So here I am, sitting by the fireplace, in my old rags. Sad, because I cannot go to the ball.

Lots of cool people are going to the ball. Some of them I have met, but most of them I have not. I think it's going to be a super fun ball. And then everyone is going to write about it and have pictures of it and blah blah fabulous funcakes. My one consolation is that I have been promised a phone call, and gossip if there is any.

My second consolation (okay, I lied, there are two consolations) is that plenty of equally cool people are not going to be at the ball either. And I don't do well with snow and cold. And the whole thing is probably pretty nerve wracking at this point. And maybe it will be boring. Except that I don't actually want it to be boring. I hope everyone has a splendiferous time. So maybe it will be really interesting and there will be flame wars afterwards, and people will get drunk and mud wrestle, and someone will send me pictures.

Okay, so that was like, six consolations. It's the "new math" or something.

At least I can stay here and post journal entries for the rest of the Cinderellas out there. There's going to be a large void, and I will do my best to fill the shoes of your favorite journalers, all simultaneously. Yep. That's me. Pamethobanalzi. Twelve journalers in one. (I told you it was the new math.)

So, I found the post office today. This is a Good Thing. I can pay my bills (which are in a neat little pile) and send away a package or two I've been meaning to send. I can also send a fabulous prize to the 200th person who joins my notify list. I can't believe there's almost 200 people on there. That's really a fuckload of people. (She says, as 70 people unsubscribe because they don't want to be referred to as part of a "fuckload".)

In order to stave off these unsubscriptions, let me compose for you now, an Ode to My Notify List Members. (I'm in poetry school. You should have seen this coming.)

O Notify List, you're so special to me
Even though Yahoo! now is your host
(Almost) 200 people are waiting for me
To tell them whenever I post

I tell you all secrets, I tell you the stuff
That the rest of them never will guess
You know about [censored] and [mmph mmph mmpph mpph]
And all about lesbian sex.

When I am rich I will send you all cash
I will never turn into a snob
(And maybe when I begin handing out checks,
I'll finally pull even with Rob!)

Of course I don't care about "numbers" as such
Two people would still make me happy
(I'm sure that would mean I am rather elite
And not that my journal is crappy.)

You joined when I whined about my broken heart
(Not quite a train wreck... a train dent?)
And when my domain recently disappeared
Only you really knew where it went.

When I went on vacation, I sent you updates
from a café located in Spain
And when I'm in Holland in just two more months
I'll probably do that again.

I whine and I rant and I rave and I vent
I don't care if it's early or late
I sometimes post entries if I'm out of time
or too lazy to really update.

And you read it all, that's the wonderful thing,
And that's why I think you're so sweet.
(You even get credit for being my friend
On those days that you just hit delete.)

Of course some folks read who are not on the list
I love and adore those guys too.
But members, I save a soft place in my heart,
and the X-rated content, for you.

"It had a face!," I started yelling. "It had a face!"