Being royally screwed.

So, like all world officials, sometimes the Queen of the Universe makes a cardinal mistake. I made such a faux pas last night, as I was looking ahead to what today might bring. I knew it would be one hell of a day, and I happened to say that out loud. Words are tough; it's hard to take them back once they're out there. If you doubt this, ask Mel Gibson, Rush Limbaugh, or even the notorious Anthony Weiner. You can't unring a bell, or unpost a picture of your weiner.

In my state of being royally exhausted, I slipped. I voiced, aloud, my fear that today might royally suck. And, as the Universe would have it, I am not left disappointed.

But, like all humans, those royal, and those not, I have the opportunity to redeem this day. And, I plan to do just that.

After all, why not?

I woke up on this side of the dirt, and that alone is an opportunity.

But, before I move to redemption, let me share with you, my loyal followers, exactly how I managed to screw myself royally. This should serve as a lesson to each of you. Be careful what you tell the universe, because it is always listening.

If you tread carefully, in your Jimmy Choos, certain you will step in dog shit, pack some paper towels, because, "step in dog shit," you will certainly do. You have, by the magnetism of the Universe, drawn the shit into the radius in which you plan to meander. Such is the law of attraction. Think of shit, worry about shit, step in shit. It's not a twelve step program, it's only three. Easier to remember, and it doesn't require you to hang out in a church basement that reeks of Mister Clean and old-lady perfume.

Disclaimer: The Queen of the Universe means no offense to those older red-hat-wearing divas. You ladies rock! Keep up the good work.

So, remember these three steps. Memorize them, and use them wisely. But, if you do step in shit, call me, email me, Facebook me, Twitter me, text me, mail me a letter, or stop by the royal palace. I've spent years picking up after the royal hounds. I have more methods for cleaning shit out of Choos than we have philandering senators.

Impressive. I know.

So, back to getting what I wanted. And, you all need to read this, take it in, process it, and treat it as gospel. If you tell the Universe you're going to have a bad day, you'll get exactly what you wanted. Because, it's what you asked for.

Exhibit A: Your Queen was up until about 4:00 AM, bawling royal tears. This isn't a royal thing, it's an estrogen thing. Sometimes the floodgates just open, and it's best to let it all out. I left no one disappointed. I sobbed until I couldn't breathe, and when I was done, I looked like hell, and felt fabulous. Then I did it. I said it, I thought it, and I was royally screwed. I said I was going to have a bad day.

And, I have.

The alarm rang at 8:00 AM. I dragged myself from my queen size bed and shuffled to the loo. I passed the mirror, and turned. It's true what they say, we can't just pass by a train wreck, we have to look. So, I looked into the mirror, through swollen eyes, and the thing I saw there grimaced. Trust me, it was frightening. It made Linda Pearl, in full Exorcist throttle, look like Miss America.

I spit up some pea soup, dragged myself into the shower, righted myself to where I wouldn't get busted for crimes against humanity, and left the safety of my temporary home to face the world.

That's pretty much when everything went to shit.

I might have broken the law. It wasn't intentional, but I knew I was doing something wrong, and in my state of royal desperation, and with only three hours of sleep under my belt, I made an error in judgment. On this, I will not elaborate. If I'm arrested, convicted, and thrown in my sister's pod - God forbid - we'll call the press to do an article, and then you'll know the details. For now, take my word for it. I almost landed my royal ass in the slammer.

And, just when I didn't think things could get worse - despite the fact that I'd asked for it - I noticed the car keys in the console of the Chevy Blazer - part of the royal fleet - and, of course, the doors were locked. Thank God for Roadside Assistance. If you're a royal idiot, like I am, get Roadside Assistance. Two three-minute calls, forty-five minutes of standing in the hot sun, one fully-equipped tow truck, and your Queen was mobile again. And, in the interest of saving time, I asked the guy if he was interested in putting the royal Chevy on the tow truck today. This way I don't have to call him again next week.

So, moral of the story, my minnions.... be careful what you ask for.

Surely, you will get it....