Press Release: "Me and Ashley J" - Straight from Princess P

I escaped to go visit Miss Pia yesterday and we had an amazing day of sunshine to play with.  I have all sorts of interesting updates for you, but having caught wind of several rumors recently, Pia insisted that I publish this Press Release on her behalf in order to straighten out any "misunderstandings."  She also said that I wasn't to talk about myself or mention the fact that I rode for 2.5 hours without stirrups because apparently according to P I'm always bragging about "boring things" and droning on and on about crap "nobody wants to read anyway."  In fact, she informed me that she unsubscribed from this blog several months ago.

Anyway.  Without further ado:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE- 4/11/12 SEQUIM WASHINGTON
Generally I pride myself on my ability to stay out of the limelight and ignore what other people (and especially mares) have to say about me.  If you read every comment about every unflattering photo, your self esteem doesn't stand a chance and you can end up like those poor horrid beasts who eat nothing but their fence posts and blankets in an attempt to stay thin.  (awful, awful thing...).

damn photogs always snapping away at the weirdest times...

 But, taking a cue from my good friend A. Judd - wait, that's too obvious, I'll just call her Ashley J - I have decided to sit back no longer and talk about some of these horrible things that I've been hearing about where I am and what I've been doing the past 9 months.

I mean, it's a *little* puffy, right?

 Honestly, I think it's a shame that just because my hooves aren't polished and my mane pulled at every moment, people think that I've "ruined" myself.  What's more, that ridiculous human of mine keeps comparing pictures of me to photos taken when I was 4.   FOUR!  I'd like to see a picture of her when she was four.  Bet we could find a few extra rolls of something that she wasn't worried about back then...

This ridiculous notion of perfection that we bring on ourselves (and the mares are just as guilty as the judges ladies..) perpetuates a standard that is impossible to maintain if we're to live a healthy balanced lifestyle.  I don't think it's normal for a horse to spend all summer wrapped up in a screen window, or with silicon implants injected under pads on our feet.  (I mean really.  If you have to fill it.. its not a natural hoof.. And you can tell.  They don't bounce they same way when you trot... its just tacky).

So let me clarify a few things.  First of all.  I'm not in "rehab."  and it's not a "bootcamp" either.  Those are ugly words, used for ugly things that I am not dealing with.  If I had those issues, I can assure you I would own it.  I've been trying to think how to explain where exactly I am  (it's so damn chic it doesn't even have a sign, it's invite only and you have to just "know" what little discrete driveway to turn down, i love the anonymity).

How do you explain Neimen to someone shopping at Express? Can you? I mean, yeah there's "clothes" if you call disposable denim "clothing" but the two shopping experiences don't compare.  I can assure you that I am convalescing at the "Neimen" side of that metaphor. 

I guess it's like the Hamptons.  You know - where the fancy city people go out of their way to be "rustic" and "pastoral" while paying two (or three) times as much as necessary for everything.  The sort of place where even though you have a 2012 Range Rover you still ride a 1962 Schwinn to the ice cream parlor for an all natural snack?

That's what I'm doing.  And my human is paying out the nose for it. 

But you know what? it's fabulous.  There's this wonderfully quaint barn with straw (straw!) and ponds and fields that we all casually parade through.  The constraints of normal "city" life are gone.  No lessons, no meetings, no shifts in the outside paddocks.  Instead we have this free form day filled with fresh pasture, games and party after party after party.  Honestly, the social schedule is a bit exhausting, but if you want any shot at being in the right part of the herd, you've got to accept every single invite thrown your way.  It's brutal.

When I'm not taking advantage of the social calendar, I am exploring my own personal health and state of mind.  There's a fabulous spa that has been my saving grace.  Regular pedicures, massages, acupuncture and yoga (of some kind) have really changed my entire outlook on life.  I used to think that there was only "so much" grain and "so many" treats out there which meant that the more someone else got, the less there was for me.

But I've grown, and now I really understand that there are unlimited treats out there if you just open your eyes and your mind to trying new things.  (like kicking a ball, or playing in the ocean). With this extensional realization I've also let go of my ego.  I've been experimenting with my look and even stopped trimming my bridlepath a few months back.

The hippy thing isn't for me, so I had my mom get my mane under control and curry some of the left over mud bath out of me yesterday, but just know that I'm not that stuck up brat the media portrays me to be. I'm a mature, flexible, evolving being who is open to all sorts of lifestyles.

Untouched and without makeup...

Anyway, that's all I have to say about my appearance and my country house.  which leaves just one final rumor to address

"PeeToo"

I don't know what the hell a "peetoo" is, or why anyone would want one, but I can assure you I don't know anything about it, nor am I willing to condone the use of my name or my name's likeness without previously agreed to terms.

But honestly, it doesn't matter. I'm sure this "peetoo" is just a fad, and I'm sure that she'll get over the name thing.  I am P.  I am not P1, or the first P, I am just THE P.  People will figure that out.  They always do.  It's like when they called Britney Spears the "new Madonna."  Did that last? No.

Then it was Christina Agulaareaiairieieia (or whatever) she was the "new Madonna" for a while.  NOPE. Still not actually Madonna.

Now it's that chick who wears dead things and lives in an egg? They call her the "new Madonna"  But guess what.  There's only one Madonna.

And there's only ONE P. Me! THE P!
P1! or, damn.  I mean, JUST P!