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

car alarm.

So, the other day I was driving down the street thinking to myself, “I don’t normally drive on this street at this hour.” This causes me to do that thing where I think about quantum physics and parallel universes, how right now in theory there’s a me driving down Hillhurst, but there’s still a me back in the office, while yet another me never got out of bed in the morning, and one of the me’s is probably having the best day.

The Me in my current universe stopped being the one having the best day about three seconds later, when I got a ticket.

I’ve told about eight people that I’ve gotten a ticket. Friends, co-workers, my boyfriend. Some who have known me for a couple of weeks, some who have known me for about a decade. Upon hearing me say, “I got a ticket,” every single one of those jerks immediately asked, “Was it for texting?”

All smug and self-satisfied like that. Talking to me like I’m a baby. “Aw. Was it for texting?”

No, it wasn’t for texting! For your information. That was my last ticket. And that wasn’t even for texting, either, because the kind police officer gave me a warning, and instead wrote me a ticket for not having my drivers license address match my current home address. [Side note: Californians, if you haven’t done that, do it online immediately. The crap I went through to get that fix-it ticket dismissed ended up costing me more time, money and materials than if I’d gotten the fine for texting. It SUCKS.] Continue reading