It’s been busy here at Pamie Central with the new book coming out. Have you pre-ordered yet? Did you know that pre-ordering helps me TREMENDOUSLY? If you’re a fan of anything I’ve written for free over the years and perhaps aren’t a reader of this type of book, please think about buying one for the person in your life who would love this kind of book. PS: Do you have any idea how sexy/romantic/sweet it is to buy a book for someone? It’s better than flowers, I promise you. (Unless that book is about dieting.)
[From the Dewey Blog]
Jessica and Heather (a.k.a. The Fug Girls) are helping Dewey out! We’ve got two signed copies of their new book to give to two people who donate on March 6 or 7. Sweet! We asked Heather and Jessica to write up a little somethin’ somethin’ about their latest project:
You may be familiar with our website, Go Fug Yourself, where we write blunt and barbed things about bad celebrity outfits. In our book of all-new entries, The Fug Awards, we reward the best of the worst with such honors as “The Sag Award” (given to the person who most abuses her boobs), and the “Girl PLEASE,” for the most hellaciously misguided style icon. Because, hey, everyone loves an awards show, even if it’s not a real one, and a book is much easier to bring on an airplane or to the doctor’s office, or into the bathroom — you know, all the places people’s reading mostly gets done.
Just as long as reading IS being done, and that’s the beauty of Dewey — it helps bring the magic of books to people who need it. Neither of us can imagine having grown up without a constant stream of reading material. Our favorites, like Anne of Green Gables, Harriet the Spy, the Sweet Valley High series, Charlotte’s Web and about a million others are books we re-read to this day. They helped shape who we are in ways we probably can’t even fully grasp. Can you imagine a world in which you were unclear on the concept of the good twin vs the bad twin? Neither can we. So we’re thrilled to be able to help spread the love. Here’s to a good read![/readermail]
Their book is crazy-funny. It also made me rockstar adjacent at work the other day when I brought my copy in for uber-fan Mel to see.
This year’s book drive ends March 12th. That’s really soon! So if you’re wondering why you still haven’t sent a book or a couple of books to some kids who need them, stop wondering and start clicking.
Woke up to find out I’m a finalist for a Bloggie, for the Lifetime Achievement award. Thanks to those of you who nominated me. It is an honor to be nominated, because with such esteemed company there’s no way in hell I’m winning this thing. But it’s always nice to be flattered first thing in the morning. Read more
Heather and Jessica have assembled a great list of places where you can help.
And Chris assembled an entry about all of this that will infuriate you.
There is never a good time for you to wear your own t-shirt.
I said this to stee last night as we got ready for the Rilo Kiley concert. I had just finished posting this, and realized I hadn’t worn mine yet.
“Your Wonder Killer shirt?” stee asked. “You should wear it. It’s not like it says ‘pamie.com’ on it, or anything.”
I wore the shirt, under a hoodie. stee was right. It’s not like anybody at the Wiltern would have any idea I was wearing my own t-shirt. I’d been feeling ill all day, so I pulled my hair into pigtails, wore my comfiest jeans and said, “Fuck it; we’re going to be in the dark all night.”
So, of course, the first people we run into when we hit the theater are these girls.
When seeing the girls who judge fashion as a serious hobby for the first time in probably over a year, do you:
A) Meet them with a hoodie zipped up to your neck, making you look like you might be hiding a pregnant belly.
B) Meet them wearing your own t-shirt, when they are not wearing the shirts they sold the exact same month.
C) Worry about what you look like because they’re both so cute and why didn’t you at least put on some lip gloss before you went out in public because you’re at the Wiltern. Jesus.
Answer: all of the above.
We had seats for the concert, between a row of parents watching their kids down in general admission and a row of kids who were pissed off that the show was so late they’re were going to miss it because of their curfew. Just when I thought I was done being dorky, the band brought out Debbie Gibson, and I lost all cool singing “Lost In Your Eyes” at full volume. Haven’t heard that song in — what, fifteen years at least? Sure knew every word.
(I wish she had done “Foolish Beat.”)