yeah. You know. A party. An occasion on which people assemble for social interaction and entertainment? We can’t really have parties here in the dorm because no one’s room is big enough to fit more than, like, eight people. But three times that many can fit in my parents’ apartment. So I figured, why not?

Why not? WHY NOT? Because we are not party people, Michael. We are stay-at-home-and-watch-videos people. Doesn’t he remember what happened last time we had a party? Or, more accurately, the last time I had a party?

And I could tell he wasn’t talking about Cheetos and Seven Minutes in Heaven, either. He was talking about a COLLEGE party. Everyone knows what happens at COLLEGE parties. I mean, I have seen Animal House (because it, along with Caddyshack, is one of Mr. G’s favorite movies of all time, and every time it’s on he HAS to watch it, even if it’s on one of those channels where they cut all the dirty parts out, which leaves it with practically no plot).

FTLOUIE: I am not, under any circumstances, wearing a toga.

SKINNERBX: Not that kind of party, you goof. Just a normal one, you know, with music and food. Next week’s midterms, and everybody needs to blow off a little steam beforehand. And Doo Pak has never been invited to a real American party before, you know.

When I heard this startling fact about Michael’s roommate, my hard, party-hating heart melted a little. Never been invited to a real American party before! That was just shocking! Of COURSE we had to have a party, if only to show Doo Pak what real American hospitality is like. Maybe I could make a vegetarian dip.

SKINNERBX: And remember Paul? Well, he’s back in the city, and so are Felix and Trevor, so they’re going to come over.

My heart stopped melting. It’s not that I don’t like Paul, Felix, and Trevor, all members of Michael’s now-defunct band, Skinner Box. It’s just that I happen to know that, while Paul, the keyboardist, is back from Bennington, where he goes to school, because of spring break, Felix, the drummer, just got out of rehab (not that there’s anything wrong with that, really, I’m glad he got help, but, um, hello, rehab at eighteen? Scary.). And Trevor, the guitar player, is back because he got kicked out of UCLA for something so scandalous he won’t even tell people what it was.

These are just not the kind of friends who, in my opinion, you want to come over when your parents aren’t home. Because they might “accidentally” light the place on fire. That’s all I’m saying.

SKINNERBX: And I thought I’d invite a bunch of other people from the dorm.

A bunch of other people from the dorm?

My heart stopped melting even more. Because I know what that means: Girls.

Because there are girls in Michael’s dorm. I have seen them in the hallways when I’ve gone to visit him there. They wear a lot of black clothing, including berets—BERETS!—and quote lines from The Vagina Monologues and never read Us Weekly, even when they’re in a doctor’s office. I know because I once mentioned seeing Jessica Simpson without her makeup on in this one issue and they all just looked at me blankly. They’re just like those girls from Legally Blonde who were very mean to Elle when she got to law school because they thought that just because she’s blond and likes clothes, she must be stupid.

I myself have encountered this kind of prejudice from these girls, since, being blond and a princess, they just automatically assume I must be stupid. I so know what poor Princess Diana must have dealt with every single day.

I do not think I could handle being at a party with girls like this. Because girls like this know how to act at parties. They know how to smoke and drink beer.

I hate smoking. And beer smells just like that skunk that Papaw hit with the station wagon that time we were coming home from the Indiana state fair.

What is Michael thinking? I mean, a party. This is so not him.

Then again, college is a time for self-exploration and finding out who you really are and what you want to do with your life.

Oh my God! What if he’s into partying now???? Partying is a very large part of the college experience. At least, according to all those movies on the Lifetime Channel in which either Kellie Martin or Tiffani-Amber Thiessen star as coeds campaigning to shut down the fraternity house at which their friend or roommate was date-raped and/or choked to death on her own vomit.

Which isn’t the kind of party Michael’s talking about. Right?

Wait. Michael’s parents wouldn’t LET him have a party like that. Even if he wanted to. Which I’m sure he doesn’t. Because Michael can’t stand fraternities, since he says he can’t help but feel suspicious of any heterosexual male who would pay to belong to a club that females are not permitted to join.

Speaking of the Drs. Moscovitz:

FTLOUIE: Michael, do your parents know about this? This party, I mean?

SKINNERBX: Of course. What do you think, I’d do this without asking them? The doormen would completely rat me out, you know.

Oh. Right. The doormen. The doormen in the Moscovitzes’ building know all and see all. Like Yoda.

And they babble about it like C3PO.

Still. The Drs. Moscovitz are okay with this? Michael having a college party in their apartment when they aren’t home…with Lilly there?

It’s just so unlike them.

Wow. I totally can’t believe this. Having a party with no parents around…that is a really big step. It’s like…grown up.

SKINNERBX: So you’ll come, right? The guys were trying to tell me there was no way you’d want to. On account of the whole princess thing.

!

FTLOUIE: The princess thing? What did they mean by that?

SKINNERBX: Just, you know. I mean, it’s not like you’re much of a party girl.

Not much of a party girl? What does that even mean? Of course I’m not a party girl. I mean, Michael is not exactly a party guy—

At least, he didn’t used to be. Before he went to college.

Oh, God. Maybe it would behoove me to indicate that I am not adverse to partying. Just the date-rape and vomit part.

FTLOUIE: I am TOO a party girl. I mean, given the right circumstances. I mean, I like to party just as much as the next girl.

I do, too. This isn’t even a lie. I’ve partied. Maybe not in recent memory. But I’m sure I’ve partied. Like at my birthday party just last year.

And okay, it ended in disaster when my best friend got caught making out with a busboy in the closet.

But technically, it was still a party. Which makes me a party girl.

And okay, maybe not a party girl like Paris Hilton is a party girl. I mean, I like Red Bull and all. Well, not really, since I drank one can from my dad’s minibar in his suite at the Plaza and it made me stay up until four in the morning dancing to the disco channel on digital cable.

But you know. Who wants to be like Paris, anyway? She can’t even keep track of her dog’s whereabouts half the time. I mean, you have to find a BALANCE with the party thing. You can’t party ALL the time. Or you might forget where you left your chihuahua. Or someone might release an embarrassing video of you, um, partying.

Limit the amount of partying—and Red Bull—and you limit the amount of embarrassing videos.

That’s all I’m saying.

SKINNERBX: That’s exactly what I said. Great! So I’ll talk to you later. Love you. ’Night!

SKINNERBX: terminated

Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?


From the desk of

Her Royal Highness

Princess Amelia Mignonette