An entry to make you all hate me.

You'd be surprised... I thought long and hard about this entry before I wrote it.

I even put thought into the writing style I would attempt to (ever so poorly) emulate with this entry. I�m going to flow loosely along with the style and rhythm of Wicked, as I�ve grown quite fond of it. I like using the word fond, and using the word �as� in place of for or �per.� Although �per� is one of those words that does serve a good purpose in making oneself sound more educated than they truly are. �Please complete these, per Michael,� sounds much more intelectual than, �Could you do this for Mike?� The truth being that I sound like a seventh grader when I speak, really doesn�t do much for exploding my intelectual ego. I know what I sound like... not even a seventh grader getting all As.

My vocabulary is indeed puny in comparison to that of Gregory Martin, but I will use this entry as a small form of hero worship, and emulate, in what my mind sounds like his writing. Flowing like a deep mysterious sea. There isn�t much deep and mysterious about me, so I�m sure this comes off quite flat. Riiight. In regards to the true point of this entry... �More reasons for my friends to hate me,� I mean, isn�t it particuarly pretentious to purpousely write an entry so that people will envy (read: hate) you? Well, I guess I�m the fuck pretentious, so here goes.

I like to brag. That�s just a part of me. I like to tell people about things I�m getting, things I�ve done, and things I�ve �conquored�. I�m like a boy in that way. Men enjoy talking about the legs they�ve managed to squeeze between, the awesome vehicles they pilot, and more than anything most men enjoy talking about themselves. I find myself talking about such things, mostly because I�m a pathetic, childlike woman who thrives on praise. I�m drifting from the point, as the purpose of this entry is to lift me up, not to focus on my shortcomings.

My 23rd birthday is only eight days away (YAY!) and I�m very excited about this. One would imagine that I'll still continue to look foward to birthdays well after my 30th. I beileve there will be a party, and all of my friends are invited. Well, no. All of my friends aren�t invited. I do want to enjoy this party, don�t I? There are a lot of people who I call friend, who aren�t people who I very much enjoy the company of, but that�s another story for another day, children.

Today is a day for gloating. I am spoiled rotten (apperently) and want to bathe myself in a shower of my own good fortune. Sadly, those of you reading this will be subject to hatrid and cursing my name. So be it.

Where do I start??

Oh yes. Well, many of my friends stated that they hate me because Frank and I are going away to Las Vegas in June. I�m obcenely excited, and must admit that if one of my chicadee friends told me that their sugary-sweet boyfriend bought them a fucking trip for their birthday, I would loathe the fact that she dared breathe the same air as me without being forced to pay for it with an excruciating pain with every breath... or something as equally dramatic.

So there�s that.

On January 31st, 2004, I will go to a spa. Oooh! I bought myself a spa package today, and come next saturday, I�m going to get all girlified. This type of expense rarely draws money out of my pockets, but it�s because I so rarely bother to get my hair styled or nails painted that Βm particuarlly excited about this event.

I will spend one hour getting an aromatherapy massage from a woman in New Jersey named Mary Frances. She will massage my hands and feet. She will paint my fingers and toes. Another woman will wash and style my deep (dyed) brown/auburn hair until it�s lovely and shines like the deep sea lit by the red, setting sunlight. Depending on if I still have spendable money on my birthday, I might even ask her to apply makeup to my face. I want to be pretty on my birthday. Like the little princess of pop I was born to be. I�ll have handmadiens for a day, and you have no idea how much that gets me off.

I�ll even wear socks.

All this makes me feel prettier even now, (which is scary, because I already have a sometimes over-inflated ego)

Yeah, yeah, I know. I�m already pretty. I believe this stronger than I let on, folks. I think I�m beautiful, but the thing is that women feel more beautiful with the aid of beauty �treatments.� The idea of getting a professional massage makes me all goey inside. I�m going to be one sexy bitch come next saturday. I�ll spend maybe, 30 dollars on a new outfit-- something involving a skirt or dress, and I�ll make myself so pretty that men will come in their pants just looking at me, and the glares of jealous women will come from far and wide, but they�ll be dantially averted by my delicate and expertly manicured fingertips.

Well, the truth of the matter is, that I�ll still be a silly little geek girl... the same one I�ve always been. But for a day I�ll pretend to be the Gemini I�ll never be-- elegent and popular with the popular crowd. Wearing popular clothing, and having radiant skin. I have no need to tan, �cause I�m already the fuck brown. I like my winter coloring. I hope I never get lighter than this, because that�d be kind of strange.

Well, it's almost closing time here, so I guess I'll be off.

Later!

Hugs and kisses,

Pam