Notes from a “lump” of Houston Sheraton Town & Country Stationery, circa 1990 or 91

Just so you know, I got an email from 200-page boy, who got an email from one of you asking, “ARE YOU 200-PAGE LETTER DOUGLAS THAT PAMIE’S WRITING ABOUT?!?”

Small, small world. He was writing to let me know that he does, indeed, still have that letter. My first book! (Speaking of books, the galleys are in for Going in Circles. Are you someone fancy who writes blurbs/reviews and would like to give me a blurb/review? My publicist would love to send you an Advanced Reader Copy! Email me.)

I looked through my high school box of letters and stories, but couldn’t find another word about Homeroom Boy. It appears that saga quickly came and went. I did find this bundle of stationery from the Houston Town & Country hotel. It isn’t dated, but from what I’m talking about it’s sometime either at the end of my freshman year or maybe during the summer before my sophomore year. That makes me fourteen? Fifteen? I don’t know.

But I do know it’s mortifying and hilarious. Continue reading

20, Nov., 1990

Let me start by saying I am appreciative of all the attention Little Pam has received. It’s not just the emails, the letters and poems you’ve unearthed and started posting on your own websites, or even the Facebook fan page someone started for LP (seriously), it’s this shared feeling of mortification and anxiety I’m causing. One of my favorite sounds is hearing an audience go from slight horror to laughter. I might not get to hear your actual reactions, but I can tell by your comments and emails that I’m getting the desired effect.

So I might as well continue with the embarrassing confessions. Well, actually, let’s get the first letter out of the way. Yeah, just like last time, there’s more than one letter from November 20th. By the way, the entry titles are exactly how I dated these letters. All those commas aside, I don’t know why I thought it was so much cooler to date things like that back then. But you guys, I really thought it was awesome. Continue reading

13, Nov., 1990

It’s raining outside and I just finished my chores. Seems only fitting to dive back into my unsent teenage love letters.

When we last left Little Pam (LP), she had found a new fixation on which to Velcro her weepy heart. Five days later, she grabbed a red pen and then this happened.

13, Nov., 1990

Why are you doing this to me?

It is all your fault, you know. You have to be so damn beautiful. So damn perfect in any way. You made me fall in love with you. You knew what you were doing from the beginning, didn’t you? Don’t flash those innocent brown eyes at me, I know how well you manipulate.

I wonder if I imagined this boy reading this letter and being flattered by it. Because the weird coy hostility here isn’t working at all. LP’s got no game.

You’ve brainwashed me, that’s it.

You guys, I’m sure as soon as I was finished writing this — and oh, believe me when I say it’s a first draft and there are almost zero corrections. I’ll be sure to let you know whenever I changed my mind mid-genius — I’m sure as soon as I finished the last loopy scribble I flipped back to the first page and read the entire thing out loud. Because even then I knew that if it didn’t sound right, it didn’t read right. So I’m wondering how I performed this one. I bet I was so creepy, reading it with what I assumed was a sexy smirk. You know, I’m not one to advocate teenage sex or any kind of adult behavior among the little, but maybe if by fifteen I had at least an idea of what sex or sexiness was that wasn’t solely acquired by watching Cinemax in the middle of the night I’d have made, like 32% less of a fool of myself. Maybe. Maybe 12%.

But back to the cheeky sex kitten. I believe she was blushingly accusing her beloved of the amorous act of brainwashing. Continue reading

8 Nov 1990

I don’t even have an introduction to this because I’m just so… in awe of how much passionate heartache I was capable of feeling all by myself.

Oh, man. Here we go.

8 Nov 1990

It doesn’t matter what I try to do. Every time I try to do something you start to take control again. You creep into my soul — you’ve perfected it by now — and occupy my every thought, every move, every emotion.

What is this, five weeks later? You guys, I’m talking about a completely different boy here. A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT HUMAN BEING. Continue reading

1 Oct. 1990

So I found this stack of letters I never sent from twenty years ago that appear to chronicle a month-long, rather one-sided relationship I had with a boy who may or may not have ever known that I thought I was in love with him.

This would be a good segue to explain why I cannot watch the show Hoarders, because while all of you sit back and judge and cluck and wretch, I am breathless with anxiety, clutching my throat, thinking, “How can they just throw out that entire box of old onesies without asking which five are the most important?! They don’t even know why she saved them! There’s a reason!”

But instead, since I’m going to just go ahead and hoard my hoarding confession, I figure I’ll post these letters. I can’t do them all in one post. They’re kind of lengthy, and… well, I think that would be too damaging for my self-esteem. That’s one thing I can’t seem to stockpile: dignity.

Here we go. Enjoy. All letters are typed exactly as written, typos and all. Continue reading

No! Noo! Nooo! Noooo!

Try to pick which of the following dumb-ass moves I made in the past twenty-four hours:

1. In looking for a beloved earring, I managed to smash it underneath my shoe. Even over my own sobbing, I was able to hear my grandmother’s shrieks of horror from the afterlife.

2. While clearing space on the counter for the coffee pot, I managed to knock my beloved Samantha Who? coffee mug into the sink, shattering the handle.

3. Somehow managed to wash all of my white sheets and towels with a black ink pen. I’ve run them three times with bleach and Oxyclean and yet: I’m still the miserable new owner of zebra tie-dyed linens.

4. Managed to change out of pajamas in order to run an errand. Victory is brief! Upon returning, I then managed to drop an entire iced latte all over the front of my new skirt… and splattered coffee Exorcist-style all across the entryway to my apartment.

5. All of the above, because this is not the first entry you’ve ever read here.

If you picked Number Five, congrats! You’re having a much better day than I am.

[Other items jacked in the past week or so include: my iPhone case, my digital camera, a pair of shoes, my elbow.]

Activating Chao Camp: Absence of Dignity

July 4th Weekend, 2009: a bunch of fools descend upon Anna Beth Chao’s home in Monroe, Louisiana for four days of beer, music, Sonic, and whatnot.

Anna Beth, Allison and Pamie talk about a number of issues, including the state of their hair (or lack thereof), their superpowers (or lack thereof), and dignity (or lack thereof). Look for a super-quick cameo by Chris Huff.

(And apologies for all the post-derby-bout bruising all about my arms and chest. You’ll soon see why they’re the least of my problems.)

Making a Spectacle of Myself

As I prep to write my story of this past weekend’s bout, I figured I’d stall with these two stories.

One: I got glasses. They’re only for reading, working, and driving at night, but that basically means they’re for every single second of my life. This is a big deal for me, as I used to pride myself on my 20/10 vision, claiming I could see through people, and now I’ve developed astigmatism. I only figured it out when I was goofing around putting someone else’s glasses on my head, only to go, “Oh, wow. All sorts of words just snapped into focus right in front of me.”

Anyway, for me this monumental. Glasses, on my face. Glasses that I carry around in a case. When did I want glasses? Back when I was like, seven. Not so much these days. It’s another thing to worry about. And I always think of Piggy and his assmar. Continue reading

Activating Dana

Shot during the first weekend of Eyesplosion ’09, I take a study break with Dana in an attempt to activate her. She was supposed to talk about how she “hates injustice.” But she never really got off the subject of me. At fourteen minutes in two parts, it’s an extra-long Activating. But in my defense, it was midnight, not at the office, and with wine…which is why I cut that part at the end where Dana broke into a freestyle rap about my ocular hemorrhage. You’re welcome.

Here’s part one, where we discuss my Blood Eye and how I appear to be quickly creating one hot-looking corpse.

Part two is all about fashion as Dana gives me a “compliment” that will continue to haunt me every time I go to my closet.

Hope you enjoy.

in celebration of hot nerdy boys.

[scripty]
PAMIE
How was the rest of your weekend?

DANA
Good. I just… I’m so frustrated, because I’m having to do all these graphs for this class, and I don’t understand some of this computer shit. I mean, I’m very smart. Obviously. But then like, I don’t have to know Excel for any part of my life, so I don’t know it, and now I’m supposed to make a graph?

PAMIE
Well, I know some people who could probably help you learn to graph that.

DANA
You mean you don’t?

PAMIE
… I could figure it out.

DANA
Well, I was talking to my friend on the phone yesterday and I told him I was just so angry because everything I didn’t know about computers was looking at me in the face and I didn’t know what to do. And then he goes, “Okay, well, tell me this, and tell me this and go to this place here and read me that,” and then Pamie, oh my god.

PAMIE
He was in your computer.

DANA
He was IN MY COMPUTER. He was controlling my mouse! I was just watching him and he was… he was inside me.

PAMIE
It’s really hot.

DANA
Pamie, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not even kidding. Don’t make fun of me.

PAMIE
No, it’s always hot. It’s even a little thrilling when the Geek Squad people do it. I’ve done it before, and it’s fun to do to other people, too.

DANA
He cleaned up my desktop and moved things around and then I got nervous.

PAMIE
Well, it’s scary the first time.

DANA
I didn’t know what he’d find.

PAMIE
You’re very vulnerable, letting someone inside like that. Past your firewall.

DANA
You are making fun of me.

PAMIE
Only a little. But it is hot. Smart boys who fix things. And boys who make graphs. I’m just surprised you liked it so much. If I’d told you this, you’d make fun of me.

DANA
No, Pamie, I’m a nerd, too. Don’t you know that?

PAMIE
Uh-huh.

DANA
I love nerds. Haven’t you seen my friends? You’re all nerds.

PAMIE
Yeah, you’re right. Maybe you are supposed to be hanging out with your hot, pretty friends. Those other girls.

DANA
No, those hot, pretty girls are nerds, too.

PAMIE
DON’T SAY THAT. That’s not fair. You don’t get to be both.

DANA
I still say that you are a hot, pretty nerd, too.

PAMIE
Unh.

DANA
I want to do it again. Get him inside my computer. I cleaned up a little in case he does.

PAMIE
What, did you wax your hard drive?

DANA
Kinda.

PAMIE
I love how that boy got your inbox all hot.

DANA
I am sad that you haven’t updated your website in a long time.

PAMIE
Can I write about this?

DANA
Sigh. I suppose that’s what I get.
[/scripty]