The Princess Diaries

So then, after they were gone, I tried to show my dad how much better suited I am for life in Manhattan than in Genovia by ordering some really excellent food. I got us an insalata caprese, ravioli al funghetto, and a pizza margherita, all for under twenty bucks, but I swear, my dad wasn’t a bit impressed! He just poured himself another scotch and soda and turned on the TV. He didn’t even notice when Fat Louie sat down next to him. He started petting him like it was nothing. And my dad claims to be allergic to cats.

And then, to top it all off, he didn’t even want to talk about Genovia. All he wanted to do was watch sports. I’m not kidding. Sports. We have seventy-seven channels, and all he would watch were the ones showing men in uniforms chasing after a little ball. Forget the Dirty Harry movie marathon. Forget Pop-Up Videos. He just turned on the sports channel and stared at it, and when I happened to mention that Mom and I usually watch whatever is on HBO on Saturday nights, he just turned up the volume!!!

What a baby.

And you think that’s bad? You should have seen him when the food got here. He made Lars frisk the deliveryman before he would let me buzz him up! Can you believe it? I had to give Antonio a whole extra dollar to make up for the indignity of it all. And then my dad sat down and ate, without saying a word, until, after another scotch and soda, he fell asleep, right on the futon, with Fat Louie on his lap!

I guess being a prince and having had testicular cancer can really make a person think he’s something special. I mean, God forbid he should share some quality time with his only daughter, the heir to his throne.

So here I am again, home on a Saturday night. Not that I’m ever NOT home on a Saturday night, except when I’m with Lilly. Why am I so unpopular? I mean, I know I look weird and stuff, but I really try to be nice to people, you know? You’d think people would value me as a human being and invite me to their parties just because they like my company. It’s not MY fault my hair sticks out the way it does, any more than it’s Lilly’s fault her face looks sort of squished.

I tried to call Lilly a zillion times, but her phone was busy, which meant Michael was probably home working on his ’zine. The Moscovitzes are trying to have a second line installed so that people who call them can actually get through once in a while, but the phone company says it doesn’t have any more 212 numbers to give out. Lilly’s mom says she refuses to have two separate area codes in the same apartment and that if she can’t have 212 she’ll just buy a beeper. Besides, Michael will be leaving for college next fall, and then their phone problems will be solved.

I really wanted to talk to Lilly. I mean, I haven’t told her anything about the princess thing, and I’m not going to, ever, but sometimes, even without telling her what’s bothering me, talking to Lilly makes me feel better. Maybe it’s just knowing that somebody else my age is also stuck at home on a Saturday night. I mean, most of the other girls in our class date. Even Shameeka has started dating. She’s been quite popular since she developed breasts over the summer. True, her curfew is ten o’clock, even on weekends, and she has to introduce her date to her mom and dad, and her date has to provide a detailed itinerary of exactly where they’re going and what they’ll be doing, besides showing two pieces of photo ID for Mr. Taylor to photocopy before he’ll let Shameeka go out of the house with him.

But still, she’s dating. Somebody asked her out.

Nobody has ever asked me out.

It was pretty boring, watching my dad snore, even though it was fairly comical the way Fat Louie kept glancing at him, all annoyed, every time he inhaled. I had already seen all the Dirty Harry movies, and there was nothing else on. I decided to try instant messaging Michael, telling him I really needed to talk to Lilly and would he please go off-line so I could call her.

CRACKING: WHAT DO YOU WANT, THERMOPOLIS?

FTLOUIE: I WANT TO TALK TO LILLY. PLEASE GO OFF-LINE SO I CAN CALL HER.

CRACKING: WHAT DO YOU WANT TO TALK TO HER ABOUT?

FTLOUIE: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. JUST GO OFF-LINE, PLEASE. YOU CAN’T HOG ALL THE LINES OF COMMUNICATION TO YOURSELF. IT ISN’T FAIR.

CRACKING: NO ONE EVER SAID LIFE WAS FAIR, THERMOPOLIS. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOME, ANYWAY? WHAT’S THE MATTER? DREAMBOY DIDN’T CALL?

FTLOUIE: WHO’S DREAMBOY?

CRACKING: YOU KNOW, YOUR POSTNUCLEAR ARMAGEDDON LIFE-MATE OF CHOICE, JOSH RICHTER.

Lilly told him! I can’t believe she told him! I’m going to kill her.

FTLOUIE: WOULD YOU PLEASE GO OFF-LINE SO I CAN CALL LILLY????

CRACKING: WHAT’S THE MATTER, THERMOPOLIS? DID I STRIKE A NERVE?

I logged off. He can be such a jerk sometimes.

But then about five minutes later the phone rang, and it was Lilly. So I guess even though Michael’s a jerk, he can be a nice jerk when he wants to be.

Lilly’s very upset about how her parents are violating her First Amendment right to free speech by not letting her make the episode of her show dedicated to her feet. She is going to call the ACLU as soon as it opens on Monday morning. Without her parents’ financial support, which they have currently revoked, Lilly Tells It Like It Is cannot go on. It costs about $200 per episode, if you include the cost of tape and all. Public access is only accessible to people with cash.

Lilly was so upset that I didn’t feel like yelling at her about telling Michael that I chose Josh. Now that I think about it, it’s probably just better that way.

My life is a convoluted web of lies.

Sunday, October 5

I can’t believe Mr. Gianini told her. I can’t believe he told my mother I skipped his stupid review session on Friday!!!!