stuff in my head

place: pamie’s brain
time: the past few days

Oh my God, look at my calendar! It’s almost Christmas! Time to start shopping! What does everyone want? Who am I buying for? Oh, no! It’s already Christmas time! Jeez! Calm down, we’ll be fine. Excuse me? Are you the brain? Are you? No. No. I didn’t think so. What are you? I’m just pamie’s voice. Right, so shutup. I’m the one doing the thinking here. I was trying to help. Yeah? Well, go help someone else. I’m having a crisis here telling pamie what to do. I was just– You were just making me take longer, that’s all.

Maybe I can do all of my shopping online….

Man, that Raincheck kid for Toys R’ Us cracks me up. “Go, Raincheck! Go, Raincheck! Go, Raincheck!”

The traffic in Austin has gotten so much worse in the past two months. I blame all of the students. It shouldn’t take an hour to go fifteen miles when for the past three years I’ve driven it in twenty.

Why do you buy temporary tattoos? I always like the idea of them, and then I don’t like them when I put them on. Well, it’s a lovely waste of money. It’s not really the tattoos, but the “henna”-type stuff. It just makes my skin sticky, and then I pick it all off.

You buy sandals and the weather drops ten degrees. It really doesn’t matter, because until you re-do or remove your toenail polish we’re not showing our feet to anyone.

I wonder how many months it will be before you develop our film from the trip…

Why do the cats suddenly hate each other? Why can’t Cal sit still for like three minutes?

How come when you were a kid you never got freaked out when you would recite “If I should die before I wake?” I mean, that’s pretty morbid when you’re three.

Why can’t you get rid of anything in our house? There’s too much clutter. I know it, he knows it, we all know it. I just can’t bring myself to throw anything away. Oh, shutup, you. The curse of the actor/director. Who knows when all of that stuff is going to come in handy? I used the hula hoops, you know. Thanks for interrupting our train of thought. Sorry. Shutup.

You can buy six new CD’s and you’ll still carry around the ten you’ve been listening to since 1998.

You know that look that Eric was giving you at the store yesterday? It’s because he knows that you just impulse bought all of that food and will probably order out for pizza at least one time this week. Make sure you prove him wrong or you’ll feel like a dork throwing out all of that bread.

You know that other look Eric was giving you yesterday? Yeah, that one? Yeah. Make sure he knows you think he’s a big sweetie.

Oh, wait, you’re going to be visiting his family soon. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Just stop biting your nails and stuff so you can look presentable, for Pete’s sake. Better spend some time with Billy, too. Just crank it up a notch for a little while. Now that all of that writing stuff had died down a little (with the script done and Get Real pulled for November Sweeps), just spend a bit of time on you. Get that haircut. Fix your car. Do your nails. Clean your house. Get you in order before the holidays come and you’re just a blabbering fool.

Go through your links page and re-organize. You know you read more journals than that and some of them you never go and see. pathetic.

Oh, and remember the Monks site? You think you could spend some time on that too?

Jesus, look at this place. It’s pathetic. Quit chasing those cats around and do something. How long is that suitcase going to lie on the floor of the bedroom, huh? My guess is until Eric gets sick of waiting to see if you’ll clean it and he does it himself. Remember how he kept everything all clean when you were going nuts this past month? Think maybe you could reciprocate?

Ungrateful.

Look out! Stop sign! STOP!

Jesus. You could have gotten us killed.

You are twenty-four years old and you can’t get a VCR to record a program on time. Worthless. Thank Tito Trejo for taping your show for you with that small psychic bond you two have. RRRoorRRAH!

And could you wash the sheets? The bed stinks.

You’re almost out of Ziploc bags.

I think you’re out of socks. Wash some.

Get back to work, slacker.