Hey There, Pammy-Girl!

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.

On Friday, a tri-athlete was attacked and killed by a great white shark a mere 150 yards off the shore in San Diego. While that’s 2 hours south of here, I’m pretty sure the shark swims faster than me and is most definitely on his way back up to northern California where the colder water is more to its liking. It is therefore entirely possible that the shark will spend a wee bit of time frolicking in LA’s beach area, either snacking on or at least scaring the shit out of people like me.

The last time San Diego had a shark attack was in 1952. You can tell me all you want that more people die in car accidents or as a result of infections from visiting shady mani/pedi salons. I’m letting you know that I’ve seen JAWS far too many times and you won’t catch me anywhere near the water, which just kills me!

Scientists say sharks don’t crave human flesh. Rather they see shadows on top of the water and think swimmers are seals or other tasty shark treats and attack. It’s what happened to that 13 year-old Hawaiian surfer a few years back. Apparently a Tiger shark thought she was a turtle. Really? Did someone sit down with the big fish and ask him what thoughts went through his mind before he chewed the poor girl’s arm into mulch? “Humans… taste just like chicken!”

Since I won’t be improving my breast stroke, butterfly or even doggy paddle for the next little while, my time will be spent where it will to me the most good: laying on the beach, absorbing Apollo’s goodness and changing me from the whitest white girl into a bronze goddess. And by the way, telling me that I have a better chance of being diagnosed with skin cancer than being eaten by a shark won’t change my mind or my beach activities. But thanks for your concern.

In an effort to thank a few fellows for helping me and my brother unload the Penske truck of some rather heavy and cumbersome pieces, I hosted a dinner party Sunday night. You’ll remember that I was invited to Easter dinner in Bel-Air several weeks ago. I was served a simple but elegant meal and sadly did not remember the recipe as it was rattled off to me. I had in my mind a replication of what I’d been served. Thank heavens for online recipe sites and my adventurous spirit. The meal included:

1. Sliced baguettes from a French bakery (I didn’t even attempt working with yeast… I’m a dessert bread only type of a girl)

2. Strawberry, kiwi, almond, and spinach salad (fresh spinach, sliced strawberries and kiwis, and slivered almonds doused with a gourmet peach dressing… although I bet you could play with this)

3. Poppy seed chicken with a cracker crust (the sauce turned out a little thick and soupy but that can be taken care of)

4. Steamed broccoli (the secret is sea salt and the adding of random spices tossed in along with real butter)

5. Chocolate Texas sheet cake (easiest cake you will EVER make)

Dinner was a success. I love to spend time in the kitchen to try new things or perfect old standards. I will say that L (the super cool roommate who won all that crap on the Ellen Show) got on to me because rather than enjoy my company, I kept returning to the kitchen to clean up. I suppose I’m more comfortable when acting as chef, maid and Maitre’ de than being a social butterfly.

The past two years of my life have been healing ones: patching up insecurities and regaining my confidence. Once getting over the initial shock of moving to LA, I started to feel at home and loved the return of my old self… my old self from the 80s (sans the huge bangs) who constantly laughed and smiled, was incredibly friendly and had a positive outlook. It was such a relief to let go of all the anger. I’ve had several friends from DC come out to LA and they’ve all mentioned the same thing… that I’m not the same person they knew. I’ve learned to be my better self.

That has all changed over the past week and I’m trying desperately to control the urges of kicking someone in the teeth. I’m more than happy to engage someone in a political debate or have a discussion on religion, abortion, education, global warming, and insurance. Friendly or not, as long as both parties can respect the other person’s point of view I’m all over it. But when I feel attacked about my physical appearance, I become that insecure girl from DC who wasn’t pretty or skinny enough to fit in. I tend to pull out the big guns: “I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you and will make you feel like a dung beetle” card.

I’ve already expressed my frustration with one of my current roommates. Today she took the insults one step forward. I’m not quite sure if she’s purposely malicious, but I have to believe that she feels superior when she lam blasts others. Once again she inferred that I don’t take good care of my skin. This remark came after she informed me that she located my favorite tanning lotion (Maui Babe) in some store not far away. This is important to know because I was under the impression that it could only be purchased in Hawaii. She followed up her remarks with, “I used to use it, but I prefer not to use anything now because it’s just horrible for your skin and I prefer to take better care of myself.” Passive-aggressive much?

To let you know, wearing a swimsuit is NOT my favorite thing. Rarely do I take off my board shorts and avoid any public outings where I might see a) someone I know; or b) a celebrity. While at the beach today I was ignoring the inane blatherings spewing from her mouth until she said, “I’m glad I have small boobs because women who have big boobs just look chunky.” Again, was she being malicious? She pointed out to a group of guys who were over last night for a dinner party that I’ve got ginormous ta-tas… so I feel as though her comment was directed to me. Guess how much I want to put on another swimsuit and return to the beach?

I wrote my master’s thesis on the 3rd person effect the media has on female body image. Do women abuse their bodies because they believe men want them to look like the way the media portrays them? According to my research, men actually like thicker women… it’s the women to place a higher emphasis on thinness. I feel tremendous pressure to be thin right now. In fact, I’m planning all sorts of drastic measures to ensure that this happens. I can’t feel like shit about myself in my own home, so I suppose if I were to lose 20 lbs (and let’s be honest, I do need to lose weight), I wouldn’t hate myself so much because my roommate finds me a repulsive embarrassment.

Now do I really care what some spoiled nit-wit thinks of me? Not really. If we didn’t live together, I’d tell her to go to hell. But we do live together and I refuse to live in a place where my house is not a refuge. If I lose the weight, will she find something else about me that equally offends her? I suppose I could purchase a burkha to hide my chunkiness and the horrible skin on my face, but then she’d just insult my fashion choices. I can’t win here, can I?

UPDATE
My friends took me to dinner for a belated birthday celebration and the new girl came along. On the way home, I brought up the Pennsylvania primary and noted that the results will be interesting. I love discussing politics with informed individuals, no matter their party affiliation, but when people spout their beliefs and really know nothing… that just annoys me. She starts off by saying she doesn’t keep up with politics and then launched into why she thinks Obama will be a bad president (she doesn’t agree with his issues (2!) which happen to be abortion and gay marriage) and that Hillary is just an awful person. Well, the intellectual bitch in me came out. I addressed her two issues and several others besides. After a day of being insulted by her, I just couldn’t take it anymore and she didn’t say much after my rant. I’ll admit that it was a hollow victory, but I felt a wee bit vindicated.

Depending on where you go, the price of improving ones physical appearance could be as little as $10 or as high as $50 billion. In an effort to preserve my youthfulness, stave off “old age” (see post below), and not to resemble Wolverine’s mother, I found myself at a random salon on Saturday evening. I had intended to wax my eyebrows but was immediately intrigued by the concept of threading.

Men, I know you are terribly confused so let me bring you to the light: threading is a process by which silk or cotton threads are tightly wound together and gently twisted over the hairs which are to be removed. The twisting action of the thread traps the hair and rips lifts hair out of the follicles. This process is lightning fast (only lasting about 5 minutes), doesn’t leave that sexy redness, and zits don’t spring up over the next few hours. Best of all: threading lasts much longer than waxing and you don’t have to worry about getting burned.

The woman who worked on me testified that threading works better than plastic surgery and claims to have multiple clients who are also under this delusion. She suggested “freshening” my entire face (especially my upper lip) but since I was tearing up as though I had just peeled 73 onions, I declined and gave her false hope of a repeat client by saying, “Next time, for sure.” A few years ago, my brother told me to do something about my upper lip, so I put some Veet Hair Removal up there. Now if you read the instructions, Veet says quite plainly that it is tended ONLY for legs and under arms and NOT for any part of the face. I suppose I left it on for far too long… when it started to burn I knew there was a problem. In fact, it left 3 HOLES in my upper lip!!! Lesson learned: stay away from doing anything to that area of my face.

I think threading is an excellent, albeit tear-inducing, idea. Waxing will just have to be used for other areas. I’m having a hard time getting over my embarrassment with that one, though. Don’t you ladies agree that visiting your OBGYN is bad enough, much less spending some quality time with a humorless woman from Poland who’s putting hot wax on your wooka and then ripping it off? But swimsuit season is upon us and I suppose that’s the price we pay to be the goddesses we are.

I sat down the other day and learned that since 1991, I have lived with over 60 people. Some good, some bad. Some were drug addicts while others wore dresses all day on Sunday and felt guilty for saying the word “damn.” I’ve lived with kleptos, nymphos, and psychos. I had a roommate who told me she liked to watch me sleep (eek!) and then went on to do some very odd bedroom behavior with another roommate and that other roommate happened to be dating the same guy as me. Let’s not leave out the roommate I didn’t speak to for 8 months because she was a self-righteous prig. And who could forget the one who would sit in the corner of the living room, eavesdropping, every time I had company? Oh ya… that did wonders for my social life. She’s the same one who had a Star Wars Lego shrine in her room.

Thank the lord I got my own place a few years ago. All the bills were my responsibility. The garbage was always taken out, the dishes done, no hair on the bathroom floor, sole control of the remote… all very important in the life of a single girl. Then I moved to LA. I don’t need to tell you how expensive it is to live in Southern California, but I will. Did you know that gas will hit more than $4 a gallon in the next week? Milk is just as expensive, if not more. Movies are almost $12! I wrestled for a while with the decision, but I got roommates because I couldn’t afford not to have them. And they were two of the greatest women I’ve ever met. We each led separate lives, never butting in to the other girls’ choices, but becoming great friends and enjoying all life had to offer.

Sadly, C moved out 3 weeks ago due to an issue with our crazy landlord and another girl moved in. I feel as though I’m back in college and living with someone who is all the things I abhor: spoiled, self-righteous, nosey, and not very bright. Am I being harsh? Well, I don’t care if I am. I’m too freakin’ old to be dealing with such bull shit. She asks a question about where something is located and when I answer, she either ignores me or tells me I’m wrong. Yesterday she lectured me because I put oil on my face at the beach instead of sunscreen. She’s always asking where I’m going and what I’m doing (and I just LOVE that). She has pointed out multiple times how much stuff I own and couldn’t believe that I needed two bookshelves to house my books. She told me how offensive Sex and the City is and how embarrassed it makes her, but every time I walk in the living room she’s watching it. She has informed me that I need to watch better TV shows (because the evening news isn’t cool, I suppose).  I was completely bugged when she said to me in a condescending tone while I was hanging photos and putting together bookshelves, “Ooh.  You’re so handy with all your tools and you even have a tool box.”  She was glued to American Idol (ugh) during that fund raising special and Heart performed. She asked who they were and then said, “They must be old since I don’t know them.” Mariah Carey, she informed me, is also old at the age of 38. She’s constantly telling me that I too, am old.

But tonight was the best. She was watching a re-run of FRIENDS on TBS and when it was over said to me, “You can watch what you want. I’ve got work to do.” I promptly got up and turned it to NBC so I could watch the evening news. About 3 minutes later she came in and started channel surfing. I said, “If you’re having a hard time finding something to watch, why don’t you switch it back to NBC so I can finish watching the news.” “Oh, I thought that was what came on after FRIENDS. You were actually watching the news? Hmm.” AUGH!!! Heaven help me!

I suppose I am indeed old. And yes, I do have a lot of stuff. I have a rather large library which is full of books and most of those books don’t have (gasp!) pictures. Instead they have words. I like to be informed of currents events and not only do I watch the news, I also listen to NPR! Since I can’t afford my own place right now, I’ll have to endure a little while longer. It’s situations like these that make me think marriage would cure the roommate option. Looks like I’ll be hibernating in my room… thank heavens I’ve got my own TV and bathroom.

Not far from the Santa Monica Pier is the original location for Muscle Beach. It’s not the bustling mecca for beefy beach bods it once was since its location can now be found in Venice Beach, but it has its regulars and definitely attracts some strange individuals. The new fellow I’ve been seeing lately is beyond strange. While I commend him for his commitment to exercise and healthy living, I believe he is intruding upon my personal space and makes me wish I could rip my eyes out of my head.

While I do not hold anyone who does yoga in contempt (have you seen Madonna’s body? Wow!), I prefer pilates as I find yoga to be, well, weird. I’ve tried it. I’ve actually attended multiple classes, each time hoping (in vain, apparently) for a positive experience, a sense of calm, and to produce enough sweat as though I’d just really worked out. Yes, I thought I wouldn’t have to spend as much time with my personal trainer, practically dying with every squat and breath. I was wrong. Sitting, kneeling, and transforming myself into a circus performer did nothing except to evoke fits of laughter each time my instructor moaned, folded themselves into a shape that could fit into a suitcase, or blessed me.

Yoga does not work for me. I prefer to scream in pain, sweat running down my face while I fend off an asthma attack, rather than crossing my legs and making noises that would confuse me with someone who has Turrets. If you enjoy yoga and have seen results, tell me what I’m doing wrong. I’ll try again.

But back to the beach. There’s man who has no hair on his body… anywhere. It’s odd, but not as disturbing as his clothing. The first time I saw him doing yoga near my spot, he was wearing spandex bike shorts which were made for a 10 year-old. I would call his position ‘The Flamingo’ and it looked downright bizarre. Yesterday, he was wearing nothing but a Speedo and completely folded his body in half while standing up with me a mere 5 feet away. Today, he was back in the bike shorts, ensuring that his little toes fit snuggly into his ears. First, I think spandex is by far the most offensive material man ever made. Second, the human body doesn’t need to be that visible and certainly shouldn’t be bending that way in public. Plus this guy would blend in with the tundra snow… the entire experience is frightening. I’m afraid to see what he’ll be wearing or doing tomorrow.

What would a road trip be if I didn’t have stories to tell afterward?  For me, road trips are the ultimate adventures where you meet the most bizarre people and find yourself doing things you’d never do in your everyday life.  My brother and I left Arkansas about 7 am Monday with a fully-loaded 16-foot Penske truck.  While my parents had a mini-van while I was in junior high and high school, it doesn’t even compare to maneuvering a beast like that.  I fear the day when I have to use bi-focals… the double side mirrors on large trucks really screw with your visual perception.

DAY 1

Not much happened.  Come on… we drove through Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle for most of the day.  What happens in that part of the country besides cows tromping over fences?  The day was pretty weirdo-free until we stopped at a truck stop Dairy Queen for dinner about 90 minutes west of Albuquerque.  My first clue to the uniqueness of this establishment was an ENTIRE ROOM full of fireworks, which was about 5 feet from the cigarette display.  This was followed by stuffed and mountain wildlife (jack-a-lopes, armadillos) dressed up like cowboys and pioneer women.  The fellow at the DQ counter (should I be disturbed that I can purchase fireworks, stuffed animals, ponchos, lingerie and a hamburger at the same place?) looked just like Cleetus from The Simpsons.  The overall store manager, while extremely helpful and happy, dipped into the sauce a little early… getting within 10 feet of her smelled like a brewery.  I suppose I would, too, if I lived in Eric, NM.

DAY 2

The morning moved along without much effort and then we stopped in the armpit of Arizona for gas.  I pulled in to the Circle K (I was the ONLY vehicle there) and despite driving that monster for 2 days, I was still not too sure about size and distance when making turns.  I got a wee bit too close to the gas pump and the bar which stops people from hitting the gas pump… somehow I was able to wedge a back tire between the bar and the pump, stopping only a foot from crashing into it and thereby blowing up the Circle K.  My brother got out and tried to give instructions, but the wind was so strong that we wound up screaming at each other: “Turn the wheel to the left!”  “What?”  “The left!”  “I can’t!”  “Just do it!  The left, left left!  Not the right.  What are you doing?”  “You do it!”  “No, you’re driving.  I don’t want to!”  “Stop being a jerk and help me!”  “YOU stop being a jerk.  I am trying to help you!  Turn the wheel to the left!”  And on it went.

My newly-acquired GPS system proved to be both a blessing and a major annoyance. I’ve dubbed her “Lucy” so I can say “Talk to me, Luce”. My brother vacillated in his praise of Lucy and then screamed for her to shut up when she kept talking. Despite arguing with my system, we made it in relatively decent time, unloaded the truck, and promptly fell asleep. The next day we did the touristy things and toured the WB Studios… all in all, a successful adventure.

 

I told there’d be adventures on this trip.  Yesterday I was suffering from a bit of jet lag and altitude sickness.  Seriously.  I woke up, got out of bed, and then immediately fell over.  OK, so I’ve got a balance problem but this was so much more than that.  I felt as though I was on one of those nauseating carnival rides that does nothing more than continually spin.  While those are super fun for 12 year-olds, they’re not so enjoyable for me.  I immediately laid back down to ward off the dizziness, only to feel as though I were on a boat in the middle of a hurricane for the rest of the day.  I’ve actually been on a boat in the middle of a hurricane so I knew exactly what that felt like (deep sea fishing, Hurricane Irene, Palm Beach, FL, October 1999).  The big difference was I didn’t I didn’t spend a good part of yesterday with my head in the toilet.

I puttered around, took care of a few necessities, and watched a lot of crap on Lifetime.  Then came last night.  If you missed the news, central Arkansas was ravaged with a series of damaging tornadoes, one of which came right through the town where my mother lives.  It’s always easy in the daylight to tell if a tornado is coming because the sky turns green.  It truly does.  In the evening you notice an immediate temperature change and an eery calm, but you can’t see much.  Thank the Lord mom doesn’t live in a trailer and that I flew in the night before (Tornado Leaves Little Rock Like a ‘War Zone’). 

I was IMing a friend when when I heard the faint wail of the tornado sirens.  If you’ve never heard such a noise, it’s startling.  Hell, even if you have it’s startling because you know what’s coming.  I got up, turned off the computer, and said, “We need to take shelter NOW.  The sirens are going off.”  We three (mom, brother, and me) grabbed pillows and hung out in the bathroom for a while, probably staying in there longer than necessary but most likely because my brother and I both fell asleep.  The storm hit our town just a few miles west of us.  We received no damages… just fallen branches, it seems.  Schools throughout the central Arkansas area are closed for the day due to lost power and damage.  Check out video here.