Okay, so I know I’m not the smartest girl who ever walked the Earth. I mean, if I couldn’t figure that out in school, then maybe I am too stupid to live, like those rich bitches used to say I was.

But I’m not. Know how I know that? It’s because I know something that a bunch of smarties at some university back East had to study for years to figure out. I’m a health professional. Them, they’re eggheads. That’s how I got to know this so much faster.

Pregnant women who exercise have less depression.

Like I didn’t know that? Hello?

I can totally see it on the faces of my pregger students. How they walk in all achy and complaining and maybe sorry they’ve done this to themselves but of course they can’t admit that. I watch them careful ’cause, you know, they’re pregnant and all. As class goes on, those aches go away. Their bodies gear up and get in the groove. I see their faces relax. Their hunched shoulders drop. They smile. By the time they leave, it’s all good and being pregnant is the best thing in the world.

It’s simple. Exercise makes you feel good. It makes you feel like your body’s under your control. I’ve never been pregnant but my students say that sometimes, their body feels out of control. That it’s doing all these things and they can’t stop it and they can barely watch because some of it’s ugly. Their body knows what to do and it goes and does it and the heck with what their brain wants!

This is why I do what I do. I never feel as good or as alive or as sexy or anything as I do after I’ve worked out. I don’t feel dumb when it’s me up there leading the class. I’m not dumb when they come to me and ask why something hurts.

And I’m sure not dumb when I know that exercise makes pregnant women less depressed.

Now if only Mitchell Voss would see how not dumb I am. And that I’m only with Trevor until Mitchell notices. I mean, how much closer does a girl have to get? Hello? I’m right here with your best friend, buddy! Open your eyes. I’m waiting.

With Yom Kippur ending, pregnancy and kids are on my mind (see this post for why) and … well, I felt like it.

If you’d like more of Pam, click here.

So Molly and I are out shopping and all when this girl comes up to me and asks if I work out at that chain gym. The thirty-minute workout place.

“No,” I tell her.

“Oh,” the girl says. She tells me that she’s just started going there and she wants to look like me in a few weeks. That’s what they promised.

I look the girl over. She’s not fat, but she’s soft. And round. Okay, maybe she’s fat, but not a tub. But no way, no how is she going to look like me in a few weeks, no matter who promised.

I take a minute and explain I’m an exercise instructor and I’ve got my certifications and I go to advanced learning and I’m on the cutting edge of exercise. That’s why I look like this and yes, I’m proud of it.

The girl says okay and that she hopes the thirty-minute place will make her look like that, too, even though I pretty much just told her that it won’t.

Which means, I tell Molly when the girl goes, we’ve got to go check out these thirty-minute places and see exactly what they’re selling.

So we do. We go in and the girl at the front desk — who looks good but not great, like the place has paid off for her but she’s not on my level. No way, no how — asks if we usually come at a different time because we don’t look familiar.

I explain to her that I’m an instructor at a few gyms in the area.

“Oh!” she says all perky, but then she gets all sad. “Sorry, but we’re not hiring.”

I try again. I tell her I’ve been hearing good things about this place and I’d like to see what it’s like.

“Oh!” she says, all excited like she was a second ago. “You’ll want to talk to our membership services!”

I explain again. I just want to talk to a fitness professional. You know: pro to pro.

That confuses her. I try to explain it again, but Molly jumps in. “Can you get whoever’s in charge?”

So I get to talk to this Traci chick, who shows me what’s going on. Omigod, I can’t believe some people say this is exercise. All this weight equipment in a circle, and women moving their way around the circle. But they’re not working, not the way the women in my classes work. They’re going fast, which Traci tells me is the way to make it harder. But for people who are working harder, most of them don’t have red faces. A lot of them are sweating, but there’s more than a few who’re chattering away like this is some coffee shop they’re in. If my students did this, I’d ask if this was a social club or a workout. They’d say workout and wait for a break. But here, there’s these women laughing and barely touching their machines for anything but balance. It’s sad. I can see a few who are trying hard to focus and a few more who are in their zone, but the talkers, they’re messing the whole place up. You’d think someone would ask them to get off the equipment while they talk. I do, when I go lift at any of my gyms.

When we leave, Molly asks me what I think of the place. I tell her the truth: it’s great for people who’ve never worked out before and who need to get started. Or for people who want to pretend they’re working out.

Molly says it takes all kinds, and she’s right. I’ll take the kinds who show up to sweat, the ones who put passion into their workouts. The ones who know that getting a body like mine means diet and hard exercise. That’s how you get a body like mine.

When those talkers are ready to figure that out, I’ll be at my gyms, teaching my classes. Just like always. After all, once you’ve got a body like this, you need to take care of it, right?

Ahh, Pam’s quite the character, isn’t she? A lot ditzy, not terribly smart and definitely full of herself. That’s probably why she’s not here more often. If you’d like to catch up on her past adventures as a ShapeShifter groupie, click here. That’ll take you back to her character sketch page, and will link you from there to the fiction that’s been posted here in the past.

This post is R-rated!! Come back later if you’re under 18, please!

So we’re there in my bed, me and Trevor Wolff, and he sniffs the back of my knee. I die; it’s like being touched with that feather he likes so much.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, sitting back on his heels and giving me this look like I’ve totally let him down or something. It’s almost enough to ruin the whole moment or something.

I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at him. I have no idea what’s wrong.

“You girls are supposed to go all weak at the knees,” he says. He’s pouting and it’s cute.

“Oh, I am,” I tell him. I can barely get the words out, in fact.

“Yeah, well, you smell like flowers back there. What the fuck’s that about?”

I shrug. Come on. The guy’s got to know about perfumes and body sprays. It’s not like I’m the first girl he’s ever met.

“You really think it’s a turn-on?” he asks.

“It turns me on,” I tell him, shimmying a bit so the girls shake. My leg, still propped up on his shoulder, does too. It rubs against his ear and he shakes his head like it’s annoyed him.

He gets annoyed way too easy.

“And what turns you on should turn me on?” he asks and turns away, holding my leg as he lets it down. I’m bummed; this probably means the end of it, but he lights up and turns back. “I hate to break it to you girls, but us guys like you girls to smell like you. Yeah, that natural smell you’re always trying to cover up. Now that, that is a turn-on.” He nods like it’s all settled and I’ve learned my lesson and won’t ever put perfume behind my knees again.

“It’s a horrid smell,” I tell him, and he grins.

And I’m not going to tell you what happened next, but it was proof that he didn’t mind the perfume so much.

As for wearing it next time… well, catching up with him tonight wasn’t exactly planned, and I’m not dumb enough to change the way I live my life for him.

For Mitchell, maybe I would, yeah. But not for Trevor.

This weekend’s Weekend Wordsmith prompt was the unneeded puzzle piece. This seemed to fit — at least in my little brain.

Want more of Pam? Forgotten who she is? Click on this link and it’ll take you to her bio page and links to other, older posts.

No Sunday Best this week. Sorry for that; I was too busy with the family. And the agent hunting. And the writing. And the…

So I’m just sitting down to eat lunch at the mall today and OmiGod, there’s Trevor Wolff. He’s strutting through with some lady who looked like she’s his mom, and she’s carrying all the bags, just like you’d expect, but she doesn’t look all harried or impressed or pissed or … well, anything. Maybe she’s not even with him. I don’t know.

I do know, though, that he walks up to me and says, “I’ve seen you around. Don’t think I haven’t.”

I about choke on my Coke.

And then he picks up my hot dog and gives me a big smile. We both know what he’s thinking. About hot dogs and my eating that one and how it all relates to him.

I don’t remember him asking for my phone number. I think I just somehow knew. I pull out my pen and write it on my napkin. And then I blot my lipstick on the napkin, too, before I hand it over. Just because you’re supposed to and all.

“You want to be home in an hour,” he tells me as he stuffs the napkin into the pocket of his leather jacket. Like it’s not a hot day out there, for Riverview, and he’s in leather? Made me feel better about being at the mall and eating a hot dog when I could, should, have been home having something healthy. What with certification coming up next week and all.

All of a sudden, I can’t think much about certification coming up next week, although it’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks now. I can’t care about the new aerobic shoes I need, which is why I’m in the mall in the first place. I just nod like a ditz and watch him strut away, all full of himself, like he knows I’ll be waiting when he calls, like he owns the mall and being there in the middle of the day is completely natural. Maybe for him, it is. Maybe it’s just Mitchell who won’t move before noon. Or so goes the gossip about him, anyway.

I finish my hot dog and rush home. Just in case Trevor can’t tell time real well.

Which he can’t.

Any ideas on what to wear tonight?

For the background on Pam, go here:
Thursday Thirteen: Meet Pam Derbish

Meet Pam

Pam Gets Attention

And once you’ve done that, be sure to head over to Rhian‘s for more Poetry Train goodness. Let me tell you, there are some darn good people making up the Train. Come join in!

Pantera sang of Cowboys From Hell. They ain’t got nothing on Pam Derbish, Groupie From Hell.

So Molly and I are there in the front row of the ShapeShifter show last night. It’s getting pretty full at ShapeShifter shows now and it’s not so easy to get up to that front row anymore. Word’s out. They’re playing stuff from the new album, which’ll be their first big record. And we’re not the only girls there anymore, us and that hippie chick who’s always hanging around. Not by a longshot. I don’t know a lot of the girls who’re showing up these days. The funny thing is how they all act like they’ve got a right to the band. Like they’ve been there since the start. Like they really think so!

The mosh pit is churning behind us and every now and then I have to put an elbow into some overheated, overexcited jerk who thinks that shows are only about moshing and not about the music or the band or any of the really important stuff. I’m not even so sure that some of them are into moshing. Sometimes, you get these newbies who think it’s all about crashing into people senselessly. But a good pit, I’ve been learning by being so near them, has rules.

So Molly and I are right in front. I can reach out and touch the top of the monitor right in front of Mitchell‘s feet, so I put my hands there. To show everyone I belong. I igore the dirty looks from the other girls, the new ones who think Mitchell is their turf. We’ll see about that.

If I were just a bit taller, say if I could get a foothold on the edge of the stage, I could reach over the thing and touch Mitchell’s foot. That’s how close I am. That’s my spot and God help the bitch who tries to take it from me.

I about died when it happened. I mean, Molly says I should have expected it. We’ve been to how many shows? And hung out near the backstage door after each and every one? We’ve done everything but throw ourselves at them. It was overdue, I suppose. She says it was so overdue, the library stopped charging. I don’t think I get that, but I don’t care. Because it finally happened.

Right after they do Phases of the Moon, Mitchell bends down and picks up the Gatorade on the floor near his foot. “Hey, girls. Good to see you tonight,” he says as he takes the cap off the bottle. I watched his throat as he drank. I wanted to lick the sweat off it.

Molly says he blushed when he talked to us. I say his face was already red from singing and playing and exerting. But Molly insists we made him blush.

Whatever. I don’t really care. All that’s important is that he noticed me! Mitchell Voss noticed me!

He talked to me! He knew I’m alive! Omigod, I think I might die of it. Mitchell Voss. He’s so amazingly hot. I wish I could do more than lick the sweat off his neck.

I didn’t sleep last night. I’ve got classes today, but I’m as awake and energized as if I slept for two days. Mitchell Voss knows I’m alive!

And because the voting’s not closed yet…
And if you’ve missed it somehow, Just a reminder… go vote for me!

Yes, I’m totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you’ve already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You’ll get to vote again that way!

Shit, shit, shit.

Molly and I are supposed to go hang out at Decade tonight. ShapeShifter’s playing, and I’ve got to make them notice me already. Mitchell’s so hot. I’d look so good with him. We can be in the papers together. Pam and Mitchell. Riverview’s power couple.

Pam Derbish. The only woman on the planet with abs better than Mitchell’s. And do I know how to use them, too.

But no… won’t be happening tonight. Can’t be happening tonight. I’ve got to call Molly and tell her I’m not going anywhere near Decade tonight. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Pam and Daniel… he’d throw over that bitch for me, I know it. I’d get a spiral perm so we’d have matching curls. Maybe even let my natural color grow out so I don’t look too blonde next to him, his hair’s so dark.

I’m not even going to leave the house. Maybe I’ll even cancel classes tomorrow, too. Or however long it takes for this to clear up and go away. And then I can get back to work.

I’ve got to make that band notice me already. I’ve got to be part of their inner world. I need to be important to them, just like they’re important to me. It needs to be a shared thing. They need to know.

I can picture me and Eric. I’d buy dresses that hit my knees so I could go to his dad’s church with him. I could wear those little pillbox hats like Jackie O, and I’d have to get certified in a few more dance-like classes and do less weights. You don’t want to look too cut when you’re with a minister’s son, but you do need to look good. You’ve got the eyes of the congregation on you. Even more than the other ShapeShifter fans, the congregation’s got to be won over.

I’m not going to be able to do it looking like this, that’s for sure. And I’m sure as hell not leaving the house. I hope Molly doesn’t hate me for life. I deserve it if she does.

This is what happens when you exercise; it’s the one thing that no one warns you about. Oh, you can have abs to die for, Pam. No problem there. A gorgeous ass, sculpted arms. Just… forget about having clear skin on your back. Forget about having beautiful, flawless skin on the one night you know you’ll be able to get close enough to ShapeShifter to get them to notice you.

To make matters worse, the problem’s right by my mouth. It looks like a cold sore, except it’s already formed a bit of a white head. And besides, I don’t get cold sores. I know it may not seem like it, the way I go on about ShapeShifter, but I am careful about who I sleep with. I do, after all, have standards. Especially about something like sex.

I was hoping that tonight, I’d be showing those standards to one of the ShapeShifter boys. The night’s perfect. I don’t have a class tomorrow. No roommates around tonight. And brand new candles.

And this zit.

Shit shit shit.

Tonight was perfect. ShapeShifter’s getting hard to get near. They’re popular now. They’re putting out another album, and rumor has it that they’ll be touring in a real bus this time, too. People outside of Riverview are starting to hear about them. Lots of people.

I need to make my move soon, if I’m going to be able to do it at all.

Maybe I’ll get my period tonight. That would be the only way I’ll ever forgive this zit. Especially if Molly calls me in the morning and says that the band noticed her instead of me.