Meet New York Pam.

Leaving Los Angeles, I got a few tips on surviving New York during the holidays. I was told:

1. I’d need heavy clothes. An enormous coat I didn’t own. Lots and lots of layers and sweaters and basically I’d need to go buy a new wardrobe and a huge suitcase to put it all in.
2. I shouldn’t wear earrings because it would be so cold that the bars in my earlobes would freeze and hurt.
3. I was going to need to wear long underwear, and I needed boots that could survive getting soaked and I’d need to buy those boots and gloves and sweaters and did anyone mention the huge coat?
4. There was going to be a subway strike, and I’d be stranded and alone. Continue reading

i lived with john travolta

and why i hate samantha mathis

I’ve lived with many famous people. It’s not something well known, and not something I brag about. Okay, I rarely tell a soul. Because if I tell you why or how I lived with these people, you may leave.

Or at least laugh.

But I want to be honest with you, my dear readers, so here goes….

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Hello. I love you, let me tell you my name

an open letter to Ricky Martin

Dear Ricky Martin,

Yesterday I was coming home from work and I had a terrible scare.  I realized that the entire day yesterday I did not once hear your toe-tapping, butt-shaking, heart-pounding hit “Livin’ La Vida Loca.”  How could that be possible?  There’s no way that your song could ever stop playing on the radio:  it’s too good.  I think you’re better than Britney Spears and N’Sync in one body.

Oh, and your body!  I’m blushing too much to go any further about that.  I only have two words to say about your body:  “Thank you.”

I don’t want you to think that I am writing this letter as any sort of crazed stalker fan.  On the contrary, I happen to have a boyfriend, and I love him very much.  I don’t love him in a Ricky Martin sort of way (that is only reserved for you, dear Ricky) but I love him in a way that I could never love you.  I hope you’re not too upset.  It’s just that when I talk to him, he talks back, and that makes a deeper sort of love.  (But not like the Ricky Martin kind of love, which I’ve already explained to you….)

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