Hey There, Pammy-Girl!

Remember Pretty Woman, where Julia Roberts plays a hooker (Vivian) with a heart of gold and Richard Gere (Edward Lewis) is the guy who pays for her services for a week? This is a portion of their pillow talk:

Vivian: People put you down enough, you start to believe it.
Edward: I think you are a very bright, very special woman.
Vivian: The bad stuff is easier to believe. You ever notice that?

As if looking for gainful employment wasn’t painful enough, I received a phone call last night telling me I was no longer needed at the house with servants’ quarters because they were looking for someone with “a higher skill set.” I know that’s code for: she doesn’t fit in OR we don’t like her. If that had been said, I’d be just fine. But a higher skill set? For what? I kept asking for things to do and all I got was, “Answer the phones.” Granted, I accidentally hung up on people when I tried to transfer them but I hardly think that’s cause to make me ride the short bus.

Sometimes a mind-blowing experience is exactly what I need to remind me of reality and humanity. Nothing makes me feel as lowly as when I answer phones and can’t even do that without screwing it up.

Until I secure employment, I temp. I am not stupid, despite my hair color. In fact, I’d say I’m decently intelligent. I’ve got a few degrees, represented my former employer at White House meetings, ran press conferenced, was instrumental in the nation’s preparation for the Avian Flu, and covered dozens of Congressional hearings. All confidently and competently, I might add.

Today was a new low for me. I found myself as Assistant #2 to one of the richest people on the planet. The guy has a home office on his estate in Malibu. I’ve only been to the servants quarters, kitchen, dining room and a bathroom, but from the aerial photographs I’d say the entire property rivals one of Donald Trump’s resort hotels. The house sits on a cliff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The driveway houses no less than 9 luxury vehicles, including 2 Bentleys, a Rolls Royce, Jaguar, and a classic Corvette. The poodles are oddly large and I’ve seen 3 original Picassos!

I still have no clue what this guy does for a living, but it can’t be so important that it’s impossible for him to make his own phone calls. He dials me from the tennis court, dining room, or his car and asks me to connect him with someone else in the office. I read his email and making a log of all incoming calls. I do tasks he finds beneath him to do which, quite frankly, is degrading. When I was introduced to the man in question, he shook my hand but looked right through me. His dog, Gucci, paid me more attention. I practically have a panic attack each time the phone rings. I’ve been unable to connect him to random people a number of times; actually, I’ve hung up on him, only to have him call right back and none too pleased at that. The French chef made me lunch, which was fabulous, but are you serious? Who needs a French chef for their personal use? The wife doesn’t work (but did wear an outfit made entirely of Spandex… she shouldn’t have) and they’ve got one kid… who’s 15. Does any of this sound familiar? I feel like the lead character in the book The Devil Wears Prada.

While I’m grateful to be working for the moment, I”m just disgusted with the opulence and waste, especially because there are so many people going without. And I’m not referring to myself. A personal valet to drive you everywhere and sort your daily pill cocktail? Someone to DIAL your phone calls? Doctors who make house calls? It’s nice to be pampered but I don’t EVER want to feel entitled to such displays of wealth. These people may be super friendly and fair, but I’d respect them more if they were slightly less grotesque.

I am so much more than the life I am leading.

I am not a Republican. I’m just putting that out that in case you were ever in doubt. I am, however, a respecter of history and politics and will attend various events just to broaden my scope. Today was a visit to the Ronald Regan Presidential Library in Simi Valley. The view is magnificent and the architecture aesthetically beautiful. I liked the 80s… good times. It was the ME generation and decade; I didn’t worry about too much and was pretty happy.  So despite not revering Reagan as the Republican’s Messiah, he was a decent president who oversaw my teenage years.

Quite a bit happened in the 80s… sadly, the library was lacking in documentation of events such as meetings with Mikhail Gorbachev and Margaret Thatcher. Instead there was an impressive display of boots and belt buckles as well as dozens of Nancy’s designer dresses, table settings, and movie posters. I shouldn’t be surprised… the 80s lacked substance, so why not the presidential library? I was impressed, however, by Air Force One. VERY cool.

Air Force One

View beneath Air Force One

Presidential Podium

I’ve met a good chunk of politicians in my life. Some are vain (Orrin Hatch, R-Utah), others are smarmy (Trent Lott, R-Miss. and Tom Delay, R-Texas), some are ridiculously short (Tom Daschle, D-Neb.) and a few have one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel (Strom Thurmond, R-SC). There are the Kennedys (Ted, D-Mass. and Patrick, D-RI), the dead wringer for my grandfather (Charles Schumer, D-NY), and a windbag or two (Joe Biden, D-Del.). I interviewed Pres. Clinton a handful of times over the years, attended Pres. Reagan’s funeral and tonight… well, tonight was both a 12-second thrill and a disappointment.

I was under the impression I’d be attending a reading with former President Jimmy Carter. Sadly turned out to be an autograph session for his newest book (A Remarkable Mother) which included a serious stare-down with some out of shape Secret Service agents. As usual, they were a little intense and quick to shuffle the crowd through the line. Therefore my brief conversation with Jimmy went like this:

Jimmy Carter: Thanks for coming.
Pammy Girl: I appreciate your time, Mr. President.
Jimmy Carter: You bet. Thanks for coming.
Pammy Girl: Have a nice evening.

He has the brightest blue eyes which stand in stark contrast to his white hair. A little anti-climatic but still a well-spent evening. OK, evening is a strong word… a memorable 12 seconds.

The weekend concluded this evening (hey… when you’re unemployed you can have a weekend as long as you want) with a Dodgers - Mets game. Dodgers won 5 - 0! Pretty exciting as we were sitting next to a group of obnoxious drunks, a Brit and his wife, and a 2 year-old at his first major league game. It was a brisk evening (56 degrees) but with the 50th anniversary of the Dodgers move to LA from Brooklyn, the air was full of excitement (and beer).

I have a difficult time watching baseball on TV but love going to games. There’s just something about live baseball… hot dogs (which I only eat at baseball games), peanuts, the vendors, the 7th inning stretch. It’s such an American activity and I can’t help but relish the sweatiness and screaming. I’m not a Dodgers fan and certainly not a Mets supporter, but baseball is good and an excellent ending to my Weekend ‘O Fun.

Entrance to Dodger Stadium

Who is this guy?

Conference on the mound

When Duran Duran hit it big in the early 80s, I was known as a “Duranie”. It’s true. Like my older sister who got me hooked on the band and their music, my walls were covered in posters, I had a subscription to BOP magazine (which I actually “won” as a gift from D2), and stayed up late to catch a glimpse of one of their classics (”Hungry Like the Wolf” or “Rio“) on Friday Night Videos.  I can still rattle off birth dates, former girlfriends, drink preferences, and award show performance outfits at the drop of a hat.  Like any good fan, I was slightly obsessed.

So I’m probably going to hell because I saw them tonight (the Sabbath) rather than last night for their Red Carpet Massacre Tour, but I was so exhausted from the fashion show that tonight was really my only option unless I wanted to drive to Vegas (which I didn’t). The venue (Nokia Theatre) was excellent! The only shock this time around (I’ve seen the boys in concert 4 times now) is the age of every else: I was stunned. D2 is celebrating 30 years so I shouldn’t be surprised at the age of their fans, but I couldn’t help it. There were some grandparents there! We’re talking argyle socks, chrome domes, Avon perfume and walkers… I am not kidding. But a band that can reinvent itself and stay relevant in today’s music world is truly worth seeing. By joining producing forces with Timbaland and Justin Timberlake, Duran Duran have stayed fresh and been able to reach a new (and younger) audience. Sadly, Justin Timberlake did not perform with the boys but then again, I was in my 80s element (sans the huge hair). I loved every minute of it and was thrilled to be whisked away to 1985 for a few hours.

I took some decent shots which I’m quite proud of, although I’m sure the security were none too please I broke the rules and used a flash. Oh well. Security in Italy wasn’t too thrilled when I snapped a photo of DAVID and the peeps at the Louvre didn’t like that I got one of the MONA LISA, either. Such is life and right now, mine is good! Oh and Lynne: D2 played early stuff (Last Chance on the Stairway) from their early albums and it was as good as it always was. Plus JT is still HOT.

Duran Duran!

Simon le Bon

Nick Rhodes

Roger Taylor

John Taylor

John, Roger & Simon

I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in last night… I’m pretty sure I was exhausted. And guess what? I’m still tired and now I’m a bit extra crispy across my face (my scalp!) and hands but today was a fun time.

It started early, packing the swag bags into 4 cars and driving to them fashion show location. I set up the swag bags and sat around protected the swag from pirates for about 5 hours, just in time for me to be the muscle with the crowd. It just kills me that people complain after they’ve been given free stuff. “My bag didn’t have as many items as her’s”; “I got plain water instead of flavored water”; “She got 2 lip glosses”; or “This item to too big/small — will you give me a different one?”. Ingrates.

MoFash ‘08 as it’s been known, went well… with L modeling. MoFash? What in the world does that mean? I didn’t come up with this moniker because, well, because it’s sounds a little too much like something else and if you’re just going to say the shortened version you might as well just say the real words, but I digress. MoFash stood for MODEST FASHION. In case you haven’t picked up Vogue lately, there is a lack of non see-through tops on the market (or something like that). This show was reaching out to the market of women who wish to be in style but not look like whores. I actually think it’s a good idea and only snorted at a handful of outfits. Check the photos below… the clothes were attractive and stylish.

Right before she strutted to the catwalk, our other horror of a roommate (who was in charge of make up) told L that her hair looked bad. Last night she even suggested L not model because she thinks L has low self-esteem and that would just reflect badly at the show. But the good news is this: bad roommate announced 2 days ago that she’s moving out ASAP. I am in no way sad about this.

I also met some folks at MoFash, did some decent flirting and met a former Laker who now plays for the Timber Wolves (he’s single, by the way). All in all, a fine day.

Moving clothes for the show

The crowd… I estimate 350, give or take, attended

L on the runway

L and another model

I knew today was going to be super cool when I finally crawled into bed around 2 am. Tomorrow is a fashion show and my roommate, L, is in charge of the swag bags. I can’t really remember what we put in the bags (clothes, make up, magazines, lip gloss and 50 billion other things)… 180 in all. And yes, that’s me backed into a corner by all the bags.

I also had a job interview today. The stage was set when I got into the elevator and a fellow asked, “Going up?” He held the doors and the heel of my shoe got stuck in the portion of the floor where the elevator doors slide shut. I fell into the elevator as I tripped out of my shoe. I quickly found myself on my hands and knees, wriggling my shoe loose. The guy said, “Oh man. I’m really embarrassed.” My response: “Oh, don’t you worry. I’m really embarrassed for me, too.”

For someone who claims to be in the know and attends “dorky” events with enthusiasm, I am horrified to announce that I have just become aware of a bookstore in Pasadena that does readings with some interesting and amazing people. Because I am consumed by self-doubt and horrified at the thought of spending $4.05 per gallon, if I can’t walk somewhere I usually don’t go. Just last week I missed Stephen Hawking give a lecture at Cal Tech. Granted, I didn’t know about his appearance until 3 days after the fact but I should have. While I’ve been keeping my ears pricked and my camera ready as I’ve spent many hours loitering the 3rd Street Promenade and combing the beaches for celebrity sightings, I’ve cheated myself on some truly fascinating lectures. But boys and girls, that’s all about to change.

It turns out that one of my favorite authors, Dave Sedaris, will be speaking in a Pasadena bookstore (Vroman’s) on June 28. This is a MUST-ATTEND event for me. That man is a huge kick in the pants and I have spent many hours laughing out loud while reading some of his books. You should know that me making noises while laughing — outside of any sort of wheezing and the occasional snort — is huge for me. I may have a fantastic (if not twisted) sense of humor but I’m a silent laugher.

Next week, former President Jimmy Carter will be at this bookstore! You may or may not agree with his recent meeting with Hamas leaders. Maybe Habitat for Humanity means nothing to you and you still remember what a disaster the hostage crisis of 1980 was (I know I do. I had to write a content analysis of events for my first grad school class and my professor was a complete nut case). But he’s a former president and I’m clearly interested in what he has to say. I know, I know… my dorkiness prevails but I believe I already said that I was OK with this. I’ve got my tickets and I’ll be standing in line 90 minutes before hand with all the other political wonks in LA.

Then there will be a sit down with Barbara Walters. OK, now she gets on my nerves, I don’t agree with her on a number of issues, and think her show (The View) is pretty lame… but I could be saying this because although I’m not as perky as Elizabeth Hasselbeck, I’m much smarter than she is and could no doubt add value to that joke of a show whereas she just pisses people off. I suppose with my hosting duties (after taking Elizabeth’s place, of course) I wouldn’t refer to it as “a joke” but would no doubt embrace the information it provides to housewives and hung over college students. But I digress. She’s (that’s Ms. Walters, NOT Elizabeth Hasselbeck)broken ground for female journalists and knocked some incredible interviews out of the park. There’s no doubt Babs has some good stories to tell.

I’m always on the look out for something to do and it looks like listening to Jimmy Carter will be just the thing this girl needs. The goal is just to keep on top of all these speaking engagements and then to actually attend them. While I may not be able to eat at a restaurant by myself (I feel as though people are judging me, like the waiter, and think I’m a very sad individual), I have no problem seeing movies alone (well, I do if it’s a Friday or Saturday night) and frequently attend lectures all by my lonesome. Maybe I’ll meet someone new who shares my passion for the dorkier things in life. Maybe.

You’ll remember that I accrued the nickname Pam Clavin a few years back thanks to my ability to rattle off random facts about anything. Well, she’s out in full force these days. On Friday, while keeping safe distance from the water for fear of being gnawed to death by JAWS, I was laying on the beach with a group of friends. I had my nose in a book (Fair Game by Valerie Plame Wilson, the CIA agent Cheney’s Chief of Staff outed) and was keeping to myself and my fantasy world: since I’m having a crap time finding a job and my dream job is to work overseas at an embassy in public affairs and media relations, sometimes I dream I’m a spy (I am not ashamed so guffaw all you want).

Back to the story: I was faintly aware of someone eating a Tootsie Pop and saying they didn’t like the chocolately goodness found inside (AKA the BEST part). Of course someone asked the age-old question: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? My head immediately shot up as I exclaimed, “Oh! I know this one! It’s 211. I saw a special on the Food Network the other night and they had this machine created by students at MIT that…”

Have you ever been in one of those situations where there’s all this noise and then silence, with EVERYONE is looking at you? Even people sitting a few towels over? That was one of those moments: complete unbelief, a few slack jaws, sunglasses pulled to the edge of noses, raised eyebrows. It was my first Pam Clavin moment with these people. No one could stifle their giggles so we all laughed.

I am pretty dorky. The final question that separated me from all the other dorks in high school competing for a coveted spot on the Quiz Bowl team was: Which NFL team does NOT have any insignia, logo, or stripes on players’ helmets? Yes, it was the Cleveland Browns. Did you know that ice cream cones were created after the British government stopped street vendors from reusing glass shot-type glasses for customers to prevent the spread of Hepatitis? Coca-Cola removes acid from car batteries. Due to the shortages of lead and metals during WWII, toothpaste was packaged in plastic tubes and has been ever since. The key to the Bastille is on display in the hall at George Washington’s home, Mt. Vernon.

Does it really surprise anyone that I was on the Quiz Bowl team for 2 years in high school or was in the Library Club? Didn’t think so. Here’s hoping dorks take over the world, but only after we’ve had fashion emergency make overs.