Answerin' questions

Okay,

Updates a plenty!

Today is gajillion update day, aperently. I'm trying to pull together... Please bear with me.

Today is my 22 and 1/2 birthday. I'm this many *flashes hands twice, holds up two fingers one one hand, and bends index finger on her other hand* I'm getting older every day, man.

I'm obviously not maturing though, lol.

Okay, myheadspace asked me some questions, and I'm gonna answer them, so as I don't get bummed out that I'm gonna be 30 sooner than I'd prefer.

how'd you get into astrology?
Umm... I don't remember, actually. I have always remembered peoples birthdays by their sign. Even when I was a kid, I could tell you that my mom was an Aquarius Pisces cusp pop pop was a libra and my best friend nicky was a gemini. It's the only way I can remember when to buy peoples birthday gifts most of the time. Even if I'm really early, I still remember that I've gotta get people their presents, and I get people's gifts on time, lol.

I've had an interest in knowing how to do charts since I was about 12 or 13, because I started reading these books about astrology that had lots of detail. They each discribed my personality to a T. Not even in that, "This could really apply to anyone," way either. They were specific notes of my personality, and it facinated me that there was a "science" outside of psychology, that could explain people's behavior.

I do look at astrology as an offshoot, or even a supplement to psychology. I mean, I can explain to any one of my friends why they thought something was a good idea, when their idea was self destructive and stupid. I think astrology has truly assisted me in being a more understanding friend. Doing the charts of the people close to me has given me all sorts of crazy insight into why they react to things in certian ways, and even more so, why they like me.

I'm always amazed that sun signs (the sign we look up in the newspaper for our daily horrescope) mean so little in the grand scheme of things.

are you into anything else, like tarot?
Meh. I tried tarot cards, but I think it's really just kind of random. I don't have too much faith in something that just involves shuffling cards. As crazy as it sounds, I have faith in astrology. I know it works, and I know it has meaning.

Tarot just seems like a game to me.

I tried the Wiccan faith for a while. Astrology was in the new-age book section, and so were the wiccan books. So since I was all into astrology, I thought that the god and the goddess were the way for me to go. Plus, I was living with gabi, and she made wicca sound so damn cool that I wanted to give it a go. I was totally refreshed by the approach of wicca and paganisim, but the religon itself wasn't for me. The approach of wicca is generally, "Do your own thing, just don't hurt anyone else in the process" which I like, because I dislike being told what to do. I'm not terribly fond of too much structure, especially in something so personal as beliefs. You can coax me, you can explain things to me, you can even offer your opininon-- I welcome opinions, but don't fucking tell me what to do. I'll totally tune out everything I hear, and will gladly continue doing whatever I'm doing.

I mean, people have been telling me to stop being an asshole for years! Look at me now! :-D

So with the whole wicca thing I was like, okay I can do this however I want. I liked the idea of spells for healing, because I looked at them as holistic remedies, and at the time I was going through a big "I don't need no stinking medicine," phase. I'm a big sucker for candles too, so it was astetically pleasing to be wiccan. Good smelling candles everywhere, incense, beautiful stones, and pretty garb. Where could I go wrong? Oh yeah... it's a god-based belief system. That's where it all got fucked up for me. I just didn't believe in it. I'm not too much of a "God" woman. I have a difficult time believing that there's a being somewhere controlling my will.

Don't get me wrong-- sometimes I really think I'm wrong and I'm going to go to a deep dank hell filled with a bunch of other wrong motherfuckers, but for the most part, I can't get with anything that has a god.

Then there's numerology. I think numerology is fun, and it's astrology-like, but I honestly don't know enough about it to have a strong opinion. More research must be done.

Another thing that I tried, and read about, was palm reading. Palm reading kind of scares me, mostly because there's a life line. I don' t really want to know when I'm gonna die. For a while I was kind of tweaked out on wheather the feathers in my lifeline meant I was going to be paralyzed by the time I was the age I am now. Actually, I've had two near death experiences, both of which didn't really have any long-term effect.

Fun!

you may already know this because it's in there somewhere, but from reading my diary, what sign would you guess that i am? if you cheated and looked at my sign, do you think it fits?

I don't remember reading your sign, but I'm gonna guess. You totally strike me as a Saggitarius (I always spell that one wrong, sorry.)

Your loathing of feeble minded people, your passionate world views of equality and democracy-- and your attention to detail are all very sag-like traits. You're also quite a free sprit- and an experimenter. Yay you!

You also looove to travel, which is a huge sag trait.

My second guess would be scorpio, but I'm not as firm about that one, as you don't show many scorpio-like traits. You're passionate, but not in a scorpio type way. Maybe I'm wrong.

Yay!

Love and adoration,

Pam

Written, Thursday, Jul. 31, 2003 at around: 12:57 PM

Moving backwards...

What the fuck, man.

And here I was thinking it was 2003. Whoops, I forgot-- it's 1963!

Next thing you know, I'll be riding the back of the bus, and drinking out of the "colored" water fountian, and I'll be shot for dating my boyfriend.

God forbid someone finds out I like girls too! I'm a total greedy, hellbound, negro bitch. And I mostly vote democrat! Wholy hell, batman, better send me to jail.

Fuck all that! I don't like colored water.

Love and adoration,

That pissed off N-word Pam

Written, Thursday, Jul. 31, 2003 at around: 12:11 PM

Bummed... back at work-- but that's not why I'm bummed.

Fuck beans,

I really can't concentrate. I was doing well this morning, but I think it's time for a little break.

*warning*Yo-- this entry is probabaly going to be a bit depressing... read on if you want, but don't say I didn't warn you.../*warning*

What a week this is turning out to be! Sex, death, and rock n' roll.

My grandfather died yesterday afternoon. Needless to say that sort of broke the euporic high that was a day off of work. I'm very sad, but I'm handling this very well. Even though I've been crying, and I felt myself sounding -really- depressed in conversation last night, (god forbid! Pam doesn't ever sound depressed!) I'm still okay.

See, I've known a bunch of people who've had a grandparent die, and it didn't bug them too much. Mostly because they weren't all that close to their grandparents, or they died when they were little. This whole loss of my pop-pop is really a thorn the ass of my emotions, because my grandfather was honestly my favorite family member. I loved him *perhaps* more than my mom, who I love very much. She's worth loving even if she is a crazy beeatch... and trust me, she's crazy.

I have tons of great memories with Mister James Henry Newman, and I won't be able to make anymore... ever. That's really a bummer, dude.

I remember being little, and chilling out with him in his room, while he told me stories about being in World War II, and stuff about when my mom was a little girl, and how very bad she was. He would sit on the edge of the bed, and I'd sit on the floor and go through the drawers in the end table next to the bed, and ask him what stuff was. There was this big ass drawer filled with hundreds and hundreds of pennies. I'd play with them, and count them until he told me to put the damn pennies at me. You know, he never ever cursed at me, or even about anything until I was at least like 15. Even when I did stupid shit, he still tolerated me.

My pop-pop was a totally awesome, patient man. Well, he did yell a lot before he started gettiing all uber-old. He'd yell at my mom (a lot), which was kinda funny in a way. He'd yell at stupid people who presumed he had no money, or was stupid. I think I get my attitude problem about people thinking I'm stupid from him. I must have heard him say, "They don't think I know, but I know what I'm talking about! Feh!" Mmm hmm, that's pop pop for ya. That, and the severe alchoholisim, lol-- my pop pop used to drink corn liquor. CORN LIQOR, that shit is like a hundred and seventy proof or something. I have an alright alchohol tolerance, but I think that shit would kill me. Ew.

He served in the war, supported his -black, 1950's- family very well, and they never wanted for anything. He loved his crazy-ass wife, and took good care of her.

I was his favorite grandkid. There's no questioning that. A couple of weeks ago, I was at my grandparents house, and my mom and I were installing a new air conditioner in pop-pop's room. We needed some tools and stuff, so I had to go into the basment and find nails and a hammer. While I was down there, I remininced of how pop pop used to chill out in the basment, making... things. He made a lot of, well, things, and fixed his carborator, and charged the four batteries he always seemed to have for his truck, and made charcoal grills, and additions for the church, and .... things.

Sometimes I'd sit down there with him, and watch him make stuff. I'd ask a ton of questions like little seven year olds do, and somehow after three kids, and two other grandkids, he still had the patience to answer my questions. He even had paticence enough to let me help fix things sometimes, and have me get stuff for him. That was fun. Other times, I'd just ignore that he was fixing things, and I'd just play with my teddy bears or dolls in the basment, while he and mom talked, or while mom sat upstairs, and pop pop did his fixin' thing. He kinda liked my goofy company.

Anyway, I was in the basment, and I saw a picture of me from when I was like seven or so near his workbench. I've seen it a bajillion times, 'cause it's always been there. I looked at it and started crying, because it made me think of how when I first got this office, I brought pictures with me, and the first one I put up was of my pop-pop. Then it kinda dawned on me that he was probablly never gonna see that picture ever again. Well, I was right, huh?

I was also right about something else. I've had a lot of presumtions and preminintions in the past couple of weeks. I predicted that as shitty as this work project is going, that it'd still get out by deadline, even though no one believed me. I told my mom that she wasn't really sick-- guess what? She's not. I predicted that the day I took off of work to relax and recharge my mental health batteries, would be the day my grandfather would die. Guess what? I took off work yesterday.

That's kinda fucking with me. I mean, I don't feel like it's my fault that pop pop died, I mean he was a really ooooold man, but geez, I could have waited until today to take off work or something... I dunno.

Such a nice old southern man ... well, okay, let me not shit you guys, he was a nice guy to me, but he had a fucking attitude problem with people who thought he was poor or stupid. Like me, lol. He liked to argue, and yell, which was fun sometimes. He'd have me get the glass for his coctail, and he'd totally fuck up some gin and ginger ale on ice. When I was smaller, I remember him drinking beer occasionally, but he prefered straight liquors.... Beer wasn't quite his cup of tea lol. He had a thick southern accent, and always smelled nice. Except while he was still smoking, I hate ciggerettes so much. He'd wear like, old spice, or whatever old black men wear. It smelled nice.

Well, now he's dead, and I'm gonna keep on living. It's kind of like a weight on me. It was scary yesterday-- I felt alone. I mean, I'm not alone at all, there are lotsa people who I like, and who like me back-- I have friends, and if I really want to make the effort, I have family that would give a damn. It's just really, really sad... because my grandfather was my last grip to someone resembling a father-figure.

Dad? Well, I don't know him. Step-dad? Dead. Grandad? Dead. Well, I'm pretty much 0-3, and it's about time to just throw in the towel, man.

I had really, really, cried about pop pop being sick for longer than I'm admitting to anyone... well maybe I'll talk about it when I'm ready. I'm making a prommise to myself right now not to be really bummed out, because then I'll be all teary and depressed... and I don't eat. That's no fun. I'm going to go out of my way to just be me, and worry about being upset in a few weeks or so. I realy can't cry anymore. I have everyone else to worry about, dude.

So on to my next quest, folks.

Pam