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
Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo
Dear Dr. Carl Jung,
I realize that you are still dead. However, things have suddenly gotten significantly worse, and I’m now convinced I will NEVER transcend my ego and achieve self-actualization.
First I find out I’ve bankrupted the student government and will shortly be killed by the small but extremely strong senior class valedictorian.
Then my short story gets rejected by Sixteen magazine.
And now my boyfriend thinks I’m going to a party he’s having in his parents’ apartment while they are away.
I can’t really blame him for thinking this, because I sort of said I would go.
But I said I’d go because if I said no, I’ll seem like a killjoy and non-party princess.
Of course, there’s no way I would even be considering going if I didn’t happen to remember that March is not a month in which Michael is allowed to broach the subject of S-E-X to me, since last month was his allotted time to bring it up. So it’s not like there can be any of THAT on his mind. You know, like, during the party.
Still. I will have to socialize with people I don’t know. Which I realize I do all the time in my capacity as princess of Genovia.
But socializing with college students is quite different from socializing with other royals and dignitaries. I mean, other royals and dignitaries don’t tell you all accusingly that your limo is a significant contributor to the destruction of the ozone layer, as oversize cars, such as SUVs and, yes, royal limos, cause 43 percent more global-warming pollution and 47 percent more air pollution than an average car, the way a girl in front of Michael’s dorm pointed out to me last week when I pulled up to visit him.
Could things possibly GET any worse?
I REALLY need to self-actualize. Like, right NOW. PLEASE SEND HELP.
Your friend,
Mia Thermopolis
Wednesday, March 3, Homeroom
In the limo on the way to school this morning, I asked Lilly what her parents could be thinking, letting Michael have a big party in their apartment while they’re away. She was like, “Whatever. Do I look like Ruth and Morty’s keeper?”
Ruth and Morty are Lilly’s parents’ first names. I think it is very disrespectful of her to call her own parents by their given names. I don’t even call them by their given names, and they’ve asked me to about a million times.
Still, even considering how long I’ve known them—almost as long as Lilly has—I can only call them Dr. Moscovitz. Sometimes I call them Mr. Dr. Moscovitz and Mrs. Dr. Moscovitz (but only behind their backs) when I need to specify one over the other.
But I’ll never call them Ruth and Morty. Not even when Michael and I are married, and they are my in-laws. They will always be the Drs. Moscovitz to me.
“They do realize YOU’RE going to be there, don’t they?” I asked Lilly. “I mean, at the party?”
“Duh,” Lilly said. “Of course. What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I just—I’m kind of surprised that your parents are letting Michael have a party when they aren’t home. It’s not like them. That’s all.”
“Yeah, well,” Lilly said, “I think Ruth and Morty have bigger things to worry about.”
“Like what?”
Only I never did find out. Because right then the limo hit one of those huge potholes in front of the entrance to the FDR, and Lilly and I both went sailing into the air and hit our heads on the sunroof.
So then Lilly made me go to the nurse’s office with her when we got to school, to see if we could get notes to get out of PE, on account of having possible concussions.
But the nurse just laughed at us.
I bet she would have given us notes if she knew they were making us play volleyball. AGAIN. Why can’t we ever do cool sports like Pilates and yoga, like they get to in suburban high school?
It’s so not fair.
Wednesday, March 3, U.S. Economics
Okay, so after what happened yesterday with the government money, I am fully going to start paying attention in this class now:
Scarcity—refers to the tension between our limited resources and our unlimited wants and needs
Some examples of resources we want and need, but which are limited (scarce), include:
Goods
Services
Natural resources
Funds for the rental of gathering halls in which to conduct senior graduation
Because all resources are limited in comparison to our wants and needs, individuals as well as governments have to make decisions regarding what goods and services they can buy and which ones they must forgo.
(For instance, a government might decide that what its population really needs are recycling bins with built-in can crushers inside and the words “Paper, Cans, and Battles” emblazoned across the lids.)
All individuals and governments, each having different levels of (scarce) resources, form some of their values only because they must deal with the problem of resource scarcity.
(If only Amber Cheeseman would learn to value recycling over giving the valedictory address at Alice Tully Hall.)