Friday, 14 June 2013

Princess Syndrome: Terms of Endearment of Entitlement

I totally unleashed the power of Kali on a local yoga teacher in my last blog. As expected it received very polarized feedback. On one hand I was accused of being mean, yet I received thanks for being brave and speaking up on another. That single dose of 4+ years of accumulated discontentment of Miss No-forehead (click here for details) and the inaction of my ex-peers was evidently potent like hell.

Strong emotions evoke strong emotions.

I do not hold back when it comes to assholes. I'm nasty and mean to people who are nasty and mean. They don't deserve tender loving care from Sarcastic Yogi or even their own mother. We've already established that unconditional love, from a mother or whatever, simply doesn't exist. Admit it, y'all secretly love it when I'm nasty and mean, even though y'all gasping, cringing and biting your nails. I'm awesome when I'm nasty and mean. I'm sexy when I'm nasty and mean. But lets not turn this into a pervy blog, regardless how much y'all want it.

In short, could I have used a softer tone? Yes. Do I regret telling the truth? No.

I consider this blog somewhat the continuation of my last one, except I will not shit on Miss No-forehead or some asshole guru named John who has no testicles... ok, well, I shall try, but fecal matter is part of nature and I can't fight mother nature. We all burp, fart and shit. Does Hugh Jackman burp, fart and shit? Hell yeah! Did Marilyn Monroe burp, fart and shit? Of course she did! Does Mariah Carey burp, fart and shit? Well, not as much as she should, considering she always looks so bloated and constipated while posing with butterflies and rainbows and some other crazy shit. When mother nature wants me to burp, fart and shit on the object of my affection... I can't help it as I am simply a weak little man. I'll spew out what comes naturally.

My point is, we all prefer things "endearing" and think we are entitled to (fill in the blank).


The first time I read about "Princess Syndrome" was in an article about dating in some Asian magazine, which it described some common traits in un-date-able women's personality. A woman who has "Princess Syndrome" typically sees herself as the best thing since the opening of MacDonald's and she is the center of the universe. She is deluded in thinking she's a princess and she has every right to poo poo on everyone else. She claims all credits but no responsibility. She is high-maintenance but highly dependent on others to maintain for her. She is never wrong. More importantly, everyone else is subservient to her and must focus on her unconditionally. Everyone must cater to her wants and needs, regardless of their level of absurdity. "Princess Syndrome" can be best described by these three words: me, me, me.

Sounds familiar?

Some even suggest "Princess Syndrome" is the manifestation of some reverse sexism and relevant to certain gender-based characteristics. For the sake's of my safety and my disagreement with such an argument, I'll leave out the gender-based arguments, sexism and all the fun stuff. "Princess" will be a hermaphrodite in this blog. Let's face it, we all know men can act like princesses... actually, we all know at least one person, male or female, who acts like he/she is a princess. My nephew is a princess in the making and he's probably the most high-maintenance 4 year-old on this planet. I don't have the heart to make him a feature on my blog, but I surely hope my sister will do something about it soon.

There are a lot of princesses around you.

My first roommate had "Princess Syndrome". Back then I wasn't as wise and gentle as I am today. We barely made it to our one-month anniversary before we went our separate ways. According to her, I was wrong for having trouble with her giving her asshole boyfriend the key of our apartment without my consent. I kicked her sorry ass out. But my cousin has probably one of the most severe cases of "Princess Syndrome". It all began with Aunt Miranda's unapologetic and illogical overuse of terms of endearment on her son Cousin Steve since he was a child. Aunt Miranda would praise and reward him for trivial things like growing a zit or getting a haircut. Cousin Steve got worse as he got older. He demanded to have two bedrooms in the house while his two sisters had to share one. He only wore custom made shirts with his own initials on them, and of course he had to have a BMW when he turned 18. One time we went out for dinner for his sister's birthday. Cousin Steve had a bitch fit in the restaurant because the birthday cake wasn't for him and he couldn't blow the candles. (To find out more about Cousin Steve and shit my family says, click here to my other blog. I promise it will resonate with you.)

Before you get your panties in a bunch... yes, positive reinforcement is key in a child's development. If I had received it from my mom, I would've been a much bigger slut than I am today. I might even be a porn actor (a *star* may be a stretch). Dang it, I could've been the King of Porn!... Yes, could've been but didn't... anyway, I also want to acknowledge the importance of self-love, masturbatory and otherwise. It helps cultivate a person's well being. As the most beautifulest woman RuPaul put it: honey, if you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?

However, self-absorption is not self-love. You are self-absorbed when you seriously believe that you are the center of the universe, and only think of you, yourself, your wants and needs regardless of the situation. Bitch, please. We have all been in that state. It becomes a problem when you stay there too often too long, and when your wants and needs become ridiculous demands, like Mariah Carey's request for a chauffeur for her dog.

Throw in a sick sense of entitlement, a princess is born.

Pinky Bombmaker's sister is another classic case of Princess Syndrome. She hasn't had a real job since I met her. I think she decided to quit her last job and go on social assistance because work is hard. Pinky Bombmaker is one of my closest friends, so I'll spare his useless princess of a sister from skewering in this blog.

Before I get carried away, we should at least acknowledge the sick and false sense of entitlement amongst princesses. In my opinion, that is the signature of a princess.

Rewind some more...

I am not and I don't claim to be an expert or well versed in that whole university students riot thing in Quebec in 2012. They protested about the tuition hike of post-secondary education. But I do know even after the tuition hike, they still pay way less than the rest of the country. In fact, many have paid much more than the Quebec students for many years. We, non-Quebecois, never went to the streets with pots and pans and burned cars. But those Quebecois rioters apparently had a bitch fit when they were brought closer (not back yet) to planet Earth.

When you're so used to the undeserved royal treatment and have such a sick sense of entitlement, and when reality sets in while your faux pas royal status gets revoked, you are in for a whole lot of pain and disappointment.

Fast forward...

The sick and false sense of entitlement is unfortunately too ubiquitous and has created too many princesses. I remember a woman who was on welfare, complaining on a radio show that her social worker didn't allow her to have a cat. When the host told her she shouldn't take on new dependents because she couldn't even look after herself, her reply was "I am entitled to own pets. It's my rights." Oy vey.

You see, princesses can be on social assistance, too.

I really don't have much more to say. There are simply too many of them: some asshole guru named John who has no testicles, Miss No-forehead, Crusty Nono Myass... all have Princess Syndrome.

This is a fucking pandemic. I get tested everyday to make sure I don't have it. You should do the same.

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