*yawn* sleep?

Hi,

I'm updating now because I didn't earlier today. In my own wacky little world, I feel like I've done some great injustice to the world. I totally haven't, but does that matter?

Let me answer that with a question: Do I give a fuck?

Guess not.

I am so fucking tired right now. Going through the effort of writing this is so un-worth it.

Okay, this was a bad idea. I'm going take a shower and head off to bed now. Goodnight!

Love and adoration,

Pam

Written, Thursday, Aug. 14, 2003 at around: 4:19 PM

I'm a little crazy

Hey-

ed�i�tor: n.1. One who edits, especially as an occupation. 2. One who writes editorials.

Latin: publisher, from Latin editus, past participle of edere, to publish.

spe�cial proj�ects ed�i�tor: n.1. Entry level workhorse. 2. One who does what no other in department or office has a desire to accomplish, especially as a profession.

synonyms Data Entry Clerk, One Step Above Intern, NFG (see New Fucking Girl, also Fucking New Girl), Communications Major Dropout, Former IT Professional.

I really like my job, and I�m grateful to have it, but sometimes I think whoever created the title for my position was really too compassionate. Lets be real, I�m a glorified data entry jockey who gets to do research for projects that someone else takes credit for. I do edit stuff occasionally, and it�s never stuff will be published. The few things that I am asked to write will never be published either. That�s fine, but I feel bad when I have to explain to people that I don�t actually write any articles for our magazines. This position barely necessitates a title including the word, �Editor.�

Talk about a good kick in the ass of my ego.

Our poor subscribers who think I actually do something important... I feel bad, we�re tricking them with every issue we publish from here on in.

It�s a great title, because I don�t have to elaborate about my position when meeting new people. They go, �Oh, you�re an editor? That�s great!� Sadly, people occasionally ask, �What kind of articles do you write?� That just sucks. I guess that�s how strippers feel when people ask what theaters they�ve performed at or what groups they�ve performed with. It�s a minor kick in the ass if anyone really gives a damn about what you do all day.

Oh-- For the record, I did drop out of El University. One day I�ll go back... one fine day.

Well, I believe that my allergic reaction to air conditioning has been irritated again. For the past couple of days my sinuses and throat have been annoying my immune system. Those bastards have been fighting back and forth like angry teenagers for a couple of days. It�s starting to get so bad, I�m going to call the cops if the damn kids don�t stop arguing! Can�t we all just get along? I mean, damn.

Go-home time is approaching, and I�m very excited about that. Today Frank and I are going to Veterans Stadium and watch the Phillies play against the Brewers. Yay Philly, boo Boston! Not that I really have anything against Boston as a city. Boston is actually really nice, and has a rich cultural history... but I�m a Philadelphian, therefore I hate all that is not of Philadelphia. Well, that�s true in regards to sports, anyway.

Napco gave (I use the word �gave� very loosely) all of us employees tickets to go see the game tonight. I�m excited. There�ll be dollar hot dogs. How kick ass is that? I love when stadiums have food sales on special days. You can�t beat dollar hot dogs with a stick, man. Not like literally, and I guess you could beat a dollar. Free is even better! Sarah (a co-worker of mine... she�s in the glossary, use the link in the drop down field to the left) and her boyfriend are supposedly going as well, which should be fun. I like Sarah, she�s nice.

So fun will be all over the place.

Then tomorrow, we (we= Frank and I and uh, all the gamestoppers lol) are gonna go see Jason vs Freddy. Um hello? Fun! Yes, that�s this week, folks. There may or may not be a trip to Outback Steakhouse on sunday, pending my mom�s financial situation. It�s weird having people ask me for money. It�s like driving up to a homeless person and asking them if they�d like to have their shopping cart shined up a bit. Then you�d have to just shine it up anyway, and hold your hand out for a suggested donation.

Yes, just like that.

I love doing things, man. That�s a really asinine statement, but it�s true. I spent most of the year so far kinda broke, and I could only do things when other people were doing things. Now I can decide when to go do stuff, and even plan the stuff that is done. How rockin� is that? Pretty fucking rockin, my friends. Pretty fucking rockin�. This financial surplus isn�t that huge at all, and it�s not going to last very long either. Next week I�ll be pretty broke, and I�ll have to pay my rent, and the dreaded upcoming cellular phone bill *insert dramatic music, duh duh duhnnnnn* meaning that the two weeks after next friday won�t be nearly as fun, but that�s okay.

I�ll have more money in september!!! Maybe I can finally get serious about planning a trip to go somewhere. I had the awesomest idea (yes I used awesomest in a written sentence, it�s a fun not-word, okay?) to plan a trip to las vegas for new years. It�s really, really soon, but I might be able to pull it off. I haven�t gone anywhere special for new years in forever. Even if it�s completely financially unsound to plan a trip to vegas for new years, I have every intention of not being in philadelphia for new years, even if I have to go LA or New York again. LA is the only city that ever made me physically sick just by showing up there. No thanks. I love new york, but that�s not the greatest new years spot after you�ve done it once.

Well, that�s not true. I�d do it again, but not alone, lol! Too many drunken white people all in one crowded spot for my pleasure. Hey, drunken white people- I like you as individuals, you�re very fun, and like to dance. I can not seem to work out liking a huge crowd of you guys, though. Seriously, you guys don�t have a great track record. The KKK, the Aryan nation, Alabama, and the Bush administration are all proof of what can go wrong when a buncha drunk white folks get together.

I�ll pass.

So I�m sorta sick. It sucks, because I only feel ill when in heavy air conditioning. That sucks, because it�s hot as the balls of a fat man in a sauna outside. I�d much rather sweat than feel crap all day, and this is coming from miss, �I hate the summer.� I went outside to buy my lunch this afternoon, and the heat was horrible, the sun was beaming down and burning my skin, but I�ll be damned if my head cold didn�t go away.

I�m not feeling particularly damned, so I must be okay.

This just kind of confirms my presumption that I�m allergic to air conditioning. I slept without the air on last night, and I slept really comfy, and didn�t feel horribly sick when I woke up. On the nice cool bus in the morning, I felt like crap. Here at work, I feel like crap. That sucks, because feeling like crap sucks. Sorry, I�m not all here today. I�ve blown my nose one time too many. My brain is starting to leak out of my sinuses, molecule by molecule, and soon I�ll be brainless, and filled with snot.

Okay, you know what? I think this entry is over.

Love and adoration,

Pam

Written, Wednesday, Aug. 13, 2003 at around: 12:50 PM

Kara-rican-oke!

Hello human beings,

It�s a lovely Hump Day lunchtime here in Center City Philadelphia. Lovely as in it�s nice to be alive, not lovely as in it�s beautiful outside. It�s quite miserable. So miserably sticky and humid, in fact, that you can actually see the air.

Ew.

I have a bruise on my back, because I fell asleep on my cell phone last night. My throat is also a little sore, and I think it�s from uber-smoke inhailation last night. Oooh, last night... fun. :-)

Warning: This is a long entry, but it�s pretty detailed about yesterday�s Karokeness.
Suggestion: If you don�t know me, read the glossary and look up Frank, Darrell, Ileana, Ali, and Trice so you know who the fuck I�m talking about.

Well, karaoke/Illy�s send off was awesome last night. There hasn�t been so much laughter in one place in a very long time. Frank came!! And he brought Darrell, which was fun. Okay... story time.

So Illy comes by my house, and I tried my best not to get all sad and/or mushy the entire time, because last night is more than likely the last time Ileana and I are gonna get to hang in a really long time. Everything we said lead to some thought like, �This is the last time that we�ll be able to...� in my head.
�This is the last pizza slice Illy�s gonna have in a really long time!�
�This is the last time Koi is gonna attack Illy�s feet until after she�s 23!�
�This is the last time Illy is going to join us for karaoke for like a year!�
�This is the last time I�m going to see Illy drink in a really long time!�
�Illy is going to have her next birthday in a different country!�
I was a little bummed out. I�m gonna miss her goofy ass... and the rest of her too.

FYI: Illy is moving to Japan soon to teach people the difference between wear and where ... AKA: she�s gonna be an english teacher. That�s very exciting! Yay Illy!

We grabbed a pizza (her last pizza!) and watched family guy (her last dvd viewing at my apartment!) until it was time to roll out to the Gabi, Ali, Latrice (I don�t know what trice�s blog page is anymore...) household.

When there, we sat in the kitchen, shot the shit and drank the mudslides that were prepared for that very shit-shotting. We (Ileana, Allison, Latrice and myself) chilled for a bit and gabi, who I didn�t even know was home, came downstairs and mysteriously needed to make pizza. Gabi is not-quite-so-subtle in that funny way.

So it was leave out time! All the ladies of karaoke strolled from Gabi�s house to go wait for the bus and let Ali get her smoke on before we gave up on the bus, and hit the subway. While standing there, a large niggle of negro children- perhaps ten or twelve, all male, scurried from the depths of the subway. They seemed to materialize behind us- like ninjas! It was scary. Just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared. We got back to talking about nothing inparticular, in that female way, and some guy yelled something inappropriate. The voice shouting sounded familiar, but I didn�t turn around until Illy pointed.

Lo and behold, it�s Frank and Darrell! Yay! Well holy fucking shit, the party�s on tonight motherfuckers! That was so awesome! Quick recap, FYI: Mix 3 water signs and 3 air signs together in a party, and there has to be fun. Two Pisces, one scorpio, two Libras and an Aquarius? That�s a pre made party. Illy, Latrice and I are all of various �minority ethnicities�, and Miss Alison-- for a white girl, baby got back. Four girl asses plus two guys in one non-vanlike vehicle doesn�t always work out so that everyone gets a seat. How nice was it for Frank to give everyone a ride? Very. After an interesting ride through South Philly to Center City, we managed to make it to the bar.

Yay!

Everything was so fun! There�s no decent place to begin or end last night�s tale of entertainment. Frank and Darrell refused to sing, but that�s fine, because not many sober, straight men sing karaoke. It was just so kickass that they came. Yay! The fun part is that Darrell was trying to convince Frank to sing �Ice Ice Baby,� which I thought would have been awesome. You better believe Frank wasn�t having any of that; he was too busy making random comments about other people. Then on the flipside, Frank was trying to cohere Darrell into singing, �Chocolate Salty Balls,� by Chef from South Park. Darrell wasn�t having any of that; he was too busy laughing at everyone else. Darrell didn�t say much last night, but when he did say something it was poignant and pretty funny... oh but the evening�s humor has just begun, friends.

It was really amusing to hear some of Frank�s comments regarding (read: Hear him talk shit about) some of the singers, and even some of the people in our group. He basically chilled out with darrell and they got their, �We�re guys and not gonna sing nothin�� stance on. At several points throughout the night, frank said some stuff that was so goddamn funny I hurt my sides laughing, but if you think that�s where the humor ends you�re sadly mistaken. He�s a funny man. A funny man who probabally thought I was a lot more drunk than I was last night. Poor Frank-- he�s never really seen me in �party mode.� It takes no alchohol for me to just start acting silly (read: like an asshole), and embarrass everyone. Frank also refused to dance, which he didn�t have to say directly, because when I got behind him and started dancing he says, �GET YOUR DICK OUT OF MY ASS!� I ran away, and started laughing! I sure did stop dancing behind him, though.

I did dance last night though, for what felt like the first time in forever. Alison and I danced it up a few times, and we were occasionally joined by Illy. Alison is so much fucking fun. Yay for air signs. We danced to �It�s raining Men,� �I will survive,� and a host of swing-dancin� songs. Too much fun for words. We had on crazy plastic jazz hats (Alison�s Black hat of Doooom!) and shook our booties like they were on fire.

Fire!!

Alison seems to be totally down with the karaoke concept now. All of her karaoke inhibitions are gone. She sang several songs, and we all yelled and cheered for her, because, well, Alison is awesome. It�s great putting her in a group of people, because Ali is usually a very quiet girl, but surround her with a bunch of folks prepared for an evening of fun, and it�s on like donkey kong. Fucking a.

Trice, or T-Rice as Frank deemed her last night, chilled out, laughing and sitting for the majority of the evening. Most of the quality conversation (read: conversational shit talking) of the evening was with her. We laughed at lesbians, made fun of ex-cheerleaders, and reveled in our embarrassment when some of the funnier events of the evening occurred. She did pick a song-- the Humpty Dance. It was great, because all the girls got up to sing it, and Trice did the least singing, and just basically laughed at the rest of us. For someone who isn�t really all about karaoke, Trice seemed to have a great time last night too. She got lots of memorable and entertaining memories.

Some memories were significantly less entertaining than others. There was a brief �So... pissed... off... right... now� moment when Ex Boyfriend Man decided to stroll through the karaoke joint. I couldn�t fucking believe it. He made a good point of bowing to the group and hugging various unwilling members of the group, myself included. Did I mention Frank was at karaoke last night too? I think I did. You�re gonna hug me in front of my boyfriend? That pissed me off so fucking bad.

Grr.

I knew that�s why he did it too. That�s what he does... stir up emotions be they good or bad... and generally just piss people off. So the best thing to do was try and forget that it happened, and enjoy the evening anyway. That was difficult, and almost didn�t happen. I was so excruciatingly pissed off from him touching my skin that I thought about not speaking to anyone for the rest of the evening. I don�t like being touched by people who aren�t invited, that really makes me upset. Don�t fucking touch me! I�m very glad that none of my friends had to see me remain so fucking pissed off, because I don�t fuck around, lol. Lucky for Ex Boyfriend Guy (and my ability to return to that karaoke bar), he left out pretty quick, because if he wasn�t leaving when I turned around I was going to give him a few sharp words. That would have been stupid because I was there to have a good time, and I�ll be damned if Ex Boyfriend Guy (I guess that�s his official super-guy name) was gonna ruin an otherwise very fun evening with some of my closest friends. And are they ever. Trice hates Ex Boyfriend Guy more than I do, and she was supportive. Illy made me laugh so hard I coulda peed (explained below). And Frank put his hand on my leg, which oddly calmed me down a little bit.

I�m still kind of pissed that he hugged me.

The most entertaining and memorable moments-- hands down, no butts about it, totally, and seriously- were when Ileana sang. Illy is a great performer, she�s funny every single time. It�s almost as though she turns into another person when she hits the mic. I�m no one to judge, Illy�s loud and silliness, though. Illy is usually a fairly reserved person, albeit a little loud when she laughs.

There was very little reserved about Ileana last night, except maybe a place in hell. *just kidding illy, you�re awesome!*

We all, laughed so goddamn hard that we cried a little-- even the guys. It luckily escapes me which song she was growling when I asked her to flash the crowd... with her boobies... and stuff. Her response was to stop singing, and start yelling, in a mildly serious, but laughable voice-- �GOD DAMNIT JUST BECAUSE I�M PUERTO RICAN DOESN�T MEAN I�M A HOOCHIE AND THAT I�LL EXPOSE MYSELF IN PUBLIC!� How fucking hilarious is that? Our whole table-- Ali, Frank, Latrice, Darrell and myself all laughed so damn hard that it physically hurt.

Darrell continued to say �No!� as everyone at the table tried convincing him that he should sing, �Chocolate salty balls,� until frank came up with the brilliant idea of having Ileana sing it. Oh good god damn. That was the funniest fucking thing... ever. I wish I had a video camera with me!! She got on the mic, and started freakin� out, �My balls! They�re on FIRE, hot! Put them out! Blow on them, do something!!� Ha ha ha, motherfucking ha, yo. She�s so funny. Illy is the greatest. We all have Frank to thank. See, I told you that if you know the guy, you probabally owe him a thank you.

So we laughed, danced, sang, and sipped. Then we laughed some more. It was a really great time. Alison and I are more than likely gonna do this *again* next week, and Gabi and Wil may very well join us. I look forward to seeing gabi do karaoke.

I�m gonna miss Illy a bunch, but she�s gonna be living her dream. That�s something that very few people can say they�re gonna do, starting Friday. Good for her! Soon Illy will be teaching japanese people to suck on her chocolate salty balls, and that not all Puerto Rican women are hoochies. Important life lessons.

Love and adoration,

Pam