pamie steals a second away to write to you…(and my mother comes in to spill a pamie story)
The sound of football is in the living room. Dad is asleep on the couch. My sister had to go to work. Eric is asleep in the spare bedroom. Mom is smoking a cigarette and reading a book.
I get a moment to go online.
Right now I’m breaking some sort of internet rule, because I am not disconnecting to write this to you.
Oh, the guilt is too much… I must disconnect to write this…
There. Now I can write in peace. I can just hear my father’s voice in my head, “Now, Pamela, I only have two more hours this month for the internet. Don’t use it all just writing letters.”
My parents have the nicest computer. I’m so jealous. I’m looking at this page on a huge Sony screen… larger than I have at work or home. My page is all blown up– I feel like a movie star.
Okay… just had a small dork moment. The office chair that I am sitting on to write apparently is only used to lean way back and play solitaire on… so when I leaned back to think of something witty to say the chair leaned so far back that I panicked and fell out of the chair screaming “WOAH!” in a most Joey Lawrence fashion. That turkey has slowed down my reflexes.
So the Steelers lost. Eric is sleeping it off. The Cowboys are losing right now, so somewhere in San Antonio, Chuy is preparing to sleep things off as well.
My parents have re-vamped their home. Well, they are going through the process right now. The whole place is getting painted, they are putting in new tile and doors and such, and right now I am sitting in the “office,” which has a new huge computer desk and chair in a freshly painted room that used to be… you guessed it, my bedroom. It looks nothing like my old room. The only thing left is the ceiling fan. They repainted, so the walls aren’t a light green anymore, and the carpet is all cleaned, so you don’t see where I used to burn candles and eat Doritos anymore. I just checked and they even painted over my secret spot on the inside of the closet where I used to write the addresses of old boyfriends who had moved away. Erik VanDivier, I’ll never find you again.
So I have to keep my toes anchored under this desk so I don’t fall back again. I’m trying to keep my balance.
Mom is looking over my shoulder, so I should probably end this. I’m going to give her an internet tutorial so I feel better about what this machine is used for.
Uh-oh. Look out… I think mom is going to sit in to tell a very special Squishy episode…
When Pamie was two, one of my neighbors told her teenage daughter that my little girl knew the alphabet song. So the teenager came over and knocked on our door and ask if Pamie could sing for her which Pamie (in her footed PJ’s) was happy to do right there in the doorway. The girl was very excited and thanked her and left.
Fifteen minutes later a knock came on our door, and outside were three teenage girls asking to hear Pamie sing. Which of course she did. They showed their appreciation with a round of applause and left. In a short while there comes more knocking on the door. We had about 10 girls wanting to hear Pamie, of course Pamie gave it her all and added an extra song– the McDonald’s Glasses to Go, to which she had added a little dance number. The girls were greatly impressed. Lots of applause and “wow’s.” From time to time while we lived there the girls would bring their friends by for Pamie’s performance. You think this was the start of it all?
This has been a very special Squishy moment with pamie’s mommy… who reminds her constantly that if she doesn’t want her mother to know about her sex life, she shouldn’t put it on the internet.
Time for my mother’s lesson.
Hope you all have a great Thanksgiving.