And you think YOUR dad is a jerk.

I'm ashamed to have you for a father!

I wonder after he pays that 3 million dollars bail, or whatever, that he'll still have the money to pay 18 years of back child support, plus damages to me. I've been to therapy, he owes me!

Personal anguish, and shit!

Not like, serious therapy, really... and the theripist said I didn't even need to be there, but my mom sent me to therapy when I was 18. She thought I was nuts because I didn't want to be in the house. Perhaps a mirror was required to see the back end of that situation, mother dear.

Right.

So, Frank came by. He's awesome.

Pie day was so goddamn awesome. If you don't have a pie day, get in touch with your HR people, because they need to organize a pie day. Oh, by the way-- the $3 admission to pie day was a charity event. For the Greater Philadelphia Food Bank. Bittersweet irony, or blatent ignorance?

Think about it.

Fucking Michael Jackson, dude. Him and my mom both waited well until I was an adult to lose their fucking minds. Bastards, both of 'em. Dad was making bazillions of dollars every time he took a shit, and my mom was a consistantly good parent who loved me without being obviously obsessive about it. Goddamnit.

Every time I have good luck, I remember I was concived by the two craziest fucks on earth...

Well, I love my mom, but Mike is kind of on my shit list. I mean, what kind of dad avoids his own kid, and then has the nerve to go molest some other guys kids? Where's the love, dad? Where's the love?

Or maybe he's just avoiding me because he knows he wouldn't be able to keep his loving, yet letcherous fingers off of me. That's true father-daughter love.

Thank god he didn't take me to the prom.

Okay, this entry has TOTALLY taken a turn from making the funny to making the crazy.

hearts and butterflies,

pam

Written, Wednesday, Nov. 19, 2003 at around: 4:33 PM

I sound like crap!

Hey,

The day is almost over. Thank god. I'm all about not being in this office anymore. I've been very busy today, and actually had a lot of fun doing things. Although I know by march I'll totally hate it and have developed a new brand of apathy for NAPCO, I'm very, very excited about my new job.

I still sound like a 13 year old, pizza-faced boy, and have to say to a lot of people during conversation, as they squint at me trying to discern what the fuck I'm saying (...like squiting is going to make my shit-for-voice easier to HEAR... you fuckholes) "I'm sorry... I sound like death." Every time I say that, the person I'm speaking to agrees with me. I don't know if it's just that I sound THAT bad, or if everyone who works for the North American Publishing Companys are intensely honest people. Maybe they're all assholes.

I'm gonna go with "They're all assholes," for a thousand.

As Latrice would say, "They are YOUR co-workers, Pam."

I thought I was starting to sound better, so I decided to answer the phone a few times this afternoon. I think the one chick who was like, "Um, hello?" thought I was fucking with her or something. No bitch, I really sound like this. Sorry, but they don' t let me play pranks on the people who call here, because if they did, you would totally think I had a pussy hair caught in my laptop's cd drive right now.

As the day went on, and I ate pie and stuff (YAY PIE DAY), I was somehow further deluded into believeing that I was sounding better. (Note to self, just because you're talking more, doesn't mean that you're sounding better) But it surely wasn't because of my supportive, and kindly co-workers. Those fucking people don't work here, and if they did, I'm sure I wouldn't like them anyway. Bill, my boss- who is slowly becoming my favorite co-worker- says to me, while I'm speaking a mile a minute in my raspy, whisper of a sometimes-voice, "You're starting to sound worse... drink some orange juice or something." I say, "I've been drinking everything," and he responds, "Well, then there's your problem!"

I think my boss just called me a drunk.

How did he know?

I keep coughing too, which I know can't be helping, but it gives me a temporary feeling of success, like I've beaten the rhasp or something. My logical mind knows I haven't but it's all psychological. I couldn't even tell you how many cough drops I've eaten today. Well, the number is 5, but if I said it out loud, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be able to understand me anyway.

I know I've been writing about this for days, but it really bothers me that people can't understand me. I live through communication, particuarly verbal communication, and most of my first impressions with people are great because I'm well spoken, and say inteligent things. If I sound like I'm missing a vocal chord or two, then I'm sure that the first impressions people have of me are strikingly different than the impression given by my usual clear, feminine, crisp, articulate vocal ablities. I mean, I've noticed that I've been treated differently by people in customer service... well, that might be psychological, but whatever. It seems as though I've been treated rudely by people at mickey d's and moreso than usual. Most of the time, I think people behind counters in food service are a little intimidated by me, if not supprised that I sound educated, and speak clearly. I mean, I'm a black girl who can use the word antagonistic in a sentance and make it sound awesome. We do not come a dime a dozen around these parts. Well... we do at napco, but not in the rest of philadelphia.

Seriously though, the easiest way for me to be aggressive is through speaking, and if I can't speak, then I'm just a little mousy girl. I don't like being mousy, and I think I'm past the point where I can be considered little.

I am weak. My leg has been chopped off, and I'm struggling to stand. At EDU, I would have taken this whole week off, man. I couldn't have done my job-- too much talking to people every day for me to have to repeat myself seven or eight times.

Well, I'm going to stop bitching and leave now. You guys have yourselves an awesome little evening.

Hearts & Butterflies,

Pam

Written, Wednesday, Nov. 19, 2003 at around: 12:19 PM

What's in a name?

http://triggur.org/names/

I think it was wrong for me, but a lot of it was true about other people I'm close to. The discription of my name was much more accurate for my mom.

is it 12:30 yet?!?! I want some damn pie!!

hearts & butterflies,

pam

Written, Wednesday, Nov. 19, 2003 at around: 11:23 AM

So inapropriate!

I like fruit pies.

I like pizza.

At the North American Publishing Company, there is a day that celibrates these two wonderful foods. It's name?

Pie day.

For a mere $3, I will be afforded the opportunity to gourge myself silly with slices of various cullinary treats. I will take full advantage of the situation. My gluttonany doesn't stop there, fellow americans!! No, no.

I intend on taking some shit home. Well, not literal shit, but some pie and pizza. I'm sure I'll need to take a literal shit after filling my belly with lotsa pizza and pie...

Sooo inapropriate.

Inconsiderate Cellphone man

He's an Icon, dude.

hearts and butterflies,

pam