Why You Don’t Want to Get Involved
Monday night and all of yesterday morning was spent filing my taxes. Once that was over I slipped into a small coma. I don’t want to look at another receipt for at least a year. And I already realized that I’m over three months into bad tax recording again this year. I haven’t been saving my movie stubs. I’m bad at making trip journals. I’m going to be this tired again in a year, I know it.
I have a month’s worth of laundry to do. Have I mentioned that I just hate doing the laundry? I do. I hate it. In fact, I haven’t done the laundry since snoop made his new year resolutions. I hate doing it. Now the clothes have taken over my bedroom and it looks like I’m either about to move away to college, or I had a hissyfit about how bad my clothes are. I kind of want to just throw them all away and buy all new clothes rather than pile them up, take them to some laundry place, wash them, move them to the dryers and then fold them and take them home and then put them away. God. I’m exhausted just typing all of that out. I’m too pretty to do laundry. I’ve decided. I’ll wash some dishes. I’ll even scrub the floors on my knees. But putting my hands into a wet washing machine that’s taller than I am, hoping that no one else’s wet underwear is in there, spending three dollars to run my towels through soap and water when all I use towels for is to dry soap and water off my body?
I hate doing the laundry.
If I don’t do it either this afternoon or tomorrow, though, I will have absolutely nothing to wear all next week when I’m in Austin for sxsw. I mean, I know that more people would come to hear me speak at my panel if I was naked, but at what cost to my dignity? I’d also just end up wearing a bunch of Chuy’s clothes, and he’d get pissed that I was dirtying up his clothes. Wait. If I remember correctly, Chuy likes to do the laundry. Now, I wonder how much it would cost to fly all of my clothes into Austin…
In any event, my flight is on Friday, which makes me sad. This means I won’t be around for all the smack-talking, back-stabbing, ass-grabbing action of the Online Karaoke Contest voting period. Basically I’ll get on a plane and hope that some of you loyal readers out there can look past the squeaky wheels, log onto that website and vote for the best voice in the contest. I mean, I won’t be around to update and remind you to go to misinformer.com on Friday, and all I can really do is remind you tomorrow before I go, but since I’ll be the quiet one on Friday, maybe I should take a moment here.
First of all, go ahead, go over to the site and listen to the entries. Some of them are pretty good, huh? And you’ve already read the smack-talk, right? Sure. And you’ve probably read the continuing coverage over at Omar‘s and Allison‘s webpages, right? Sure.
You probably like Omar and Allison. I bet you read Omar’s recaps, and you like Allison’s moderating style on the forum. Maybe you were around last year when Allison and I went head-to-head and Allison had her incredibly big-headed victory speech and then I gracefully acknowledged that I wasn’t the strongest singer in that competition.
You might also be wondering, “Well, isn’t this your webpage, Pamie? I mean, shouldn’t you just win this thing automatically?”
Yeah, you’d think so, but that’s just not the case. You see, I know she hasn’t mentioned this, but Allison has lots of money. She uses this money to buy things, like boys, clothes, glitter makeup and votes. The only thing that adds up in the MATH club are Allison’s expenses. In fact, Anna Beth once told me that she was trying to quit the MATH club, but Allison promised to buy her some strappy shoes and a plane ticket to SXSW. So, Anna Beth is going to vote for Allison now. You know, it’s really not worth getting all worked up over. I’m used to it by now. Last year my own boyfriend voted for Allison. No, he did. He looked me right in the face and voted for her. This is also the boy that only gave me a 9 on amihotornot.com, but this isn’t the time or the place for that smackdown. I’m trying to stay focused here.
Oh, and Omar. He seems so fresh-faced and innocent, with his Radiohead love and his sweet smile and nice words. Do you guys know that Omar is one of my bosses? He is. Do you know what that means? Texas is a fire-at-will state. If I do anything to even slightly go against Omar’s wishes, I could be out of a job. I could be out of all sorts of jobs, since he’s in good with Wing Chun, my other boss. Do you know how many Krispy Kreme donuts he made me eat in Vegas last year? Ugh.
Listen, I could get in a lot of trouble here, so I’m just going to keep this brief. I don’t want to get involved in too much smack talking. But I do want to say this: Just because you finally got off your ass and entered the contest late in the week, making your entry seem fresh, exciting and new, doesn’t mean it’s any better. It doesn’t help your performance to be a procrastinator. It doesn’t help your voting chances, since the voting doesn’t start until Friday, anyway. Oh, and could you both just take one step back? Because my coattails are starting to get a little sore from y’all two riding them so hard.
And, for you, my faithful readers, I don’t ask anything of you. I don’t ask much from you, anyway. I mean, yeah, this is my webpage where you all met Omar and Allison because of me, and I work real hard keeping it running for you every day with money that I have to earn. The other night the server slowed down and I had to call tech support in the middle of the night just so the chatters didn’t lose one precious second of their word association game. But, it’s cool, you know? It’s no big deal. That’s the stuff I like doing for you guys, because I love you guys and I think you’re talented and if I could vote for you as Best Community, I would. And you guys would win Best Looking Audience hands down.
God. Remember when my cat died a year and a half ago? Fucking sad.
So, anyway, I’m just saying I won’t be around this Friday when the voting starts. I might get to Austin that afternoon and have time to go and make a last minute vote, but part of the fun last time was watching the polls go up and down in my favor. So, maybe some of you would like to watch the polls for me this year. And while I’m thousands of feet in the air, trying not to die, traveling to Texas to try and help pamie.com stay alive for y’all’s enjoyment, you might think some good thoughts about me. You’ll think about the joy I might have brought you over these years. You’ll think about how brave and strong I am for moving to Los Angeles. You’ll think about how you hear I have a cute cousin I could introduce you to. You’ll think about how talented and cute I am, and how I deserve to win things. I deserve to win things that I started in the first place, and not get the medal yanked from my hands at the last minute because some fuckable girl says she sings like a bad-ass in her tub but really just held her cell phone up to her CD player. You’ll remember that before the others, there was me. And maybe you didn’t buy me anything from my wish list, and maybe you remember that my birthday is coming up real soon, and maybe you never did write that email to tell me that I brightened your day or made you think or just made you feel something in the middle of some dreary miserable cubicle-hell day. Maybe you ripped off my webpage and you don’t want to draw any attention to yourself. Maybe you are trying to get into Omar’s pants, and you think that getting in good with me might give you a better chance. Maybe you’re already stalking Allison and she doesn’t know it yet, but you know that if I like you, she’ll like you.
Maybe you’re scared. Maybe you’re scared to have Allison and Omar know you didn’t vote for them. I understand. They’re scary like that. They’re giant bullies. Do you know that each one of them is six feet tall? They call me names. They kicked me and they hit me. All because I love you. They try and make me feel inferior so they don’t see their own weaknesses. They try and out-funny each other and throw around fancy insults like “urinal cake” and “you’re the stupid.” I just sit back and watch and feel incredibly sad. Because for them, this contest obviously isn’t about talent. It’s about a well-thrown insult. And that’s not the spirit of my Karaoke.
My Karaoke is pure and healthy, and filled with the joy of song. My Karaoke has the power to make someone smile, groove, or remember a more innocent time. My Karaoke serves to entertain, not to insult. My Karaoke would never call someone a bitch, even if she was asking for it. My Karaoke would never ask Omar if his pussy hurts, even if he’s wincing. My Karaoke wants to take you home, rub you down with some oils, suck on your earlobes, knead your inner thighs and fuck you gently until your eyes fall out. My Karaoke wrote you a poem, but is shy and doesn’t want to appear too vulnerable. My Karaoke is thinking about settling down and having some children, maybe buying a house out in the country. Something small, but cozy. My Karaoke thinks you’re the most amazing thing my Karaoke’s ever seen. You make My Karaoke want to be a better Karaoke.
My Karaoke loves you in a way that isn’t clingy, needy, distant or withdrawn.
My Karaoke loves the feel of your skin and the smell of the curve of your neck.
My Karaoke knows the secrets Omar and Allison keep, and swears that if you knew those deep dark fears and deplorable acts they’ve done, you’d run away from them as fast as you can. It’s not nice to judge people. That’s what we all learned. But in this case, you can judge someone and still do the right thing. By not voting for them, you can tell them that you ain’t going to take their shit anymore. You know what they’re trying to pass off as talent and you’re not going to sit there and take it anymore. They treat you like a WB audience, and you just need to stand up and vote in the name of decency and standards. You deserve so much more than that. By not voting for them, you’re telling not just them, but everyone that you have a line. You have a line of what is proper and good and if someone doesn’t live up to that standard, they don’t get your support.
Dammit, you’re sexy when you’re exerting your voting powers.
So, Friday morning, when you stumble into pamie.com to see what great comedy is served up, don’t remember that I just narrowly survived a fire, or that I just went through some really traumatic times in my life. Don’t remember that I only came in second place last year even though I was the one who thought of entering when a reader sent me the URL. Don’t think about Lillith dying. You just vote with your heart. You do what your heart tells you to do.
But if I die in that plane on Friday and you voted for Omar’s bitch-slapping tirade? You’re gonna feel like an ass.
Omar? Allison? You might want to check the mirror. Your faces are a little red from the smackdown.
“Damn.” Check out the smackdown.
Or hear the entries at Misinformer.com
Oh, and I was working pretty hard to give you guys more stuff to read and more comedy to keep you happy, so there are new Gilmore Girls and Popstars recaps up. Yeah. That’s two recaps in one day. Because I love you that much. I swear to God. I’ve never been in love like this before. It’s kind of scary.