Scott
I couldn't care less...
I couldn't care less...
Yes, yes, I know. It's been awhile. But it isn't my fault. I've had tons of ideas for posts. I was going to write about
the deep childhood trauma that haunts me to this day (let's just say David Bowie still creeps me out). And then
there was the one about Pamela's completely made up blind date.
Alas, you didn't get to read them. Why not?
It's Pamela's fault.
As some of you are aware (and if you're not, ask Pamela. She'll be HAPPY to tell you all about it!), the subject of
this little site has become a bit of a media celebrity. Strike that. She's a S*T*A*R, baby. Maybe not on the level
of, say, a Lisa Welchel or an Alfonso Ribiero. But she's famous, nonetheless.
I just wish it hadn't changed her so much.
How did it change her? Well, let me tell you. (And if you don't want to read this, jump to the music reviews. I like
that Mary gal.)
It all started with the gold chains. Right after the KARE-11 piece aired, Pamela started wearing gold chains. Not
the stupid ones aging frat boys wear to… well, I don't know why they where them. No, I'm talking about late 80's
Run-DMC chain upon chain upon chain. How much gold did she have on? Let me put it like this. We were
going to do a flip flop on her weight loss board and have people sponsor each pound of gold she acquired.
Tragically, the gold all turned out to be of low quality, and the doctors believe Pamela's neck will remain green
until 2017. Hey, a decade of looking like you got a neck transplant from the Hulk is nothing!
And then there were the sunglasses. Have you ever seen the Elvis documentary where he had those really thick
framed, bad ass 70's style sunglasses on? Those are what Pamela started to wear. I suspect it hid the fact that
Pamela was constantly rolling her eyes at the "little people" she had to put up with.
Wait. I mean Miss Peterson. You see, we can no longer call her Pamela. I heard she toyed with the idea of
being a single name entity like Madonna or Christ but her ego wouldn't allow what she felt was a step down. And
so it is Miss Peterson now.
What happens if you slip and utter the P word? Pray. Pray hard.
At least you'll know she's coming, though. Pamela (in for a penny, in for a pound at this point!) now has theme
music. A little guy runs ahead of her into any situation and hoists a boombox in the air like a love starved John
Cusack and plays Pamela's theme music as she arrives. And what is Pamela's theme song?
"Sex Bomb." The Tom Jones version. I kid you not.
Pamela doesn't actually do any walking anymore. She has one of those Roman emperor chair things that gets
carried around by hunky guys. Not my taste, but whatever floats your boat.
You'll also be warned because Pamela doesn't just show up. Long gone are the days of stopping by and saying
hi. You need an appointment to set up a meeting to manage a conference and then maybe (MAYBE!) you'll get a
polite nod in the hallway.
Look, I've rambled on too long. This is painful as I once considered Pamela a friend. Okay, not really, but it
sounds good. I'm not going to mention the tantrums, the fits, the childish wailing over whether the tea she drinks
is 67 degrees or 68. I just want to give a big thanks to Jana Shortal and Rachel Ray. Pamela couldn't have
become what she is today without you!
Pamela's note: No comment.
the deep childhood trauma that haunts me to this day (let's just say David Bowie still creeps me out). And then
there was the one about Pamela's completely made up blind date.
Alas, you didn't get to read them. Why not?
It's Pamela's fault.
As some of you are aware (and if you're not, ask Pamela. She'll be HAPPY to tell you all about it!), the subject of
this little site has become a bit of a media celebrity. Strike that. She's a S*T*A*R, baby. Maybe not on the level
of, say, a Lisa Welchel or an Alfonso Ribiero. But she's famous, nonetheless.
I just wish it hadn't changed her so much.
How did it change her? Well, let me tell you. (And if you don't want to read this, jump to the music reviews. I like
that Mary gal.)
It all started with the gold chains. Right after the KARE-11 piece aired, Pamela started wearing gold chains. Not
the stupid ones aging frat boys wear to… well, I don't know why they where them. No, I'm talking about late 80's
Run-DMC chain upon chain upon chain. How much gold did she have on? Let me put it like this. We were
going to do a flip flop on her weight loss board and have people sponsor each pound of gold she acquired.
Tragically, the gold all turned out to be of low quality, and the doctors believe Pamela's neck will remain green
until 2017. Hey, a decade of looking like you got a neck transplant from the Hulk is nothing!
And then there were the sunglasses. Have you ever seen the Elvis documentary where he had those really thick
framed, bad ass 70's style sunglasses on? Those are what Pamela started to wear. I suspect it hid the fact that
Pamela was constantly rolling her eyes at the "little people" she had to put up with.
Wait. I mean Miss Peterson. You see, we can no longer call her Pamela. I heard she toyed with the idea of
being a single name entity like Madonna or Christ but her ego wouldn't allow what she felt was a step down. And
so it is Miss Peterson now.
What happens if you slip and utter the P word? Pray. Pray hard.
At least you'll know she's coming, though. Pamela (in for a penny, in for a pound at this point!) now has theme
music. A little guy runs ahead of her into any situation and hoists a boombox in the air like a love starved John
Cusack and plays Pamela's theme music as she arrives. And what is Pamela's theme song?
"Sex Bomb." The Tom Jones version. I kid you not.
Pamela doesn't actually do any walking anymore. She has one of those Roman emperor chair things that gets
carried around by hunky guys. Not my taste, but whatever floats your boat.
You'll also be warned because Pamela doesn't just show up. Long gone are the days of stopping by and saying
hi. You need an appointment to set up a meeting to manage a conference and then maybe (MAYBE!) you'll get a
polite nod in the hallway.
Look, I've rambled on too long. This is painful as I once considered Pamela a friend. Okay, not really, but it
sounds good. I'm not going to mention the tantrums, the fits, the childish wailing over whether the tea she drinks
is 67 degrees or 68. I just want to give a big thanks to Jana Shortal and Rachel Ray. Pamela couldn't have
become what she is today without you!
Pamela's note: No comment.
"Scott (formerly #180) told
me he had a son named
Kenny. He made me
believe that for 4 months.
Scott lied. He has no
children. I was a little upset
by this when he finally
confessed (guilt induced, I
had menengitis) but now I
think it's pretty funny. Scott
seems to find endless
delight in picking on me
and after working closely
with him for 2 years, I
realize, that's just our way.
He's like the little brother I
didn't really need. I like his
wife a lot, however (#178).
Mary makes him almost
bearable."--Pamela
Read all of Scott's
stories
me he had a son named
Kenny. He made me
believe that for 4 months.
Scott lied. He has no
children. I was a little upset
by this when he finally
confessed (guilt induced, I
had menengitis) but now I
think it's pretty funny. Scott
seems to find endless
delight in picking on me
and after working closely
with him for 2 years, I
realize, that's just our way.
He's like the little brother I
didn't really need. I like his
wife a lot, however (#178).
Mary makes him almost
bearable."--Pamela
Read all of Scott's
stories
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