What a HUNK! Notice me Charles....me...the girl through the screen...c'mon...you're staring right at me. UGH! You just missed me and caught sight of that Camilla woman. Shame. Now I'm doomed to be a nobody for the rest of my life and you get to play polo and have servants while I get to look for work and earn a pittance but pay 30% taxes so you can travel in a Bentley! BRILLIANT! Oh Charlie. It could have been us.

Dear Ethers,

Tonight I am going to an event where I’m meeting a Prince.  I can’t tell you anything about the red carpet itself (ARGHHH) but that’s not really what the post is about anyway.  It’s about the idea of royalty and a girl who just doesn’t understand the significance of its importance.

For days I’ve been receiving details about security, how to present myself to him when we meet.  Oh and his biography (AKA: a dissertation).  Ethers, you have to remember that I am going to be also interviewing celebrities that would be considered Hollywood royalty—people much more famous and significant than this blue blooded gentleman.  And you know what—all I’ve had to do is IMDB for research–easy.

Growing up as an American I’ve never understood monarchies.  I suppose I understood the tradition, but I never understood the money that they cost and the opulence that they lived in just to do…………what exactly?  I know there are a lot of royalists.  Though having lived in England, it tends to be the older generation that likes the tradition rather than the younger folks.  We just don’t get Liz and Charlie and Hot Ginge and Wills.  Yes, they bring a lot of money in for tourism and that’s great.  But, does that really compensate for the money they cost the taxpayer?  I want to go to China White’s for free and have my Chanel bag stuffed full of 50 pound notes from the taxes of the cleaner on Piccadilly Circus buying me Grey Goose on the rocks all night.  I want my face on porcelain sold in shops around tourist attractions so that people can admire me.  Why…because……well……..why?

I’m not just picking on England.  I just know the monarchy best there.  I really think it’s ALL so ridiculous globally.  I mean, look at the royal families in Saudi Arabia.  They literally have dolphins brought in for parties to be a novelty in their pools where they die afterwards from the chlorine.  They live so opulently, while most of the country is so poor that they wear boiler suits in 100 degree weather fixing roads for $1 an hour.   There are people living in such horrible conditions–in slums and Council Estates.  People who need rehab and don’t have the money.  But, the queen has a “Diamond as Big As The Ritz” that could probably pay for hundreds of her subjects to seek the help they need.  Yet it sits in a vault getting steamed every so often by a royal gem cleaner (another expense) amongst the other masses of jewels she probably doesn’t even know she has.

Monarchies are not today what they were once were.  Elizabeth the 2^nd ain’t no Elizabeth the 1^st and we know it.  So why the hell do we back out of rooms and bow to these old birds?  Why do lords and ladies get estates and benefits that hard-working folks don’t?

So I’ve been instructed that I must curtsy and when introduced say “It is a pleasure to meet you, your Highness.”  I’ve had to practice this several times with a straight face and then without stuttering because I just can’t spit it out.  Classy, right?  It’s wrong of me not to embrace that this is the way this country operates and I have to accept this man for who he is.  I guess running through my veins is the blood of an American with the history of men who signed the Declaration of Independence—a veritable death warrant for a democracy so they could break free from the reigns of a king or a queen.

I know I should be looking at tonight as novel and fun.  And I will—it will all be looked at with a grain of salt.  But in that moment when he comes to me, and I have to curtsy—it will be very serious.  That’s when it becomes real and that’s why this idea came to my mind for a post.

I’m sure a lot of you are going to defend royalty or maybe agree with me about the foolishness of kings and queens.  There are many people who would kill to be in my shoes tonight and would see it as an absolute honor to even touch this mans hands.  I’m just looking at the bigger picture.  The idea of whether or not royalty is a rotting appendage of society.  I’d love to hear your comments and thoughts about this topic.

LOL.  I’m just imagining him showing up in ermine, a crown and shoes with a diamond buckles.  I’m sure he’ll probably be wearing Armani.  Anyway….until then…..I must practice……..so………..how does this sound………….. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your (eeeeeeeeeeek) Highness?”  Not too bad, right?  I hope he doesn’t notice my chewed fingernails.  I have been going through a lot lately.  But I’m only human—and you know what, at the end of the day, DNA-wise, so is he.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

I'm not going to say much, because it'll ruin the story. But see this girl. She looks somewhat surprised, but not in a "I'm going to kill myself because someone shaved off all of my hair" kinda way. Well. This photo could have been me....but with a VERY different expression on ol' One of 365's face. Seriously---don't ever fuck with my hair.

Dear Ethers, 

OH MY GOD.  I have the CRAZIEST story to tell you.  Right.  So, you know how I’m always going on about my hair and its length.  I mean, by this time you know the diameter of each follicle.  But you also know how much I treasure it.  I swore the only way I would ever cut my hair is if I became destitute and it was the last thing I had to pawn to eat that night. 

So, I had straightened my hair for an event and had been wearing it down because I usually don’t take much care to make a fuss over it (you know, tying it in a messy bun etc…) and wanted to work my “do.”  I’m walking down the street and this woman comes up to me and says, “You have the most beautiful hair.”  Well, of course I was pleased and thanked her very much.  But she went on.  “Is that your natural color?”  I politely responded, “Yes, it’s my own.”  “So you don’t use any dyes at all?” Okay, now not only was I getting annoyed, but I was getting weirded out.  I said, “Look, I’m real busy…” and she cut me off and started telling me that she worked for this charity called “Locks of Love” and they were really desperate for donors because all of the salon owners were paying a fortune to girls and it was the recession. 

Now, I’m not saying I’m the most benevolent person in the world, but I do give to certain charities.  But they are ones that I choose and that I approach.  I make it a policy NEVER to give to charities on streets or on the phone.  I like to do my research on the net and donate via e-mail.  But regardless, where was this woman’s badge?  Who the hell was she?  And I’m sure “Locks of Love” didn’t have a bombard you policy that freaked young women out on the street.  

I calmly told her that I had no intention of cutting my hair and that I would appreciate her leaving me alone as I felt this was very inappropriate.  Now, a normal person would walk away.  Oh no, this lady got PISSED.  “Don’t you care about kids with cancer?  Women who’ve been burned and lost parts of their scalp?”  Did I mention I’m standing on a street where there were cafes and people were staring at us?  I just started walking away—but she followed.  I started to reach for my cell phone and my keys. 

And then I felt a tug. 

My whole body went numb and I swear to god for a second I thought she took out shears and lopped my hair off. 

I spun around and screamed at her to never fucking touch me again and that I was dialing 911.  I’ve never seen a skinny woman with a bob-cut run so fast in my whole life. 

When I got home I called “Locks of Love” and told them my story.  And Ethers, I’m not joking (and you might think I’m a pussy) I was crying.  I think they were afraid I was going to sue for assault charges.  But the truth is I didn’t have the woman’s name and they said they have so many volunteers that even with my description of her, it was hopeless. 

I think “Locks of Love” do a wonderful thing and I do not want to incriminate them for one woman’s insane breakdown.  But I have to tell you that I will never forget that moment.  I did wonder if that woman was really from “Locks of Love” because they told me that dyed hair WAS acceptable though bleached wasn’t.  And if the lady had cut my hair without it being in a braid or ponytail first she would have done it for nothing—they can’t accept it loose.  Oh and FYI, if you ever DO want to donate, your hair needs to be 10” tip-tip minimum (and they do request it to be clean, thank you very much).  

Later that night I took a shower, used my special Kerastase shampoo that I pull out for special occasions and my Redkin conditioner that is for VERY special moments, and lathered up grateful for something to still be attached to my head.  My waves re-appeared, and as my hair dried, up it went into its lazy bun happy to be protected.  I was just so happy to have given my OWN locks some love that night when it all could have been snipped away by some nutter with a bad bowl cut.  Sheesh.  Only in L.A. 

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365