I didn’t mean to leave you.

Okay, so when there’s company here, I find it difficult to sit down and write an entry. But I do like that company keeps me cleaning my house and leaving my house. These are two things I tend to skip when I’m home alone. I sit there, working all day long, with dust gathering around me. I think that everyone had a good time (see Omar’s entry for proof), and I got a much-needed break from the computer. I had all of my work finished before Omar got here, so it wasn’t like I was just taking a journal break or a recap break or a deadline break. I could honestly go out and have some fun. So I did.

e3 wasn’t anything like what I thought it would be. All I knew was that it was a videogame conference with a giant tradeshow. I didn’t realize it’d look and sound just like Vegas. Mostly I’d get distracted by All Things Shiny and I’d be drooling over Tony Hawk 3 while Omar would be focused in a different direction, waiting for me to pay attention to where he was walking. He had done this before. He knew what was cool and what was lame. I was distracted by the white lights on the floor, wondering if they were going to do something else that was cool. I also was distracted by the phenomenon of every third person looking like an ex-boyfriend. Every third boy I’d be all, “Is that… no.” I have dated many many geek boys. And even though I wasn’t dating anyone in this room, they were all that kind of Rivers Cuomo/River Phoenix mix that makes my eyes follow. e3. Buy your tickets now. Ignore every first and second boy. It’s the third ones that you’ll be all, “Thank you, pamie!”

Anyway, like Vegas, I wasn’t prepared for the lights and the sound, and in about three hours I had ated too much video games and had a headache in my eye. I was the grumpy five-year old that didn’t want to leave Disneyland, but wasn’t going to make it through the line for It’s a Small World. I was rubbing my eyes like I really needed a nap, and my ears were ringing. I felt like I had pussed out.

At one point I excused myself to the bathroom. It looked like Kubrick was filming my experience. Rows and rows of empty stalls in front of me, all for my choosing. “Well,” the woman next to me said, “that’s certainly the nice thing about being a girl at e3. There are only five of us.”

I was certainly noticed more than I would normally be at any sort of convention. Me and every third boy would make some serious eye contact we tried to figure out if we had ever dated. I watched the promo for Silent Hill 2 and gave a quiet “Yay!” with a clap and three boys turned around. At first they thought I was mocking them. When they saw that I was actually stoked about a new Playstation 2 game, their eyes dropped to my badge and I saw them wonder if we’ve ever dated. Every third boy. Putty in my hand.

I really couldn’t go back to e3, and luckily had his own rental car, so he and his man-crush Glark could go to e3 the second day on their own. I really couldn’t have taken another day. I wondered how many other people I knew that were in for the convention. A few short emails away, I had the phone number of a very old friend–my high-school sweetheart’s little brother, who for several years was like my own little brother. I was worried that perhaps it would have all turned strange, that too many years had passed and that we’d no longer have anything in common. But after a quick phone call, I knew things would be fine. I picked him up and we all had lunch– me and the two boys from Texas — and it was as if only a couple of months had passed.

I asked him later that night if he ever read pamie.com. His response: “Oh, I go every once in a while, and I’m all like, ‘What’s Pam up to these days?’ and I’ll click and read a few things and there are like, six paragraphs about how your noodle bowl broke or something and how it’s made you sad and how you feel about the noodle bowl and I go, ‘Well, I guess Pam’s doing okay.’”

Not everyone could get away with saying that sentence. But your semi-younger-brother from high school certainly can. He gets to keep you in check.

Stee asked the other day what was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I had to really think on that, as I’m known for stumbling, falling and generally geeking out left and right. I will fall when it’s most important that I stand up and look pretty. I will say the wrong thing at the wrong time. I think my dumbest moment, vocally, was when I accidentally told someone he looked like a Fat Einstein. I don’t know how those words came out of my mouth.

Another dumb thing is the panic I suffered with Jay’s older brother back in the day in this entry. I was so scared of the police that I just dumbed out.

The dumbest, though, is the time I accidentally ate my sister’s poo. I know that I’ve written about the story before. Oh, here it is. Is it still dumb if it’s an accident? I guess it is.

Ray called Sunday morning to ask if I could pick him up from the airport. “What are you doing today, Miss Pam?” he asked.

“Well, I’m going to a wedding.”

“That sounds nice. Who’s getting married?”

“I don’t know.”

“Miss Pam. You can’t just crash weddings.”

“It’s stee’s old boss’ wedding.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Free cake, Ray. Free cake.”

I prettied up and we drove out to the wedding. I had to cancel a show to go to this thing, so I was hoping that the wedding would have an open bar and at least two embarrassing spectacles from bridesmaids, otherwise it was going to be a waste of the Nice Wedding Dress (I have another wedding coming up this weekend, and I don’t want to waste all of the good luck of the Nice Wedding Dress on the wrong people).

Pulling into the driveway I noted that there were very few cars parked out front. “It’s not a real small ceremony with just friends and family, is it?”

Stee pulled out the invitation. “I don’t know. It’s not like we’re early. Ha. It’d be funny if I got the wrong…”

“Shut. Up.”

“June third.”

“That’s not today.”

“That’s not even near today.”

“Wow. You have to buy me something nice.”

“How did I get the day wrong by two weeks?”

“I don’t know.”

“Two weeks. Not one week. Not like, it was last week. It’s two weeks from now. It’s in my Palm Pilot. Two weeks wrong.”

“It’s okay.”

“Well, I have to change my answer from earlier today. Right here. This moment. The dumbest.”

When your company consists of mostly your bosses, you really don’t have to sit at home and get work done. I spent Monday entertaining the Canadian Bosses, as the Austin Boss was already on his flight home. I thought a taping of Politically Incorrect would be silly, stupid fun. Turns out I was only right on that second part. Much like thinking recapping Carmen would be a good idea, it’s only fun for the first half-hour or so. Then you wonder if you’ll ever escape.