Duchess' Guide to Awful People

That awkward moment when your friend leaves you sitting next to the one person in the room that you can’t stand. The one person who starts to engage in conversation and you can’t decide if you would rather have a root canal at that very moment or an unanesthetized colonoscopy in a communist country. It’s a terrible feeling, really. As a duchess, you must avoid these people. They only bring you down. Here is a guide to the most obnoxious people forced to roam this spinning rock. If you can’t possibly avoid them because unfortunately they share your DNA or have entered your perfect life via marriage.... read on, kittens: 

1. “The couple.” The boyfriend/girlfriend that only go out together. The couple that only hangs out with other couples. That awful friend who has been engaged for 7 minutes and has used the word fiance 764 times. Yes, you are happy for them. It gets a tad annoying when every sentence starts with ‘we....’ ‘poor-bastard and I....’ ‘our car...’ ‘our house....’ Yes. Great. You’re a couple. Duchesses, don’t ever let go of your individual shine and superiority. In the world of women, be the Zsa Zsa Gabor, not the Tammy Wynette. Go out and buy yourself a new David Yurman ring to celebrate how incredible you are.

2. “The person who always plays: my-dick-is-bigger.” You know this person all too well.

Friend 1: “How are you?”

Friend 2: “Meh, I’ve been better. Finally finished that project at work and I’ve come down with a bad cold. How about you?”

...before you can even finish your tiny blurb about your own maladies and problems... 

Friend 1: “OH MY GOD. I KNOW. Since I have a harder job than you, my project was WAY MORE INTENSE AND TIME CONSUMING. I also have come down with pneumonia, asthma, type 2 diabetes, parseltongue, a painful menstruation, conjunctivitis, a bleeding ulcer, colitis and I have 4 planter’s warts on my feet. So I know exactly what you’re going through.”

..... Take a deep breath. Calm the urge to smack this over-exaggerating hooker in the face with the nearest blunt object. Simply voice your dearest condolences for her hard time and change the subject. You are a duchess, so this shouldn’t really ruffle your feathers. He/she is a pathetic twit and all is well. Finish your gimlet, pay your tab, and run.

3. “The borrower.” Repeat after me, people: “no.” Sometimes it’s ok to say no. 

‘No, you can’t borrow my brand new Christian Louboutin shoes.’

‘No, you can’t take my car for a 45-minute joy-ride because yours has no gas.’

‘No, you can’t borrow my new sweater and return it 4 months later covered in stains and smelling like stale vomit.’

 .... We all know this friend. Anything shiny of yours that they see, they need to have it. Maybe I’m a selfish person, but I work far too hard for my things to be handing them out like vegan activist pamphlets in front of a San Francisco McDonalds. 

4. “The Authority-on everything...” This is the friend that happens to believe that they KNOW EVERYTHING. Whatever you’re talking about, they have the answer. Pearl Harbor? They were there. Art History? Yeah, they have their PhD in it. Pink elephants? They breed them. Foreign cars? Their Uncle is CEO of Hyundai. Being annoying? Well, that goes without saying.

So we all can clearly visualize that one friend who is the God damn epitome of this repulsive breed. How can you deal? Flash your pearly white smile and nod. Keep nodding. You are a duchess, meaning you’re extremely perfect and educated. Keep allowing this fuck-nut to ramble about things that he/she has no idea about. As soon as they are finished, gently school them on all things they touched on. Do it in a kind and convictive manner, which should come easy to you. Then, smile at your head-scratching friend who is left dumbfounded by your brilliance, order yourself a Glenlivet neat and marvel at your perfected brain-rape. 

5. “The ass-kisser...” That person who would compliment you if you were wearing a shredded trash bag and a pair of mismatched Old Navy flip flops, yes the 2 for 5 dollar ones. They just have to kiss your ass no matter what, I don’t get it. It’s nice the first time, but it does get annoying. Appreciate the fact that you have a small fan club and be gracious. Hold the eye-roll until your back is to them and then you can quickly vacate the premises of said brown-noser. Nobody likes the friend who compliments your weight loss when all you can fit into are yoga pants and hooded sweatshirts.... or your new hair cut which you’re pretty sure looks like a bleached out Bieber cut. Alas, smile and nod ladies. 

6. “The sloppy drunk...” Ok, ok, ok... we all have our nights... Yes, I did wake up in a Foxwoods bathrobe one night next to a 20 pound bulldog named ‘Meatball’.... it happens.... It does get old having the friend who does that every night they’re out. They meander up to the bar, hopefully not hiccuping and without better judgment start pounding Long Island Iced Teas. Next thing you know they’re face planting in their 4-inch heels, flirting with the illegal, toothless bouncer and picking fights with the group of linebacker-looking girls across the bar. As a good friend you just have to make sure she gets home safe and that she gave you enough laughs/ Patron shots throughout the night to warrant your new babysitting gig. If it gets out of hand, have a talk with 'Lindsey Lohan.' Tell her to slow her roll before she starts decorating the walls of The Betty Ford Clinic and buying flare jeans that will fit over her alcohol anklet. 

7. “The man-stealer...” This makes me cringe just typing it. You know the scene. You start eye-fornicating with the hot brunette across the bar. He’s not creeping you out, but he’s making it known that he would like to have a fun make-out sesh/ play a little sexy time. Naturally, you casually escape to the ladies room where you’ll pee, redo your makeup, hoist your twins up, apply enough lip gloss to choke a small animal and dab some Marc Jacobs rollerball on your neck. You exit the bathroom and your man-stealing friend has her drunken mouth all over the hot brunette. Slopfest, party of two. Instead of grabbing her by her extensions and slamming her head on the marble bar, keep your cool. Consider the fact that she is a raging douche and there are probably 50+ other guys you can attack. 

8. “The cigarette bummer...” Isn’t it always the same girl who asks for a cigarette but never has her own. Why is this? 

Free loader girl: “Hey, do you have an extra cigarette?”

Friend: “Oh my God. Yes. You’re so lucky. The tobacco company accidentally gave me a malfunctioned box and instead of twenty cigarettes they gave me twenty-one.”

Why? Why? Why? Buy your own, doll-face. She will also most likely put your lighter in her pocket so be careful. Sticky mitts are dangerous.... 

Moral of the story: life is too short, and unfortunately we must learn to live with one another. Grow up, move on, and laugh it off. Life is too short to be anything but happy my darlings. That’s enough for a PMS rant out of me for one blog, enjoy my dears. 

Duchess' Guide to Sisterhood

My beautiful sister turned 25 today. The Pippa to my Kate has become a woman. I remember being a little girl and my mother would tirelessly repeat the same old: “Your sister is all you’re going to have someday.” Blah, blah, blah, take it easy egg-donor, we get it. We would laugh at her ridiculousness and let it roll off of our shoulders, but in a way, her words could never be truer. I admit, I’m not the easiest sister to have, and to be honest, neither is she. Maybe that’s what perfects our dynamic and makes it such a flawless assimilation of love, rage, laughter, and tears. 

As a duchess, we must accept these for what they are, fibrous essentials of our humanistic being. I love her for the raw feelings that she has no problem showing, and she loves me for the bipolar expression of my convoluted emotions. Yes, she ran me over in her hot pink Barbie corvette, and yes I did tag along to her junior prom and make out with the limo driver. Yes, she has been with me through every medical procedure from stitches to surgery. Yes, she does put her hair back and take her earrings out when someone gives me the tiniest tainted look. This, is why I love her so much. My love for her can be summed up in the Aristotelian definition of a friend: we are one soul, dwelling in two bodies, and I would not change that for the world.

Our relationship wasn’t always a friggin cake full of rainbows and smiles, rest assured. The sibling rivalry started at a young age. No matter where we went, people would marvel at her curly, gorgeous red hair. I would sit back and fumble with my jet black, pin-straight mess of hair that fell to the middle of my back: lifeless, boring, average. As I got older, I realized that her hair makes her who she is. There is not one man I’ve met, who has ever dated a red head, who would dare fuck with one. In simpler terms, my sister could make Lorena Bobbit look like a docile Easter bunny. Her hair truly makes her who she is. It is bold, daring, powerful. No half-wit with a personality of a Pez dispenser could possess the spark and fire behind those flowing crimson locks. 

It was so easy to sit side-by-side on the swing set, legs flailing, thoughts scattering, loudly mapping out our entire lives... but, our lives are nowhere close to that plan, and that is perfectly fine with me. So what? We’re not married. We don’t have children. We don’t have houses. Boo effing hoo. My sister is 25 and has life in her back pocket. She has a group of friends that would give her the entire universe, a family that loves her unconditionally, a man in her life that sees her for the true beauty and wisdom that she possesses, and a an innate desire to live life to the fullest and to embrace all that is vivacious and spirited. 

Enough with the trite cliches and gag-inducing emotional repetitiveness. It boils down to a sisterhood. We have each other in this world and there is not one thing that will ever come between that. Pippa, your life is just beginning. You are seeomg the strong and exceptional woman that I have always known you to be. You are realizing your flaws, your capabilities, and you are doing an incredible job at it. You are an inspiration to so many and a beacon of hope to the aimless wanderers. 

Our darling mother was right, you are all I’m going to have someday and I wouldn’t want it any other way. May the next 75 years live up to the first 25. To me, you are perfect. 

Duchess' Quick Guide to Waitressing

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The Duchess' Guide to #SocialMedia

So you survived the date without any tremendous mishaps, wardrobe malfunctions or gastrointestinal maladies. Even if you had a piece of eggplant in your teeth throughout the entire dinner, or your body broke out into an alcohol-induced rash (guilty of both), chances are, things could have gone a lot worse. You may not know him enough to parade him to your house for a Sunday dinner where he will be interrogated like a prisoner of Gitmo, but you’re pretty sure he’s not the Craigslist Killer. All in all, a success for the Duchess. 

Now, there are a set of unwritten rules about the post-date social media procedure. I have not encountered them so much on this island, but I have also run into people who still use Myspace, wear Abercrombie clothes and who rub their body in Patchouli oil. I’m not judging, it’s just scientific observation. Let today’s post be a little lesson for all. It is pretty much agreed upon that girls are more obsessed with social media than men. When I say obsessed, I mean they change their profile picture more times than their underwear and they tweet about every emotion they’ve ever had. 

Exhibit A: They Tried to Make Me go to Tweet-hab

@JaneDoe is getting her drink on with @randomgirl in the city tonight! #pretendingtogohogwildwhenillbegoinghomealone

@JaneDoe is SO pissed that it’s -5 degrees. Guess I’ll have to wear UGGS! #hopingsomanypeopleactuallygiveashit #UGGSareneveracceptable

@JaneDoe can’t believe what just happened on Glee.

#nosarcastichashtagnecessary

@JaneDoe is eating an egg white omelette with veggies and some turkey bacon!

#janedoeshouldrealizethatnobodyactuallycares

All in all, you get it. Girls are crazy (to-say-the-least). So ladies, if he adds you on Facebook or starts following you on Twitter... I hate to say it, but some lines need to be drawn. This comes from personal experience. So yes, the profile pictures I had from sophomore year spring break had to go. No future President wants his future First Lady sprawled out face-down on a beach with a Red Stripe in one hand and a variety of Mardis Gras beads in the other. I’m not saying you can’t get an intern position, but First Lady is 86ed.  You may also want to untag the pics of you playing Edward-40-hands in your best friend’s basement. It was all fun and games until one of you had to relieve yourselves (raises hand). 

While we’re on the topic of pictures, enough with mobile uploads of your dogs/cats. I will admit, I’m the biggest offender. My dog is essentially my child but I’m pretty sure no potential love-interest wants to see my Jack Russell Terrier in a princess gown. (Please message me if you would like to see it. I can email it to you! Quite the beauty queen!) I will bend the rules for the creator of http://foodonmydog.tumblr.com/. Please check it out, my darlings. The Duchess gives it an A+. The same animal rules do apply to cats. Honestly speaking, the only cat your man is interested in, would never be posted on Facebook. Meow meow. Purr purr. 

On to the next rule: please don’t start a poke war. It’s not cute. It’s irritating. It’s like ‘Hi, I’m thinking of you, most likely in a naughty way. I’m too much of a chicken to act on it, so I’ll virtually ‘poke’ you and hope you take it as an inappropriate gesture representing my desire to ‘bang-you’ in my backseat. Please poke me back and reaffirm my belief that we have an unspoken agreement.’ Enough said. No poking.

While we’re ripping apart our bad Facebook habits, stop posting those pictures with inspirational quotes and rainbows on them. THAT’S WHY THE SOCIAL MEDIA HIGHER BEINGS INVENTED PINTEREST. Go to town creating boards that will fill your empty soul with hopes of imaginary weddings/boyfriends/children and baking skills. 

Another general rule: if your status makes someone want to slit their wrists in a warm bath... don’t post it. Steer clear of country song lyrics, Marilyn Monroe quotes, excerpts from James Patterson novels and anything that a 19-year-old girl might get tattooed on her ribcage. 

Exhibit B: The Attention-Seeking Status Update

Jane Doe “The greater your capacity to love, the greater your capacity to feel the pain.”

-Let’s keep in mind that 17 people have probably liked it and every female in your life will comment saying... “what happened?” “Girl, you are so much better than him.” “Baby, let’s get drinks this week.” Enough. Go for a run or something. 

vs.

Jane Doe “So and so dumped me for a bridge-watching troll with rosacea and a G.E.D. Who wants to take me out for drinks while I rip him apart and hit on anything that walks by with a collared shirt and a pulse?”

-You will receive much more likes and comments I assure you. Your rate of rebound will be quicker and much more people will be interested in your Facebook posts. A win for the Duchess. Remember, no man is really worth any status update unless you’re trying to campaign for Ron Paul.

Exhibit C: The Painful Over-Share

Jane Doe “I’ve been sick for a week now. I can’t move. I just want to curl up in my bed and watch movies but I have so much work to do. I’m not a happy girl right now.”

-One minute of somebody’s life that you just took away from them. Most people would rather watch the ending of Steel Magnolias than relive the horror of that status update. What are you looking to get out of it? Do you want somebody to come over and do your work for you? Make you cookies? Blah blah blah.

vs. 

Jane Doe “I have been sick for a week now. Who wants to come over and we can watch the Food Network and take shots of Robotussin every time Paula Deen says the word “butter?”

-Wow. That’s better. You’ve really captured your reader, and who doesn’t like Robotussin and/or Paula Deen? Any lucky man in your life will be hand-feeding you Hall’s Sugar-Free cough drops and making you his grandmother’s Hot Toddy recipe. 

As hard as you will try to make it look like you wear pearls and cardigans EVERY DAY, you want to be honest. Nobody likes that person that untags every picture of them where they have more than one chin or pit-stains. Life is full of imperfections. The Duchess has the remarkable ability to own those. There’s a difference between being a full-blown fake and trying to cover-up your past of Jagermeister shots, hotel parties and keg stands. You don’t want to fool this guy into thinking that you’re the president of the International Relations Honor Society if you can’t spell ‘Israel.’

Lastly, don’t sugarcoat your intellect or verbal style for anybody. If you want to post something that will make George Carlin blush, I say go for it. Pictures are a little different, but the U.S gives us freedom of speech and please do not be afraid to use it. If your political rant about Newt Gingrich pisses him off, he’s not worth your time anyway. I’m not saying you should describe last night’s booty call in your status, but a little wit and cleverness will get you far in life. 

If he reads your updates and you realize that he does not comprehend them, then you must kick the knucklehead to the curb. It doesn’t matter if he has Joaquin Phoenix’s face on Jacoby Ellsbury’s body... if his brain is the size of a walnut, you want nothing to do with it. It will make you sad to see the sex-pot out of your life, but a duchess chooses a toned frontal lobe over a set of ripped glutes any day. You deserve the best, and it is within reach. At the end of the day, my cherubs, we are forced to live with our own decisions. Choose wisely, I know you will. Kisses. Until next time, my regal kittens.