pamie.com: Homeowner Lesson #328

January 26, 2005

Homeowner Lesson #328

It was very tempting to just write, "So that happened." And then move
on. Because honestly, it will be near impossible to put into words the past three
weeks. I figure I'm going to need the help of some photographs. While I'm waiting
for everything to come in (and if you're reading this and have some digital pics,
please send me an email!), I thought I'd let you know that we're happy and healthy
and married and tan. Aspen is in just three weeks, and many deadlines are approaching,
in addition to thank you notes and trying to get our lives back after The Event,
it's really very busy around here.
Some of our friends have written about the wedding, but I'll link to them when
I do the wedding entry, so they're all in one location.
Oh, and we don't have a phone due to the storm and we didn't have DSL for a few
days and apparently there was a lot of rain around here while we were on our honeymoon.
So for now, I leave you with this, my welcome back to Los Angeles. I was driving
to Trader Joe's to pick up food for dinner last week, when I noticed the man in
front of me.
<img src="http://www.pamie.com/hairguy.gif">
I tried to take a picture, but here all you can tell is that I need gas. This
was because at first I was worried about getting noticed, or that he'd take offense.
Then I thought about what he was doing, and realized it totally didn't matter.
Here he is. This man:
<img src="http://www.pamie.com/hairguy2.gif" />
Is cutting his hair! With a comb and scissors. Next to a cop!
<img src="http://www.pamie.com/haircop.gif" />
While driving! He'd drive and cut, using his rearview mirror to watch himself
snip a few hairs off the top of his head.
<img src="http://www.pamie.com/me_cop.gif">
Which means I was taking pictures of a man cutting his hair, all while we were
next to a cop, which you can see from above, wasn't the smartest thing. We did
this for about three minutes. And then, while I was chuckling about what a jackhole
the man was, you know he turned right into the Trader Joe's in front of me. (I
waited in the car for ten minutes, until he couldn't possibly recognize my face.)
And that's the Los Angeles that was waiting for me when I got home, and that's
why I love it here. I'm never the weirdest one.

--------
TITLE: Dan's mom is requesting some more tiny peanuts
AUTHOR: dan
DATE: 1/09/2005 11:31:06 AM
-----
BODY:
My mom is not a scared person. She marches right through life telling life what
to do, and does not suffer those who squirm and hem and ask time-wasting questions.
Pam does an impression of my mom that is spot-on perfect, but it's also quite
short because my mom speaks quickly because she has somewhere else to be. Mom
isn't afraid of life.
My mother, however, is deathly terrified of air travel.
People have irrational fears -- I, for instance, live in literally CONSTANT
TERROR of a) cockroaches and b) being buried alive. But the fear of flying thing
really does encroach on one's ability to live a normal life, especially when
two of my mother's three children currently reside 3,000 miles across the country.
Next week, my stepfather is attending a music conference in Los Angeles, at
which he is also being honored as a very smart luminary in his field. All of
these elements conspired to make us inform my mother that if she didn't come
out here with him, he would have to divorce her and I would gladly act as a
witness. So she's getting on a plane. They're flying to Vegas, spending some
time conquering the nickel slots, and driving out to LA three days later. Adam
and I made her a little guide to the flight, seeing as she hasn't been on a
plane since significantly before Things Have Changed. Let me know if you have
anything to add, as there's always stuff we're forgetting.
-------------------------------------------------------
So You Decided To Come Visit Your Children!
A User's Guide.
Congratulations on conquering your fears! Confronting that which frightens us
makes for a richer, more meaningful existence, and is often essential for living
a properly socialized life on planet Earth. For example, Adam once conquered
his fear by playing songs he wrote alone on stage in front of people. And dan
once conquered his fear by going to the prom...with an actual girl! Still and
all, our fears can be alleviated somewhat with the choice weapon of knowledge.
Below, a step-by-step process to facing your upcoming air travel head on.
And remember: even though you have to pay for it, there is wine on your plane.
Don't be afraid to use it. That's what it's there for.
Here we go:
1) As you walk to your seat, before you take off, there is a chance that there
will be a bit of steam blowing out of the vents above the seats. This is totally
normal. It's like when you're breathing out in the cold weather and you see
your breath.
2) Your seat will probably be uncomfortable. This is normal. Annoying, but normal.
Luckily, the fact that you're flying JetBlue means you'll have a leather seat,
which at least offers the charade of comfort.
3) Before you take off, while you're sitting in your seat, you will hear some
jostling and bumps in the body of the plane...this is the luggage handlers putting
your bags into the plane. Be glad that they are doing this, as it means you
won't have to buy a new wardrobe once you get to Vegas.
4) When the plane pulls back from the gate, don't hit the internal panic button
just yet...you're still just getting prepped for takeoff. Your plane will pull
into a long line of planes waiting for takeoff, so it could be ten minutes until
youâ??re in the air or thirty minutes. If it's going to be a while, they'll
let you know what number you are in the queue. Hopefully, you'll be too zonked
out on Valium to care.
5) During the prep and safety messages that come before the flight (which you
can feel free to ignore), keep a listen for the estimated flight time. Once
they're at this point in the process, they can usually estimate pretty damn
closely how long the flight will be. I always like knowing this, as it lets
me know not only how long we've been in the air, but how long we have left in
the air.
6) When you're taking off, hold your breath and count very slowly to ten. Do
not exhale. Do not count quickly. Exhale on ten, at which point the scariest
part of the flight will be behind you. Seriously. The plane will have to make
some turns to get you facing in the right direction. Planes turn by tilting
slightly to the right or left. So if you look out the window and see only sky
or only ground (or if you feel a slight tilt in one direction or another), this
is completely normal, and will likely be over shortly.
7) A very short while after takeoff, the landing gear (read: wheels) will retract.
This means that you will hear some combination of a sliding noise and a dull
thud. Again, this is totally normal.
8) When you rise to ten thousand feet, there will be a beep (or, depending on
the plane, a series of beeps -- maybe 3 of them). This is a signal to the flight
attendants that they can tell you that it is okay to "use accepted portable
electronic devices." This is when you can break out your laptop or walkman
and listen to the smooth sounds of Kenny G. Actually, don't.
9) Even after that beep, you will still feel the plane rising and moving --
again, totally normal. You will likely be rising for another 15 minutes or so.
10) If you have a seat near the wing, do not be alarmed if you see the wing
(or little sections of the wing) moving. This is how the plane works. There
are little flaps and pieces that may move up and down. They are supposed to
do that.
11) When you're flying and you hear a "ding" somewhere in the plane,
it's simply the "service requested" signal. All this means is that
some dude in 32C wants a glass of water or a blanket.
12) Okay, turbulence. It's such a ridiculous word. You will likely experience
a little bit of it. Picture yourself driving in a car: when you're driving on
the road, you sometimes hit a series of bumps. Maybe it's potholes Bloomberg
won't pay to have replaced. Turbulence is exactly like this. Chances are, you
have a bumpier ride in your car. Point being, it's TOTALLY NORMAL. If you look
out the window, you may see yourself passing through a cloud. Now, I'll tell
you this: clouds can't hurt you. They're fluffy, like clouds. And once you've
passed through whatever choppiness there is, the turbulence will go away. Turbulence
is completely normal. If the seatbelt light goes on, don't forget to...aw, never
mind. You're not going to get up.
13) Clouds cannot heard you. They're CLOUDS.
14) If it's raining (or even snowing lightly) when you're leaving, by the way,
don't be alarmed. Once you take off, you'll be above the weather line in about
2 minutes (or even less). You don't have to worry about rain or snow when you're
above the clouds. And you certainly won't have snow in Vegas when you land (I
should hope!).
15) About 45 minutes or so before you're scheduled to land, you'll feel the
plane start to descend -- they do this slowly, so as to make you more comfortable.
You may want to chew some gum on the way down. I've flown into Vegas about six
times, and it's a nice airport to fly into because there's nothing around it
to make you have to do lots of fancy turns to land.
16) For whatever reason, landing is the part the bothers me least. You'll feel
the landing gear come back out, and you'll touch down on the ground. Pilots
are very well-trained. Then you'll be in Vegas, where you can win lots of money
so you can treat us to many fancy dinners once you get here.--------
TITLE: Pamie's not here, man
AUTHOR: dan
DATE: 1/06/2005 11:25:57 AM
-----
BODY:
Hi.
Pam and Stee are on their honeymoon to somewhere hot in a place we can't find
them. It's not my business to tell you about their absolutely amazing wedding,
so you'll have to wait until her triumphant return. But know this: awwwwwwwwww!
As your sub, I'll be back shortly. And bring a pencil and listen up, because
we will be learning.--------
TITLE: Wedding Week Update (final)
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/29/2004 08:58:19 AM
-----
BODY:
Still raining. I don't care. Everybody is getting here safely.
It's time for me to wrap this blog up for 2004, and take a nice vacation from
computers. Thanks to everybody who has been here for your support, your activism,
and your wonderful personalities.
I'll see you when I'm not so covered in single.--------
TITLE: Wedding Week Update #1
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/28/2004 09:38:04 AM
-----
BODY:
I burned my arm making dinner last night. Just a small burn, one I'll be able
to cover up with makeup, but I knew it was going to happen. I've smacked my
hands into just about everything over the past couple of days, and now two of
my knuckles are skinned, including my left ringfinger. Yay, pictures.
I'm making the table cards while stee is creating a wedding rehearsal worksheet
on what appears to be Photoshop. My mom is currently sitting in a car downtown
in the rain, waiting for AAA to come fix the flat tire on her rental, wondering
if she actually has to pay the parking ticket she just received.
The rain is just starting to lighten up for the first time since last night.
The sun is peeking through. This is good, as I'm about to head to the airport
to pick up Lord and Lady <a href="http://www.hateyourdaddy.com">Cheese</a>.
I had the meltdown you're supposed to happen last night, when it's all just
about finished, but suddenly you realize you've been spelling someone's name
incorrectly for six months, and you have to dig through bags to find everything
that person's name is on to fix it, and you're mad at yourself and mad at this
person for not having a normal name and there's still more to do and it's pouring
outside, and Mom can't find the hotel and why do weddings have to have so many
damn details? In the big picture I can see that we're on track and everything
is great and there's nothing to worry about, but when you get bogged down in
the tiny questions, worrying if everyone will be able to get to and from the
wedding on their own, hoping you'll remember this thing or that thing, remembering
that you never did that one thing you want to do, or you still haven't figured
out if someone's going to videotape the ceremony and the music needs to be finalized
and everybody's starting to arrive and it's supposed to maybe flood in places
over the next 24 hours and maybe some flights will be delayed ---
The rain just stopped. And now: incredible winds.
The gods are celebrating our marriage by weeping and throwing tantrums.

--------
TITLE: Sing it, Alanis
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/27/2004 10:38:34 PM
-----
BODY:
Number of hours my mom's been in town: five and a half.
Number of hours it's been raining: five and a half.
Heavy rain is predicted for the next two days, with sporadic showers until next
week. Awesome.--------
TITLE: Dan creates intentional discord
AUTHOR: dan
DATE: 12/27/2004 03:18:16 PM
-----
BODY:
I left this on Wing's answering machine before and now I can't stop thinking
about it. It will be sure to create enough strife in the comments section talking
about what an evil person I am well into the new year, when we'll resume regularly
scheduled programming. Promise.
One of the resort towns in Thailand that was hit by the horribly tragic tsunami
of yesterday is called "Phi Phi Island." It's pronounced "Pee
Pee Island." That's what we call a silver lining in the news cycle.
Go ahead. Consign me to hell through the end of the year. I can take it.

--------
TITLE: 2004
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/27/2004 02:42:20 PM
-----
BODY:
I don't imagine I'll have that much time to update here over the next week.
People start arriving as early as tonight. So if I don't check in again, here's
my year-end wrap-up:

Wow.--------
TITLE: Do you take this dork to be your lawfully wedded...
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/23/2004 04:16:02 PM
-----
BODY:
When Tara does <a href="http://www.hissyfit.com/archives/2004/12/shes_the_queen.html#comments">recreate
her recent fight with Glark</a> while delivering our ceremony, she can
have confidence in the fact that my last argument with stee involved him eventually
shouting, "I don't understand the oven! I don't know how to cook!"
and then him grinning from ear to ear at how stupid that all sounds, and then
me, knowing that he's grinning about how much of a fool he is for being scared
of the oven (not the stove, he made pains to point out, just the "baking
part" of it) giggling while shouting, "Don't make me laugh when I'm
mad at you, DAMMIT!" And then him hugging me going, "I can't cook.
I can't. Help me." And then me shouting, "I'm not going to let you
make me be unangry. I want to be angry right now. I have to go to the post office
and run all of your errands and then make you lunch because you're scared of
the oven." And then him laughing some more, and me driving away with the
biggest dumb grin as I thought, "He makes me CRAZY." (And then he
cooked dinner.)--------
TITLE: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/23/2004 10:24:10 AM
-----
BODY:
In her latest entry, Sara <a href="http://saramorrison.blogspot.com/2004/12/merry-christmas-i-have-so-much-money.html">gives
a tour</a> of tacky Hollywood homes, including my favorite -- the year-round
David house. This house is lined in white statues of David, and for Christmas
they all get tiny Santa hats.
Our neighborhood is decorated with lots and lots of lights, prompting stee to
buy some lights at Target yesterday. That's when we learned our house has no
exterior electrical outlet. Every day homeownership teaches you something new.
(We've found a workaround -- please no helpful suggestions!) Yesterday I trimmed
the... green stuff... out on the front hill, around the parking spot. It looks
really good, but even though I wore gloves I've got three blisters on my right
hand. I'm sure that the rest of this next week will involve me accidentally
slamming my shouder into something blunt, burining my wrist while cooking, burning
my neck while doing my hair, snapping a fingernail off at the quick while reaching
for the remote control, and accidentally getting my face caught in the middle
of a Cal/Taylor brawl. Because I'm a pretty, pretty bride.
I wish Sara had snapped a picture of the house a few doors down. They have their
roof decorated in rainbow dolphins. I don't know what religion that one is for,
but sign me up.
The wedding to-do list, which was once intimidatingly massive, is now down to
less than five items, two of which are just fun and crafty and involve drinking
wine and watching screeners. Happy screener season, everybody! This is the joyous
time of year when new movies are sent to your home in DVD form for you to watch,
judge, criticize and later vote for. Since nobody cares about the Writer's Guild,
we're usually sent scripts of movies, which blows. Do I want
to sit and read Pirates of the Carribean? No. But this year
we actually received a couple (Ethan Hawke, get ready for your Writer's Guild
award, because I'm voting for you, you generous man), and one of our friends
was lucky enough to land the SAG nominating committee, which means she gets
all the movies and is currently being courted by many studios for her vote.
And this friend isn't crazy-greedy with her screeners, and has become like a
Blockbuster Video to us over the past two weeks. I love her.
So over the past two weeks, in my house (O Holy Screener), we have watched:
The Motorcycle Diaries-- Very good. Oh, man, I'd watch Gael
Garcia Bernal eat cereal. He could just come over and chow down on some Honeycomb
and I'd give him my entire underwear drawer. Anyway, the movie. First thing
we said after it was over: "I need to read more. Why don't I know anything
about anything?"
Bad Education In my Gael Garcia Bernal double-feature, this
was the more colorful fim, but not as entertaining. If you're into film noir
about pedophilic priests and drag queens, check it out. But compared to Talk
To Her, this was disappointing. First thing we said when it was over:
"Wow, that was gay."
The Door in the Floor -- stee loves Jeff Bridges. Like, a
lot. Like, we have Jeff Bridges' photography book. On display. So I borrowed
this one for stee, who, after watching it, immediately renamed it Snore
in the Floor. I like John Irving, but it's very difficult to adapt
his books for the screen. Irving creates character development through their
deviant sexual thoughts. Usually people don't want to film those deviant sexual
thoughts, so they skip that part and you're watching the movie going, "Wait.
Why did those two people start sleeping together?" Also I think Kim Basinger
is a boring talker. When she speaks, I get sleepy. I believe Alec Baldwin would
agree with me. And then he'd hit me in the face. First thing we said when it
was over: "Wake up. I fell asleep, too. Someone has to turn this thing
off or Jeff Bridges will deliver another seven-minute monologue."
Maria Full of Grace -- Good, small, effective. First thing
we said when it was over: "Oh. Didn't you expect another twenty minutes?
That's it? Huh."
Hotel Rwanda -- I'm pretty sure this is the best movie I've
seen out of all the screeners. I cried, I clutched a pillow, I sat up and said
-- out loud -- "Oh, no." I never do that. This movie sucked me in
at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday, and I can't stop telling people how
good it is. I'm sure Jamie Foxx is going to win for Ray,
but Don Cheadle does such an amazing job in this movie that I hope he never
stops working. First thing we said when it was over: "Hotel Rwanda
Kill Myself Because I'm So Sad."
A Very Long Engagement -- Please note the "very long"
right there in the title. They aren't kidding. And the violence is brutal. When
a movie opens with a shot of a torso ripped in half from a crucifixion, I suppose
they warned you straight up. First thing we said when it was over: "Not
quite the whimsy of Amelie."
A Love Song for Bobby Long -- Laura and I tried to watch
this together, but we couldn't take it. We watched it on fast forward to see
if it ever got any better. It didn't, but John Travolta wore an impressive number
of ladies' robes. I have no idea how Scarlett Johannnnnsssonnsonn got a Golden
Globe nomination for that one. Laura said, "They must have just given it
to her because she's pretty, and lied about seeing the movie. Who sat through
that besides the two of us?" First thing we said after it was over: "Hey,
I think the movie ended in the other room. Thank God!"
Finding Neverland -- Oh, Johnny Depp. Thank you for the accent.
The rest of the movie is that dreaded word -- Cute. It's very cute. And the
kids are cute. And Kate Winslet coughs cute. And then for no reason a bear dances
and sometimes you're like, "Oookay, I get it, but I'm not there with you
but okay." It's a little like reading a children's book out loud. You know
that the kids are totally into it, but you can see the strings and you feel
a little manipulated, but you know it's not really for you and mmmm Johnny Depp's
got an accent and his hair is short and his face is clean. First thing we said
when it was over: "That Johnny Depp really is quite attractive."
Kinsey -- First thing you say when it's over: "Full
frontal Peter Sarsgaard, and this movie still wasn't sexy."
In Good Company -- After watching all these other screeners
you say, "Oh, thank God. It's almost a comedy." And that's a pretty
accurate description.
Screeners I can't bring myself to watch: Being Julia, The
Merchant of Venice, Stage Beauty, Modigliani,
De-Lovely, The Sea Inside They are all
about artists. We might end up watching Pacino's Shylock at some point, as he
does so love making us watching him do Shakespeare.
If you think we're being lazy, I'll tell you about the time we drove to Pasadena
to watch a screening of The Life Aquatic, (including poor
Dan who flew across the city in traffic to make it, and Sara who had to abort
the mission because she was stuck in traffic, and Ray who couldn't come due
to his landlady making him go to IKEA), only to have technical problems that
caused us to watch the first four minutes over and over again. Without sound.
Still haven't seen it.
I'm spending my Christmas with Ray, Imaginary Heroes
and possibly Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (good luck
on that one, Renee.)
Have a great Screener season, everybody. Go see some very good movies. Or I
guess you could go give Ben Stiller and Robert DeNiro even more
money, but uh... full frontal Peter Sarsgaard!--------
TITLE:
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/21/2004 05:17:24 PM
-----
BODY:
Dear Pamie,
I am a big fan of your recaps and journal entries. Since people sometimes send
you links and things, I thought I would pass this along. My dad informed me
that a kid was expelled from his Christian school for being gay--bad enough,
I thought, and then I realized I knew him. The <a href="http://www.dailykos.com/story/2004/12/14/25238/046">article</a>
has also been in the Dallas Morning News. I was just wondering if you or any
of your readers had any ideas about what to do. This isn't some hick town (make
all the Texas jokes you want, though) but a prominent school in the metroplex.
My school is no better, with all of the teachers backing out of sponsoring a
GSA because the principal claimed to fear for the safety of the kids involved.
Anyway, if you read this, thanks, and best of luck (and major congratulations!)
on your wedding and all the career developments you write about.
-Josh D. in Carrollton, TX--------
TITLE: Happy Wedding Story Monday
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/20/2004 09:22:15 AM
-----
BODY:
Hi Pam! I've commented a few times, but never emailed before, so I'm sure my
name isn't familiar. In any event, I love your site, and your <a href="http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com">Gilmore
Girls recaps</a>, and your book. I think you're great.
Reading the <a href="http://www.pamie.com/2004/12/share-your-wedding-nightmare-tuesday.html">email
you posted</a> about Rachel with the mother-in-law from hell prompted
me to send you an account of my wedding, because I wanted to tell you a happy
story in case all you're hearing is horrible ones. Although it does seem like
it all worked out alright in Rachel's case.
My husband and I dated for years - nine, in fact - before we finally decided
to actually make it official, to the great relief of his southern Baptist preacher
father. I started to plan the traditional wedding, but between the expense and
the family issues and everything else, it was completely stressing me out. It
seemed like there were all these rules you had to follow, and I didn't even
understand most of them. I bought one bridal magazine, just to scope out NYC
location sites, and it was horrifying, with all the etiquette and budget tips
and, well, bullshit. On top of all that, we didn't want to have a religious
ceremony, which would have freaked out my husband's father, and my mother was
sick, so she couldn't be there in any event, which was sad, so the whole thing
started to seem like more trouble than it was worth.
So we decided to elope. Or half-elope. We planned to get married in the Caribbean,
and then come back to New York and have our reception. We could avoid the stress
of the formal wedding, but still have the party. When we told our families,
they were sort of okay with it. My friends, as much as I love them, were actually
more difficult - they got over the elopement thing, but they would not let up
about everything else. One of them sent me a page long email objecting to my
refusal to wear a white dress, another wanted to crash the wedding (which would
have been fine, but she wanted to stay for the honeymoon), and a few of them
were pissed that I wouldn't register for gifts (we really didn't want it to
be about the presents).
We went to St. John, and we got married on the beach and it was absolutely the
most beautiful and happiest moment of my life. And then, afterwards, we went
out to dinner and then to our rented villa, and sat on our deck and drank a
bottle of wine and thought, huh, we're married. We stayed in the Caribbean for
a week, for our honeymoon. The whole trip, start to finish, was perfect. Better,
even, than my ridiculously high expectations.
We had our reception in New York a couple of weeks after we got back in an awesome
French restaurant with the nicest staff ever. I got to withstand a whole new
set of objections - I didn't want a champagne toast, and I didn't have a dance
floor, and I wanted a buffet, not a sit-down dinner with assigned seating, and
everything else I planned was not according to the wedding rule book.
In the end, though, the reception meant almost as much to us as the wedding
itself. We had such a good time. We brought the photographs from the wedding
and the trip, and I wore the dress that I was married in, and we had just a
really, really nice party. The decor of the restaurant was perfect for what
we wanted - all tiny wooden tables and comfy old chairs and couches, so it was
sort of like we were throwing the party in our own living room, if we didn't
live in a one-bedroom NYC apartment. Everyone seemed to have a terrific time,
and a ton of people told me (unsolicited!) that they couldn't have imagined
us doing it any other way and that it was perfect for us and for our relationship.
I even had a really nice heart-to-heart with my father-in-law, with whom my
relationship had been sort of strained, which was lovely and helped us to get
our relationship back on track. It's such a happy memory for both my husband
and I.
I know you're probably pretty much done with the planning at this point, so
the point of my story certainly isn't that you should elope or do anything the
way we did - just that you should do things your way and have the perfect wedding
for you. I doubt you actually need to be told that - you don't seem like the
type to be pressured into doing something you don't want to do - but weddings
make people crazy, and if you're getting any push-back from anyone, I think
you should ignore it all. I'm so, so happy that I didn't let myself get caught
up in all the wedding mania and bullshit, and that the memories from my wedding
and reception are really the happiest of my life.
Anyway, best wishes to you and Stee. It's so apparent, when you write about
him, how much you love him and I feel so confident that your continued life
together will be wonderful.
Regards,
Kate--------
TITLE: Subject: Christmahaunnakwanzaawalpurgistide Cool Kid Checking In
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/19/2004 03:48:42 PM
-----
BODY:
Hey Pam --
First let me say that you are the coolest of all the cool kids for being a <a
href="http://www.pamie.com/blog/bookdrive">library activist</a>.
It's something everyone can get behind. Here in <a href="http://volweb.utk.edu/school/sumnercs/gallatin/SCL%20Web/sclibraries.html">Sumner
County, Tennessee</a>, they tried to shut down ALL the libraries less
than a year ago. Public outcry followed and the idea was nixed, but they're
still operating on a very frayed shoelace.
Christmas is always hard for me and my family; sadly, the "gift" part
becomes horribly stressful because we are such very different people. However,
you've inspired me to do something better this year. My mom was a schoolteacher
for thirty years before an accident forced her to take early retirement. She's
one of those moms who insists to high heaven that she doesn't really need anything
for Christmas, to just get her anything. Plus, we have an eighteen-month-old
celebrating his second Christmas.
So the Gallatin public library is getting books in almost everybody's name this
year:
From Mom:
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0060754338/squishy">The
Princess Present</a> (one of the Princess Diaries books);
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/031286258X/squishy">Great
Alta</a> by Jane Yolen,Â which is a two-book anthology containing
a bookÂ Mom gave me an autographed copy of about ten or twelve years
ago;
and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/014131088X/squishy">Speak</a>
by Laurie Halse Anderson, which I read for a Young Adult Lit class last year
and wished so much had been available to me when I was of that age.
From The Baby:
The baby is getting his own copies of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0307103285/squishy">The
Poky Little Puppy</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/030796034X/squishy">The
Poky Little Puppy's First Christmas</a>, but duplicate copies are going
to the library -- he's a BIT young to understand presents that go to other people,
but it'll be great to tell him about when he's old enough for the library, and
to take him to see "his" book. And because he reminds me of the protagonist,
I'm donating <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0156012197/squishy">The
Little Prince</a>.
In my dad's name, I wanted to give the library this children's book about adoption
that was read to me when I was tiny, but it's out of print. Instead, they're
getting <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0689809646/squishy">The
Day We Met You</a> by Phoebe Koehler and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0805050132/squishy">Over
the Moon: An Adoption Tale</a> by Karen Katz.
Pamie.com is definitely getting a mention in the donation letter. I can't find
a wishlist on Amazon, but if they set one up I'll send it along.
In the world of your book drive, I know at one point you said you wished you'd
had access to Wiccan sourcebooks in libraries so you didn't spend money on them
before deciding it wasn't for you. The <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/registry.html/104-4573337-9723156?id=2PYX73ZHUOMIY">Cesar
Chavez branch</a> is asking for mostly books on alternative spirituality,
so my alternative spirituality group is going to pick books from their list
to donate as a late Yule gift, and we've gotten permission from one of the local
"new age" bookstores to post information about your drive and the
list of related requests. They've even agreed to "hold" anything on
the list which they get as a return which is not visibly used -- likely, since
even pagany types like to give presents -- and let us have it at the used price.
Titles would be here, but we don't meet again until after the New Year, so you'll
get an update from us as soon as we have another meeting. After that, we've
talked about trying to do what you've done for San Diego for Nashville this
next year as our community service -- for books on and off topic, as we are
all vociferous readers -- so keep your fingers crossed that we can get the ball
rolling down here in the Land of Next To Last In Education.
So, do me and my family get to be Cool Kids this Christmas, or what?
<a href="http://www.pamie.com/june03/01june03.html">Michael
Moore</a> was right about you, Pam -- you are a good person. Keep inspiring
other good people to do good things. I'd insert some "God-in-small-things"
St.-Therese-the-Little-Flower crap here, but not.
Happy holiday!
Elizabeth M.
Nashville, Tennessee
[Feel free to use the comments thread to tell Elizabeth how much she
rocks the holiday spirit. - p.]--------

TITLE:
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/18/2004 01:46:09 PM
-----
BODY:
<center><img src="http://www.pamie.com/blog/coldplay.jpg"></center>
Other rockstar <a href="http://www.liebography.com/ipod.htm">iPods</a>
for your holiday shopping. [Link via <a href="http://blog.verbosecoma.com">Hamish</a>]--------
TITLE: They Don't Even Have a License, Leeza. (Now We Do)
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/17/2004 06:32:39 PM
-----
BODY:
We got our marriage license today.<center><img src="http://www.pamie.com/blog/license_stee.jpg"
/></center>

Actually, it wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, as there aren't too
many places in Los Angeles to fill out this form, and the Beverly Hills one
is only open about twelve hours a week total. I appreciate how often they stress
that both bride and groom must be in attendence to get one of these things,
so you can't send your bride out to get the license as one of her errands, and
a woman can't find herself somehow married to a guy with too much time on his
hands.
<center><img src="http://www.pamie.com/blog/license_me.jpg"
/></center>
It's very romantic at these service centers. Beautiful Van Nuys stopped making
porn long enough for us to stand in line with our photo ID's and birth certificates
(which weren't needed), and a form we had downloaded and filled out in advance
(that they said we couldn't use even though it was exactly the same as the form
they made us fill out at the office). All around us romance was bubbling --
from the young couple filing bankruptcy, to the sketchy man attempting to open
his own DBA (the hilarious initialism for "Doing Business As," which
is like calling a Ph D "People Hoo Doctor.") Pregnant women and couples
covered in babies were waiting in line for the chapel services. A young girl
of about five bounced out of one of the rooms and announced, "They're married
now!" which was very cute, indeed.
<center><img src="http://www.pamie.com/blog/license_inline.jpg"
/></center>
Note the security guard. Also this room had about six thousand individual pieces
of paper tacked to the walls, telling us how to get our passports, where to
wait in line, what to do with our children, where to park, how to file for an
alias, and when exactly the cell phones need to be turned off during this process
(before approaching window). We filled out another form and handed it over through
window number four. We were given a piece of paper and told to wait in the "holding
room."
<center><img src="http://www.pamie.com/blog/license_waiting.jpg"
/></center>
Yes, he's reading The Fountainhead. Re-reading it, actually.
Try not to dwell on what all that means.
I wish we could have taken a picture of this tiny, tiny room, so you could have
met the group sitting beside us. A young couple (they later discussed how the
oldest one of the four there was twenty), waited with rings in hand for their
turn at the chapel. They were all dressed in suits and dresses, fidgiting nervously
with the various pieces of paper they had just received from window four. The
other two guys goofed around, asking them when they were going to have kids.
When they saw the rings, one of the boys raised the roof to celebrate his buddy's
good taste.
The couple on my other side were waiting to file some kind of paperwork that
would turn over a housing property to someone else. It appeared that nobody
in the dwelling could afford the rent or mortgage due to someone's illness.

Yes, I'm that nosy.
Then they called us up. Stee was, of course, outside on a cell phone call during
this blessed moment of our impending nuptuals, so I congratulated the young
kids and ran out to fetch my "groom," as they continued to call him
through this process.
Then we went to another window where we had to sign paperwork. My hands were
shaking, which I couldn't have predicted. The guy behind the counter congratulated
us and made stee take off his hat while we raised our right hands and swore
to the state of California that neither of us had ever been married before.
Then they gave us a stack of paperwork for Tara to handle after the wedding,
and we were on our way. The whole thing costs almost a hundred dollars, and
apparently if you don't sign everything in black ink, the entire wedding is
void. I'm not kidding. They said it about five times. If we don't sign everything
in black ink -- the witnesses, the minister, etc. -- we have up to a year to
redo the entire thing or our marriage will be void. Note to future Britneys
-- just sign it in red, bitches. Save yourself some hassle.
And I picked up my dress today, which means this is the biggest wedding day
we've had so far. The seamstress was very helpful this time, informing me that
I've been putting it on incorrectly all this time, which is why it would gather
in a strange place. I promise to impart my wedding dress wisdom once stee's
seen the thing, but for now know that the dress is in my care, and the seamstress
told me a horror story as a warning, about a bride whose cats shredded her dress
because the fabric felt good under their claws.
After seeing what Olive has already done to our beloved new couch, that dress
isn't going anywhere near something with fur. I've got it locked in a secret
location where it will soon move to a second secret location before arriving
at the third location, which is where it will coast down an aisle and become
a wife.
Wait. I filled out the wrong form. My dress isn't the bride. DAMMIT!--------
TITLE: Dan pimps his friends
AUTHOR: dan
DATE: 12/16/2004 10:53:26 AM
-----
BODY:
So, my friend Darren was really, really,
really reticent to <a href="http://darrenmclikeshimself.blogspot.com/">start
a blog</a> because, in his words, "who cares what one white man in
<st1:state><st1:place>New York</st1:place></st1:State>
ate for breakfast?" Or something
like that. I'm way too self-obsessed
to quote anyone other than myself verbatim. Everyone
has a blog, he argues, so why him also? Well,
he's right. Everyone else does have a blog. So
why not him? Also, he's really, really funny, he's a great writer,
he mixes a hell of a rum punch, and his girlfriend and dog are lovely. So read Darren's blog!
Every day. I will.
What self-respecting grown man gets a poodle,
indeed.<o:p></o:p> --------
TITLE: shake or bake
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/15/2004 03:46:51 PM
-----
BODY:
There are two things I do when I'm working on something in my head: run or cook.
Because I was feeling lazy, I decided to try to make cookies using the persimmons
I had that were about to turn. Thirty minutes later I'm looking at some funky,
but not too shabby, persimmon chocolate chip cookies. They wouldn't win any
awards, but there're at least three food groups in just one bite.
I should probably go for a run now.--------
TITLE: double ha.
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/15/2004 10:31:03 AM
-----
BODY:
This is my favorite picture from my bachelorette party. <a href="http://www.hateyourdaddy.com">Allison</a>
and <a href="http://evany.diaryland.com">Evany</a> discover
my disgusting card from Hilary.
<center><img src="http://www.pamie.com/blog/ev_al.gif"/></center>

--------
TITLE: the best gift
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/15/2004 10:08:36 AM
-----
BODY:
The presents are arriving. I cannot tell from their exteriors if they are for
the wedding or Christmas, so I'm just assuming everything is a wedding gift
and we're putting them aside to open after the wedding.
It's been eighty degrees around here lately, and the weather combined with all
the upcoming festivities, it sort of feels like Christmas has been cancelled
this year. I'm okay with that; I couldn't possibly afford both events in one
week.
I find it very comforting to have these unopened presents in the house. I like
the anticipation of presents to come, things to open, letters and cards to read.
Christmas is a big deal in my mother's house. Every present must be opened slowly,
with pictures taken and batteries inserted if needed. Once my sister and I started
giving each other rap CD's, however, Mom got a little more lenient on how much
we had to "enjoy" the gift before the next one could be opened. There
was nothing more heartbreaking to Mom than the moment Christmas was "over,"
when the last piece of discarded wrapping paper was shoved into a trash bag.
I've inherited that feeling from her. Now I love the waiting for presents, the
knowledge that there's more fun ahead, there's still more to do and see. It's
not over. I almost didn't get my engagement ring because I begged stee to hold
off on another birthday present. I wanted my birthday night to go on until the
morning. If he hadn't been too nervous to wait even another minute (and if there
wasn't a party waiting for me downstairs), who knows when we would have gotten
engaged. This is the house that celebrates a Birthday Week. Our wedding has
grown to include most of a weekend. Our honeymoon has crawled into an extra
couple of days. We don't want the fun to end.
So the Fed Ex and UPS guys might be sick of me, but every day there's another
box I can't open for weeks makes me giddy. I'm already sad that in a few days
the wedding will be over. I still want to slow down the next few weeks to make
everything last longer -- all the friends and family, the ceremony, the dancing,
the hugs and tears. I'm glad it's approaching so quickly, but I don't want it
to be over just yet. Every arriving present reminds me that the day is getting
closer.
But the presents mean something a little different this year. It's not the usual
"Santa's coming!" this time. It's not Christmas Day I'm waiting on,
to see what I'll get or how Mom will like her new purse. This time I'm not waiting
for just the next morning until the final gift's unwrapped and the turkey's
just about ready to carve. This time I'm waiting on my future, and I couldn't
be more excited.--------
TITLE: Virtual Book Tour: Devil in the Details: Scenes From an Obsessive
Girlhood, by Jennifer Traig
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/13/2004 08:25:44 AM
-----
BODY:
pamie.com is thrilled to be a part of <a href="http://www.virtualbooktour.org">Virtual
Book Tour</a> once again. This time it's Jennifer Traig's hilarious <a
href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0316158771/squishy">Devil
in the Details : Scenes From an Obsessive Girlhood</a>. She promises me
that the copy of the book I received had a binding issue, and wasn't intentionally
off-center by one centimeter. The three borderline obsessive-compulsives who
tried to fix the book before a recent Writers Guild screening of Closer
do not believe her. In fact, our discussion of how her publishing company was
genius to make a book about obsessive-compulsive disorder have a small, irritating,
disorderly flaw garnered the attention of more than one audience member sitting
near us. In fact-in fact, the book held the attention of more than one Guild
member much longer than Julia Roberts could. Apparently writers like things
to be orderly, and Jennifer's book was calling to us, asking to be fixed, begging
to be righted, to be held and taken care of.
Once we fixed the outside of the book (it never really bent back into shape,
but at least the spine didn't bleed over onto the front anymore), I was able
to read. The inside of the book reminded me of all the strange obsessions I'd
had as a child. I'd successfully blocked a few of them out of my memory, but
this book brought them all back. I had the ability to turn anything into an
unhealthy fixation. I'm talking about more than just my therapy-worthy crush
on Johnny Depp, the one that made me videotape every episode of 21
Jump Street, decoupage my walls in one-inch photos of him ripped from
TV Guide or create a photo album of his Bop!
and Tiger Beat photo spreads. I was already in... high school...
when that happened. I'm talking about my secret life when I was younger, the
down-low of my single-digit years.
First there were the imaginary friends. I moved a lot, so that explains my need
for friends who could never, ever leave me. I'd usually turn my best friend
from the last place into my imaginary friend in the next one. But that person
wouldn't be my best friend. They were too difficult to conjure for hours at
a time. I focused more on people I knew a lot about. Thus, my first imaginary
boyfriend was Danny Zuko, and every night he and I would re-enact a few scenes
from Grease before I could fall asleep. Then that was so
much fun I'd have a few other boyfriends, like Sha-Na-Na's Bowser and Grover.
We'd have wonderful adventures within the boundaries of my mattress, and I realized
I could have as many friends as I wanted. I pretended to be Annie's (as in "Little
Orphan," but the movie, not the strip) little sister, and this was the
orphanage we were staying in until Daddy Warbucks sent Punjab to come get us.
By the time I was nine years old, there were almost fifty random celebrities
living in my bedroom. They would sleep on the floor, in the closet, on my dresser,
and there were more than ten of them sleeping in my bed. Some nights Tony Danza
would complain that Cyndi Lauper was using too much of the pillow they shared.
Sometimes it meant one of them wanted to leave and not come back (because a
young girl's crush can be so fickle). Kevin Bacon only lived with me for a very
short time.
Kevin Bacon. Shit, I might have been ten. Eleven. What I'm saying to you is
that my imaginary nightlife went on for a very long time. And when I finally
let it fade away because I knew I was getting too old for it, I had a hard time
falling asleep on my own. I was very used to pretending to kiss Michael Jackson
until the next thing I knew it was morning.
My daytime habits weren't any less disconcerting. I would group bathroom tiles.
I'd make patterns on the floor and have to repeat them over and over, usually
in the shape of a knight's chess move. I'd have to do that until it went "off-screen,"
and therefore was no longer in my line of vision.
I used to think I was constantly on television. A camera would follow my every
move, and sometimes I had to address the camera, usually at recess, to explain
how I'd been feeling about my day. Long before The Real World's
confessional, I had a set of monkey bars and an imaginary film crew. The Pam
Channel played twenty-four hours a day, including any moments I'd had in the
bathroom. If my mom had ever opened the door on me, she sometimes would have
found me sitting on the toilet, talking to myself, with the shower curtain demurely
wrapped around my torso.
There were lines in Jennifer's book that were like that scene in the movie where
you find a photo of yourself but there are two of you in
the photo because you have a twin you've never met. I don't
mean I thought Jennifer was my twin, but her writing gave me the same chills
on the back of my neck like someone had just found out a secret about me. In
the book, Jennifer talks about the paranoid thoughts that she used to have,
and there were so many that I'd also had. The kind of thoughts I never, ever
told anybody about because I thought for sure those thoughts meant I was crazy.
Loony. Insane in the membrane.
Jennifer put it so perfectly when she said, "I was afraid I'd rape the
baby."
I would worry that somehow I was going to kill someone or molest a child, and
it would totally be an accident, but I did it, somehow. Here were my fears.
Picking up the baby, I'd somehow accidentally molest her. I'd wake up and find
I'd accidentally stabbed someone while I was sleepwalking. I'd get behind the
wheel of a car, the brakes would go out, and I'd roll over twenty people before
I could slam the car into a wall to stop myself from killing everybody.
There would be a body in my trunk and somehow I had killed that person and now
I have to deal with it. I'd accidentally set someone's house on fire, just by
walking too close to a dry brush. I'd somehow knock someone's teeth out from
hugging them with too much passion. I would kick a puppy in the face. That fear
happens a lot. I'm afraid I'm going to kick a puppy in the face.
I've moved into present tense, because now I'm talking about the fears that
haven't gone away, the obsessions that have stuck. I don't count or sort. I'm
not a freakisly clean person. I don't have to check the locks three times. But.
I don't have referral logs for a reason. I used to check my stats five, six,
seven times a day. I still do it with a few websites, but because they don't
update five, six, seven times a day, it ends up being a click-click-click and
then I'm on with my day.
I realized recently I cannot fall asleep unless my right hand is touching my
face in some way. It usually needs to rest on my forehead, or tucked under my
cheek. If my right hand is under the covers, or draped over someone, I eventually
end up pulling my hand back to my face. I have no idea. When I was little, I
always slept on my back, legs straight, and didn't move in my sleep even an
inch. That doesn't happen anymore.
Sometimes I wash my hair twice because I can't remember if I'd already done
it, and then it's just easier to rewash my hair than risk going without the
shampoo.
And while I know I won't rape your baby (on purpose), that doesn't mean I'm
not constantly terrified I'm going to drop her on her head.
I wonder why so many of my obsessions focus around the bathroom and the bedroom.
I don't remember doing weird things to my schoolbooks. No, that's not true.
I had to have a book owned by fewer than three people or I knew the class would
be a bad class. I needed to keep my Trapper Keeper a certain way or it was all
going to be wrong. I kept a secret notebook (a la Anastasia Krupnik) wherein
I wrote a list of people I hated and people I loved, and I would update it constantly,
even in the middle of a test.
Dammit! Now that the memories have started, they won't stop. How did I make
it to a functioning adult? Why couldn't I have the cleaning obsession? At least
then my house would be spotless. What good is this constant desire to check
CNN.com to see if the world blew up five minutes ago while I was updating this
entry?
Jennifer's book should probably come with a warning. "You will be reminded
of your freak status, regardless of whether or not you've convinced yourself
you've moved on past that weird time in your life when you had to read all of
the ingredients in the shampoo before you could wash your hair." That way,
when you read it, it's like you're sharing some good, silly times about your
past, in that look-back-and-laugh way, instead of what happens instead, when
you think to yourself, "Holy shit. I really should go apologize to some
people. I'll start with my parents."<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0316158771/squishy">Devil
in the Details : Scenes From an Obsessive Girlhood</a>, by Jennifer Traig
will either make you feel way superior to those of us who can't seem to complete
one task without doing five, or will make you worry that you forgot to turn
off the iron. A week ago. At a hotel in Boston. That has surely burned down
by now and it's all your fault.<a href="http://www.virtualbooktour.org">Continue
on the Virtual Book Tour</a>.
<a href="http://www.twbookmark.com/authors/64/3034/">See more
on Jennifer Traig</a>.
(If you'd like more information on the Virtual Book Tour, contact <a href="http://www.kevinsmokler.com">Kevin
Smokler</a>.)
I asked Jennifer to participate in one of our writer's group exercises -- uninterrupted
writing. We usually do five minutes, but I thought fifteen would be more interesting
to see what Jenny's brain would make her do for us. Dance, monkey girl, dance!

Pamie has given me an assignment. I am to write whatever comes into my head
for fifteen whole minutes, stream-of-consciousness-style, on the subject of
obsessions. It's an exercise designed to reveal hidden truths. I am afraid that
it will do just that, revealing that I'm very, very shallow, and extremely dull
to boot. The last time I had to do this was in a writing workshop two years
ago. I didn't realize two important things: 1. we were actually supposed to
take this seriously; and 2. we'd be exchanging them with a writing partner for
critique. Which resulted in my writing partner giving serious literary consideration
to my grocery list. She was kind enough to suggest there might be symbolism
in "PAPER TOWELS. DO NOT FORGET!!!!!!"
But Pamie knows what she's doing, so I am going to trust the process and try
this again. And if it turns out I'm not up to the task I'll just post pictures
of my hair from high school.
Which brings us to the subject at hand. I have been obsessed, just obsessed,
with hair recently. This is partly because of Pamie's fabulous <a href="http://www.pamie.com/2004/12/ha.html">wedding
hair posts</a>, and partly because I'm working on the hair chapter of
my next book, a sort-of follow-up to Devil in the Details I've been referring
to as "Wait, Wait -- There's a Whole Bunch More Things Wrong with Me."
I've been writing about a truly disastrous haircut I got in junior high. My
mother talked me into it. I believe she suggested it would make me look like
Andie MacDowell. I ended up looking like Dee Snider. I like to think I've come
a long way since then, but just last year, when I was on the bus, a snarky cabal
of junior high girls seated behind me got me again. They were shrieking and
flailing their arms, so I turned around to see if they needed help. "Oh,
that's just your HAIR," one of them said. "We thought there was a
wild animal on your head and we were fixing to kill it."
I guess we never really leave junior high behind.
Let's see, two minutes left. Hair hair hair. Hmm. What else is there to say
about hair? Oh, screw it:
<center><img src="http://www.pamie.com/blog/jenny.gif"/></center><a
href="http://www.virtualbooktour.org">Continue on the Virtual Book
Tour</a>.
<a href="http://www.twbookmark.com/authors/64/3034/">See more
on Jennifer Traig</a>.
Buy <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0316158771/squishy">Devil
in the Details : Scenes From an Obsessive Girlhood</a>
(If you'd like more information on the Virtual Book Tour, contact <a href="http://www.kevinsmokler.com">Kevin
Smokler</a>.)--------
TITLE: i hurt my feet for him
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/09/2004 07:22:06 PM
-----
BODY:
This is the cell phone conversation I overheard this afternoon:
"Yes, well, if you want four bridesmaids and then yourself, it's one-fifty
for each bridesmaid, and then for you it'll be about four hundred, unless you
want an up-do, and then it'll be closer to five or five-fifty, depending on
what you want. Now because you're thinking about adding your mother -- another
one-fifty -- that might mean we should add another person, so we can get them
done all at the same time. That would be another four hundred. And if you want
makeup, that's one hundred per, so add another five hundred -- six, with your
mother. Now your wedding is at eleven, and you have to get there early, which
means you'll have to come over at 7:30 in the morning. They'd open early for
you, which would add another four hundred. So are you all set to book?"
And THIS is why I'm doing my own hair and makeup.
I did my own hair and makeup tonight. Right now, in fact, I'm sitting over here,
looking super hot. This past week stee said to a friend of mine that he has
a thing for girls in boots and skirts. Now, I've never been able to fit in a
pair of boots and have missed this boot craze. But the boy is marrying me, and
I've never been this size before, so I figured I'd suck it up and risk the potential
humiliation again. Last time only Evany had to witness the embarrassment. When
I finally found a pair that would go over my calves, a complete stranger
walked by and said to me, "Those look cheap."
Anyway, this time I had my pick of the boots, and I found a pair that I like.
Hair, makeup, skirt and boots -- I walked out into the living room with did
a pose I picked up from some jeans commercial from the eighties.
stee gave a quick sideglance from his Grand Theft Auto game.
"You're sexy," he said.
"The magic is over."
"What? Don't say that. I said you looked good."
"You barely looked."
"I don't need to look."
"Yes, you do."
And now I'm updating my website about it, because we're late, because stee is
still playing his game even though we were supposed to already leave.
Twenty-two days until we're married! And then these are the only boots he can
look at forever.
...Maybe he didn't see the boots. I bet that's it. He never got past the hot
rack. The boots will be a pleasant surprise later.--------
TITLE: Sixth Time's a Charm
AUTHOR: pamie
DATE: 12/09/2004 08:10:56 AM
-----
BODY:
<a href="http://uscaf.com/">We're in.</a>--------
TITLE: Dan loses but lives to tell the story
AUTHOR: dan
DATE: 12/07/2004 03:29:50 PM
-----
BODY:
<o:p></o:p>Look,
sometimes, you know the answer and sometimes you just plum don't.
The
first correct answer, delivered at <st1:time minute="0" hour="21">9PM</st1:time>
on a school night is "Oh, hell yes," in answer to the question, "Are
we really about to start playing Trivial Pursuit?"
Maybe you're a little tired and maybe you've been at the packed
mall in the pouring rain and maybe you're feeling a little down and maybe you
should just go to bed. OR maybe
you should have some wine and play Trivial Pursuit with Pam. People? You will
not be sorry.<o:p></o:p>
 I am
normally hopeless at that game, not because I'm a giant moron with no smarts
at all (shut up. I am NOT a giant
moron with no smarts at all), but rather because I feel so competitive in so
many aspects of my life that when it comes to the low stakes world of board
games, I often can't muster up the urge to think that hard.
Also, when you grow up with a family myth entitled "My Parents
Got Divorced Because Of A Scrabble Game" swirling around you, it makes
your need to devalue the seriousness of board games all the more intense.<o:p></o:p>
 But
we were amazing. Maybe it's because
we were playing the version that has actual, relevant questions from the last
twenty years, rather than the Genus I version in which all of the questions
start with "What Canadian province" and all of the answers are, mysteriously,
"Hitl

Posted by pamie at 11:58 AM

January 26, 2005

Homeowner Lesson #328

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