This is a compilation of my best conclusions, quotes and deep thoughts. The date of June 14, 2005 is irrelevant, as this post is updated frequently and linked to through the Quotable Velvet Link.

  • “Ok, I’m no supermodel, but, hello? Don’t you know that you and I are in different leagues?” I have no idea why people cannot figure out what league they are in. Those who are 1-3’s must also date those in the 1-3 category. I think 4-6’s should mate up and 7-9’s should date. Now, for the elusive 10’s - a.k.a. Brad Pitt, he needs another 10, such as, oh, Jennifer Aniston. Come on people. Get it right. I shouldn’t have to draw you a picture when you are hitting on me, should I? (Here’s you. Note how ugly you are. Now, here’s me. I’m so cute and rich and thin…) 6.23.05
  • Sometimes the straw that breaks the camel’s back isn’t a very big straw. 7.3.05
  • Do you ever look at someone when you are on a subway who is on another subway, and you are going one direction and they are going the other and you think, “Am I supposed to be over there?” It’s not a literal feeling, like, “Shit, I’m on the wrong train.” It’s more of a feeling like, “This train is taking me to work, or whatever, and I wonder if that train is going to take me somewhere better or happier.” 7.14.05
  • I wanted to save my reputation, because you know what? In my world land development, you can never repair damage to your name. Your name and reputation are worth more than anything else you have. (That’s from my dad, I can’t take credit for that.) 7.14.05
  • he said that I really was the “bigger person” for sending him an email and saying that I was wrong for canceling so many times. In the distance, I can hear the ding ding ding of the slot machine jackpot, for, being the BIGGER PERSON is my God Damned New Year’s Resolution from 2004. We can all thank my family for that. They test my will and push the envelope daily, making me work for that resolution. Does anyone remember when they went to London and Paris without me??? I’m not bitter, really. 7.14.05
  • If they are not talking to you, they are talking to someone else. 7.18.05
  • It makes me realize that good ones are hard to find. Good ones with chemistry - even harder. 7.21.05
  • No details you fuckers because I like him and details aren’t funny when you really like someone. Now, on to details about people I don’t like. 7.27.05
  • That’s great. Did I tell you about my latest yeast infection? 7.27.05
  • Then I’ll always be the crazy girl he met on the internet who stalked him, crashed under his window and was towed away and probably arrested. I don’t want to be his good story - I want him to be my good story. 8.1.05
  • No more picking up men at the dog park for me. 8.4.05
  • If you can’t beat ‘em, date ‘em. 8.5.06
  • This morning he called, and since I stared at it but didn’t actually answer it, he had to leave a voicemail. He said “Babe! Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you, call me back.” WTF? WTF? WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!? I call back and we start to get into a pissing match about who called who. When I put him on the spot, he develops a stomach cramp and puts me on hold. A STOMACH CRAMP? That’s the fucking best you can do? Christ. It would have been more believable if he said he was being mugged and they were stealing his phone. Or like in Pee Wee Herman when he calls home and the girl says “Maybe when you come back we can go out?” And he blows all this air into the phone and says they have a bad connection. Now, that would have been funnier.8.20.05
  • Then I call DamascusBoy back. Somehow we got from a normal conversation to the status of us and why we have never dated in these past two years. I asked him a question about my tattoo and can I bleed my last name into the existing tattoo. So we’re talking about that and he says that he’ll have to see it. Of course. I wouldn’t have assumed otherwise. Somehow, after this, we get into the craziest conversation back and forth where he says “We should just get married.” So I said, “Fine, let’s see the ring.” Then he’s saying “Can we go on our honeymoon in Hawaii?” I said that was fine. Then I ask where we will live. He says, “Your place on the weekend and mine during the week.” I agree again. Then he asks “Kids?” I said “No kids.” There was his deal breaker. Oh well. I tried. My dating experiences are getting faster and faster. I’ve basically got it down to where I don’t even have to go out with them anymore. It starts and ends in 25 minutes. 8.23.05
  • so much of modern medicine is the medical version of the IT desk’s “shut down and reboot.” They don’t really know what’s wrong, can’t fix it per se, but hope that by starting over again, you will be normal this time. 8.25.05
  • You moron, we’re in Dupont Circle! It was the gays that made this one time ghetto habitable for the rest of us yuppies. 9.3.05
  • This man is proof positive that no amount of money can buy you class. 9.3.05
  • The hell we are. Who do you think I am? Natalee Holloway? I’m not going anywhere with you two so that my family can see CNN preempt the hurricane coverage tomorrow to talk about some D.C. girl who went missing. 9.3.05
  • I’m going to start bringing mace on my dates. I might need it. 9.3.05
  • Well, I got an email from yesterday’s trash, I mean, my date from last night. 9.4.05
  • What? Is he sitting in a room with the glue open? 9.4.05
  • I have dating-A.D.D. 9.5.05
  • It goes without saying that each person in any relationship, whether it’s a friendship, family member, or significant other, has to derive something from the union. Now, only when you stop getting what you need or want from it, and only when it stops being a two way street can you call the game over. For me, there’s no one who is immune to this simple equation, family included. I’ve been through so much with my family and we repaired the relationship despite the fact that it looked like we may never speak again. They only got a second chance with me because they are my parents. But, if they ever treat me again the way they have in the past, I can say goodbye and never look back. 9.11.05
  • Men suck. Yes, that goes for all of you. Yes, you in the back too. 9.19.06
  • the intersection of Shit Street and Fuck it All Boulevard… 9.21.05
  • I can officially cross “Throw a sandwich in someone’s face” off the list of things I must accomplish in my lifetime. 9.23.05
  • Being nice to people ALWAYS backfires like a 1979 TransAm with Jersey Plates. 9.23.05
  • When man tries to control an animal, the animal in the end, has a way of showing who’s boss. 9.23.05
  • he didn’t understand that I thought he was condescending and I didn’t understand his assessment that I went “psycho.” We’ve really got the makings of a beautiful, committed, communicative relationship in the works. 9.25.05
  • in the spirit of getting back to the basics of what I do worst, I’m officially in the dating game again. I posted profiles on Yahoo and Match, and so far I’ve attracted most of the current residents and several alumni from the We-be-missing-some-teeth-Trailer Park. I might have to date some of them just for fun. And the fuckers at “It’s Just Lunch” have called again. So, we’ll see what shitpile they are going to dump me into later this week. Can’t wait. 9.25.05
  • Moving with M was hilariously hilarious. We went to his old condo to “pick up the last few things.” I should have brought something like, oh, a U-Haul, because his “last few things” were equivalent to what I would term “enough stuff to send to a homeless Katrina Hurricane Family.” 9.26.05
  • I’ll have a backseat omelette with a side of birdshit. 9.26.05
  • The sargeant at this salon told me to drop my drawers. And I did. But then my legs were in all sorts of sexual positions and frankly, it was a little embarrassing, even for me, who fantasizes about a career as a stripper. 9.27.05
  • I’m really scratching things off my Life-To-Do list. Now I’ve been masturbated by a Thai woman with my own hand. 9.27.05
  • When I realized that I wasn’t going to fall back asleep, that the T.V. channels I like to watch are still in infomercial mode, that none of your blogs had possibly been updated yet, that the news hadn’t changed in three hours, and that there was no one awake to possibly talk to, I hopped online and started ordering porn. 9.29.05
  • But it’s interesting that the things men love about you in the beginning are the things that they end up hating about you most when you start having problems. 9.29.05
  • a girl just can’t walk around with her panties in a knot for an interminable amount of time. After a thorough examination of the contents of one battery operated item in my nightstand drawer, I was ready to begin my day. 9.30.05
  • “Am I to understand that you are dating a man who is jealous of your vibrator and love of porn?” 9.30.05
  • At best, we would only have a few years together before you retire to a trailerpark in Florida, taking your handicap parking sticker with you thereby leaving me to fend for mall parking on my own and having to relearn how to eat dinner in the non-early-bird hours of 7 p.m. 10.3.05
  • Ugly Is The New Normal 10.3.05
  • I don’t even like to leave Dupont Circle. I am pissed off when I have to take the dogs to the groomer on 14th Street, a mere three blocks away. Why the fuck would I want to make a “friend” in PA? “5 minutes from Maryland” is still hours from no where. 10.3.05
  • He has since deleted his profile, but the message remains in my inbox. I’m afraid to hover my mouse over it to delete it. It’s the same apprehension I would feel at having to poke a dead body with a stick. 10.3.05
  • Online dating contines to be a fruitful way to meet quality men. 10.5.05
  • I didn’t realize I needed a CIA Code Breaker to help me date, but, this is D.C. and, well, I guess it was only a matter of time. 10.6.05
  • You all should thank me, however, because I singlehandedly propped up our economy for another day. When the housing bubble busts and gas hits $7 a gallon, don’t come crying to Velvet because it was VELVET who cleaned the racks at TJ Maxx, Filene’s Basement, Marshalls, Kramer Books, Barnes & Noble, Petco, and Saks Fifth Avenue. 10.6.05
  • Cop says, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” Penny said, “No sir.” Cop says, (classic line coming:) “Because you almost hit me.” 10.18.05
  • while he set a new standard, he didn’t really see inside my soul. 10.21.05
  • dating a man whether he has one or more children ensures me one thing - I will never be number one in his life. And I deserve that, if only for a fleeting time. 10.21.05
  • But, dating is a numbers game and don’t let anyone tell you anything different. The more men I meet and date, the better my chances at finding someone worthy. 10.21.05
  • Why am I crapping where I eat again? This is the stupidity equivalent to my dating the motorcycle instructor before the test, to my dating my R.A. in college and having to pass his door when I was sneaking home with someone else, to my dating the construction manager at a job in Maryland and putting myself in a massively awkward position in many capacities. I am dating the bartender at a venue that I will not be able to avoid in the future. I’m an idiot. 10.22.05
  • It’s only four years difference but I already feel like it’s a Stiffler’s Mom & Finch scenario of sorts. 10.23.05
  • So, by process of elimination, I have HIV? 11.2.05
  • Has my dating finally come full circle and someone’s girlfriend is now after me? Okay, but I can’t fight with the left side of my face though!! 11.2.05
  • Also, on my dates, there is usually an event such as, date farts and blames it on someone else, which require from me, some sort of expression of disgust. I have tested out what sort of expressions I could muster, and they look more inquisitive than appropriate for the scene that is destined to take place. I just don’t think a half smile or single raised eyebrow will serve me well for dating. 11.3.05
  • If you need to contact me, I will be residing somewhere between the neighborhoods of La-La Land and Celibacy, balancing several medications, waiting on blood test results, scheduling visits with a neurologist and in general, fine-tuning other skills. Love and Half-Kisses, Velvet in Dupont 11.3.05
  • When it isn’t fun anymore, it isn’t worth it. 11.5.05
  • Damn, and I can’t even find time to masturbate. All right all right, liar liar pants on fire. I’ve been late to work for masturbating. 11.6.05
  • Velvet is a confirmed hetero. Girl tongue in my mouth makes me want to throw up everything I ate since Valentine’s Day. 11.6.05
  • pretty much expected that I would be on my way out before I could settle in. Men seem to have a VERY short shelf life in your life, as they should. 11.7.05
  • I just don’t agree with maintaining relationships with people from your past if those people can hijack any chance of happiness from your future. 11.7.05
  • Velvet is a selfish dating bitch. Any recommendations, positive or otherwise, of certain establishments may be a hoax to divert competition out of the playing field. The preferred dating odds of Velvet are a room full of 98% single, eligible men and 2% women. The women comprised in the 2% must be in Velvet’s party or must be cool enough to hang out with. 11.10.05
  • When I got in the elevator at the hotel, I was making faces in the mirror to see how my Bell’s Palsy was doing. (Coming along, thanks for asking.) Then I realized of course that the elevators were all glass and the whole lobby could see me. Granted there were only three people in the lobby, but still. As the floors clicked away, bringing me higher and higher, I felt like the biggest fraud - like the brakes were going to come on and say, “Get out here, we don’t take your type past the 3rd floor.” 11.11.05
  • We thought the “mall” was the place Mommy goes to for hours, then comes back with thousands of bags and proclaims, “Well fuckers, you can’t eat for a few weeks, Mommy really did it this time.” 11.12.05
  • I bounced my ass (and seven eighths of my face) back into the middle of the dating scene. 11.17.05
  • It’s too complicated to explain that I’ve entrusted my dating life to a bunch of sorority girls with double digit IQ’s who would probably set me up on a date at a cemetary with a man who is already dead and buried. (”You’ll be meeting him at the third tombstone from the left….he only just died a month ago, stop being so picky.”) 11.18.05
  • Why is it that women constantly settle for less and men constantly strive to achieve better? You never really see an incredibly hot man with brains, great job, money, with a piss poor woman who is just average in the looks department. But you will often see the opposite. 11.20.05
  • Thank goodness I am not a lesbian. Could you imagine? “Velvet, can you not be a rugmuncher this weekend? It just doesn’t work in my schedule.” 11.21.05
  • At my parent’s house, it’s always the same: a bunch of unrecognizable things in the freezer that may or may not be older than I am, and chocolate in the pantry. 11.21.05
  • he said what I always get: “I feel like I could tell you anything.” What? Why do I get that? I’m one of the biggest assholes I know. I don’t know why people say that to me. 12.10.05
  • He also said, “Your phone rings a lot.” I said, “I only plan on answering it if my parents call. It’s my rule. Parents or boss, I pick it up.” He said, “You and I are so different. I would never do that.” Suck it. Mom squeezed me out from between her legs. Dad helped me out tremendously with paying for school and my current abode. Both of them love me despite the mass levels of insanity they inflict on the world around them and I answer the phone when they call. My boss gave me the best job ever and pays me way too much to do it so I answer his calls too. So, again, suck it. 12.11.05
  • You know how people have May-December romances? I have Friday-Sunday romances. Make that Friday-Saturday. 12.11.05
  • You know, I could fuck just about anybody, but I couldn’t hold just anybody’s hand. 12.11.05
  • You know what I find attractive about you? The combination of someone who is smart–and reads–but at the same time has an illegal streak, has sex in bathrooms, has a tongue ring and learned how to use it by watching porn. 12.12.05
  • Yes, my tongue saw a lot of activity this weekend. Actually, if we compare the two, the personal trainer and this dude, I bet my tongue saw the lowest and highest IQ’s of my dating career. I depress me. At least I ended with the high IQ. 12.12.05
  • My number is in more places than Borf. 12.12.05
  • Now for some other tidbits on men I won’t be dating. One man said to me: “You are a very strong person but empty within.” It’s an interesting statement, but I doubt after a few minutes of emailing that he could sense that. He needs to use that line on an 18 year old. She’d gush, “He gets me.” I’m much deeper than that. Apparently it takes a man to recognize my love of porn and public sex to really “get me.” 12.12.05
  • I have to keep the CL# beginning to their nickname, so then I can keep track where they came from. It’s like a marketing effort, “And how did you hear about dating Velvet?” 12.13.05
  • Sidenote - drunk as I am, you should SEE the tiny Velvet-sized-parking-space that I poured SpeedRacer into. I cannot believe it. Shut up, I only drove 4 blocks, but it’s under 20 degrees out there. 12.13.05
  • note how I say that I can’t accommodate your wishes because I’m already busy. (Busy as in, taking a toothpick to the space between the planks of my hardwood floors and picking out any stray dirt and trapped dog hair.) 12.14.05
  • Men tell you exactly who they are within five minutes of meeting them. 12.16.05
  • Dating is a numbers game. The more people you meet, the better the chance that one will be a match. 12.16.05
  • So what, you dated a beauty queen, the real question is, does she swallow? 12.18.05
  • People show their true colors when they are drunk and when they are stressed. When people can’t cope in either situation, their real personality comes roaring out. 12.18.05
  • Somehow, as I was crouching to sit, the bum leg gave out and I fell onto the toilet. Only me. I swear. I started to become worried at this point that I had Bells Palsy of the leg or something. I stood up and I felt very weird. I paced inside the bathroom for a couple minutes, checked the heel on my boot, poked my leg in various places, and started to recover a little. When I got back to the bar, Date#9LowTalker seemed to make a statement about me taking a while or something so I said there was a line. (Yeah, behind my peg leg.) And he said, “But the place is empty.” 12.18.05
  • Are you telling me there is land south of the end of the Jersey Turnpike? 12.23.05
  • I wait a few minutes, then pull out my brand spanking new Sprint PCS cell phone (PCS stands for Piece of Cocksucking Shit in case you didn’t know.) 12.23.05
  • But then I walk in and my mother greets me like I was the Pope bringing 8 gallons of holy water and a couple of bagels . 12.23.05
  • I never realized that that fateful weekend in 2000 was the beginning of an event unprecendented in my family - one of the chosen children was now on the outside of the circle. And I was somehow back on the inside. 12.23.05
  • You must know that when it’s down to a man vs. Velvet, Velvet always wins. 12.28.05
  • Well, the art of timing is really fucking me in the ass today. 12.30.05
  • Chemistry is elusive. We have chemistry with people who are right for us and people who are not. We have to differentiate between the two and make wise choices for ourselves. 1.5.06
  • Really? (The really was said with a tone as if I had just said, “George Bush is the best President ever.” It was incredulous, like he couldn’t believe me…which leads me to wonder, Did I somehow lead him on???) 1.5.06
  • I just spent $2300 at the Neurologist. Let me say that again, because I’m not sure those in the back heard. I just spent $2300 at the Neurologist. 1.10.06
  • Something isn’t passing the sniff test. 1.11.06
  • I’m ruthless and conniving when it comes to my own entertainment. 1.15.06
  • I decided it was best to keep him overnight, you know, for observation. 1.15.06
  • Barbara already gave me some advice, which I love. She slapped me around mom-style. Well, not my mom’s style. My mom would spout out an unfounded insult about him, based on lies, to mask her disappointment that he’s not Greek. Barbara said: “Don’t start doubting a relationship that is still alive and seemingly well.” 1.15.06
  • Snark aside, why did I force the money on him? This is very important, pay attention foolish women who mooch favors from men by batting eyelashes: Once I paid for services rendered with the American Dollar, he could no longer feel as if I “owed” him something, i.e. a dinner that I didn’t want to have. Never accept a free favor from a person who you don’t want anything to do with. It was tacky of him to ask me out since I basically hired him to work for me. But it would be more tacky of me to not give him anything for the work, then avoid his advances. 1.17.06
  • Stop letting Oprah do all your thinking for you. 1.27.06
  • I went fishing out of the recycling bin. 1.31.06
  • I thought about thanking him for ditching me and leaving me with the others in his CL Graduating Class. Who can forget the likes of CL#1Writer (a.k.a. the octopus) and CL#3TextTormenter (who still calls me) but I figure I can still pretend to be a CL Virgin. 1.31.06
  • I guess half the disappointment of losing a man in your life is the idea of getting out there again and starting all over. But lucky for me, one was lounging in the recycling bin and had not been taken from the curb. 1.31.06
  • While I truly enjoy dating, getting shit on by dates, and utilizing other bloggers to torture assholes who prove themselves as such before I find myself out on a date with them, I don’t want to do this forever. 1.31.06
  • I get it. The book the book the book. Fuck that book. What has that book done for me lately? In case anyone was keeping score, I’m still single. 1.31.06
  • You know how they say Astronauts can see the bright lights of Vegas from space? Well, add this chicks bangs to that list. 2.6.06
  • I’m really learning lessons left and right over here. Left and right. By the way dude, make sure you look left and right before you try to jump out in traffic to get away from me. 2.6.06
  • I want to do very very very bad things to this man. 2.8.06
  • There should never be speculation on how you feel about someone. When it comes to matters of chemistry, you don’t even have to think about it. It’s strong enough to tell you directly. 2.9.06
  • He’s not gone. But he’s definitely doing some circular floating near the bottom of the drain. 2.13.06
  • I’m still not pleased that the damn guards at my heart went out for a piss break and left the place unmanned. Then some asshole got in and shit all over the place. Lazy guards. You just can’t find good help these days. I hired extra guards and expect that all points of entry have been armed. 2.28.06
  • “Velvet, this is Craigslist A.A. calling. Step away from the computer.” 2.28.06
  • Guess he’s over there checking his dance card to see who it could possibly be. 3.2.06
  • I’ve never minded this non-stop dating before because I never wanted to set the circus down with one man before. But all of a sudden, during and after the end of NewJersey, I realized that it might be time for me. I want more. I don’t know how I’m going to get it, but I want more. 3.2.06
  • Enter the Horny Hungarian, stage left. When he realized it was me he was within five feet of, he took off like a rabid animal on red bull running from a gun pointing Dick Cheney. He took off right into the kitchen of Chi Cha, where he was promptly kicked out. 3.6.06
  • Normally my dreams are of the plane crashing, dogs dying, pulling super long snot out of my nose variety. 3.11.06
  • After I had sufficiently sprayed my phone number from one end of the Terrace Club to another, we decided to leave. 3.13.06
  • We go on our date, and his cell phone rings. Now, this would be a normal scene for anyone on a date in today’s time. But let me remind you: The year is 1996. Cell phones were the size of shoeboxes at the time. 3.13.06
  • It was really a mess of flowers, no one flower looking like the next. They looked wild if you asked me, but what the hell did I know? I’ve rarely been on the receiving end of flowers. I brought the mess home with me, plopped it on the kitchen counter and went up to my room. To do what, I have no idea. We didn’t have internet back then. 3.13.06
  • I hear my brother go bounding down the stairs, careen around the corner, stop dead in his tracks and start cackling like a hyena who just smoked a joint. “WHAT IDIOT GAVE YOU THESE WEEDS?” 3.13.06
  • Unless you were living under a rock at the time, you would have immediately recognized the type in track suits, thick gold chains and crunchy hair as refugees from Long Island. 3.14.06
  • Track suits were manhandled. Gold chains were snatched. Crunchy hair came dangerously close to taking out an eye. Zima’s were spilled. The men were eventually ejected from the bar faster than trash gets dumped in the Long Island Sound. 3.14.06
  • Shit, I couldn’t find a good relationship if I crashed my car into it. 3.16.06
  • Since I was a mere 20 years old, and unable to go out drinking for New Years Eve due to my fake ID that just fell out of a Cracker Jack box, I took a shift at work. 3.17.06
  • In other news, I had my fabulous tattoo added to last week. Now I have half a back of artwork. Nice. But it itches, so if anyone has a scratching post they can drop by my house, that would be greatly appreciated. 3.20.06
  • As Kayla expertly reported, an olive landed on someone’s shirt, and he just picked it off and ate it, as if his shirt was a natural place for an olive to hang out. 3.20.06
  • Wait, Craigslist isn’t where I’m going to find a wholesome Greek husband? Really? What about match.com? AA? BDSM club? The Ukraine? 3.23.06
  • Sure, I may have tripped, but in an hour I’ll have forgotten about it and she’ll still be waiting for a table at the most overrated restaurant in Dupont Circle. 3.25.06
  • When we were trying to work things out, and you said, “My pizza is here, I’ll call you right back,” I knew at that moment you loved me less than that pizza and that was all I needed. (Sadly, this is me. Yes, I said it. It’s the line that ended a 6 year relationship.) 3.27.06
  • “I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore. Sent from my Blackberry Wireless.” (This is my joke with my boss, who when he asked me how my weekend was after the NewJersey breakup, laughed as I said the above. NJ didn’t really send it from a Blackberry, but this world is certainly coming to that. I’m sure it’s bound to happen to someone.) 3.27.06
  • When no one is looking, I toss the rotting produce into the garbage. It’s very difficult to do this in front of parents who routinely said to me growing up, “No, Velvet. Eat around the mold.” If they catch me, my pleas of “You don’t have to live like you are in the Great Depression anymore” fall on deaf ears and they threaten to strip me of my, our, last name. “You are not one of us” my father seethes through a mouthful of rotting banana. 47 1/2 hours to go. 4.2.06
  • “Hey! Mom and Dad are down there already. Damn!” They came upstairs and it was only then that I realized the clocks jumped ahead overnight. Fucking awesome. 5 hours to go. 4 hours to go. 4.2.06
  • Why do I pay $45 to hold my boobs up when plenty of men would do it for free? 4.4.06
  • I don’t know what else to say, but I don’t stay over. Call it another of my PostSecrets along with getting tattoo’s so that I will always remember who I once was, or that I despise being in people’s weddings. This secret? I don’t stay over. 4.5.06
  • However, buyer beware. Sometimes online people don’t let the truth get in the way of creating a good ”persona.” 4.9.06
  • Keep in mind that my entire perception of this scene is skewed by the addition of several Bombay Tonics. 4.16.06
  • Instead I’m sitting next to a woman obviously bothered by my sniffling and coughing. And “sitting next to” is questionable because she’s spilling over into my seat. Oh, am I bothering you that much? Sorry I’m having trouble breathing but I’m a little stuffed up and part of your shoulder and arm is crushing my good lung. Suck it lady. Go find an empty seat next to a seemingly healthy person. My germs will find you sooner or later. 4.24.06
  • Ok, so you must now put this all into perspective for a second. I’m (of fucking course) sauntering up to the front door of this monstrosity in the usual 4 inch heels, jeans, white peasant type shirt thing. From the girls we have a sea of tank tops and cowboy boots. Let’s say that I stand out a tiny bit. I’m a casualty of my geography. Right now, I scream “East Coast Snob.” I’m very conscious of this so I overcompensate in being nice. And I get tested very quickly as some guy approaches me in the parking lot. 4.27.06
  • I know it’s bad to just obliterate some things off the map, but I’m doing it. You may notice there are a few posts missing. Call it Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Blog. Buh-Bye. Thanks for flying with Velvet. I hope to never see you again on another flight, ever. 5.25.06
  • I overlooked some very obvious red flags. Sigh, I miss the old days of playing ball in elementary school. With those colored jerseys, you always knew who was on which team. In life? Not so much. 5.25.06
  • It seems like yesterday that I wavered on who was hotter - Axl Rose or Sebastian Bach. Heh. The days of either of those men making my heart go pitter patter are very much over. Time has not been kind to either. I would have been better served to invest in a crush on Tommy Lee or Nikki Sixx. Damn those boys certainly held up well. Apparently snorting coke and fucking porn stars really worked out well for them. 5.29.06
  • Sunday I parked my ass on the roof and got enough sun and skin cancer for all of us. You don’t have to thank me, someone had to do it. 5.29.06
  • We chatted with some locals. (Locals as in, “We live on U Street” not “We live in Stafford County.”) 5.29.06
  • Apparently in Arlington, they put swimming pools between two buildings that are 6 stories, so the buildings block the sun for the most part. You get sun in the pool area for what? 3 hours? I wonder what Einstein architect designed that shit. This is why I lay out on my roof where the sun shines all day and I can take my top off. 5.29.06
  • And occasionally, you two do and say shit that is damn fine material for me. So you’ll have to deal with reading it, Velvetized, here on the blog. 5.29.06
  • I did have a present when I arrived home, however. The watermelon I bought at Soviet Safeway yesterday exploded in my kitchen. There is watermelon juice all over the countertops, the floors, and watermelon guts all over the walls and the cabinets. How exactly does a watermelon explode? Life for the single girl, it is really such a bevy of surprises. Gah. More drunk Velvet and an exploded watermelon. Snooooore. I’ll try harder tomorrow. 6.1.06
  • Chris ends up being a very nice, very genuine boy. But I say boy because he and his 25 friends arrived at the 18th Street Lounge via the Party Bus for some girl’s birthday party. (Birthday girl by the way was wearing all the blue eyeshadow that the world has produced since 1981, the year of her birth.) 6.4.06
  • …a woman will ALWAYS piss all over her guy friends like a damn dog, just so he can’t get with anyone else. 6.4.06
  • So to the little 24 year old girl wearing the giant turquoise stone around her neck and insane jealousy on her sleeve??? Get a clue. 6.4.06
  • What did we learn?
    1) Women need to figure out how to stick together and stop selling out their girlfriends for some dick. (Literally, figuratively.)
    2) “Hi my name is” is the only acceptable line.
    3) Don’t cockblock your friends, male or female.
    4) Don’t high five anyone. Ever.
    5) Short men are sometimes (eek…most times I’ve seen) over aggressive. 6.4.06
  • So when I get back to work, I google image searched The Joker, and I got this, which is so uncanny of his facial expression during sex that I screamed out loud in my office. Fortunately they are used to that, and no one came running. 6.8.06
  • I feel dirty. And not dirty in a good way. Dirty like I need a vaginal transplant to wash the shame out of me for that one. 6.8.06
  • But what really gives it away is the gold chains. People from New York seem to be the only ones left on the planet who still wear yellow gold. I think I melted mine down in the 80’s and made a spoon out of it, but whatever. Platinum and White Gold people! Gah. I’m trying to reason with a crowd that still uses Aqua Net. Okay, I’ll save my breath. 6.18.06
  • So…back to check on the progress of bike charging and to plan the funeral for my thermostat. It seems that somehow it got broken into several pieces when the air wouldn’t turn on today. I’m not sure how that happened. I think it may have had something to do with the fist that punched it. Several times. That fist by the way, is extremely tan thanks to the sun that shone all weekend long. 6.18.06
  • Good lord. I have visions of that thing being installed in my house, and drilled so far into the concrete that it won’t be able to come out. Then I’ll want to sell my condo, and for the first time ever, a Seller’s Disclosure Statement will have the words, “Love Swing conveys with unit.” 6.19.06
  • There was also something in the real hunting guide about “measuring the antler point” but I’m afraid that doing this after the hunt is too late. I may already find myself in the arms of some man packing a small antler. Wouldn’t be the first time. I’m the Goldilocks of Cocks. (”This one is too big,” “This one is too small,” “This one is juuuuust right.” Shortly after that, I get dumped.) 6.19.06
  • Always harvest on their turf. Two reasons: 1) You don’t have to clean the sheets and 2)You decide when to leave - and it better be soon! Get your clothes and get the hell out of there. Climb over his snoring body in stealth mode and remember - If you did it right, when you first walked into the door of his place, you acted as though you were casually ripping off clothes and carelessly tossing them around in the heat of the moment. That’s for effect. Really, you must have a mental map and complete inventory of where everything is. Bra on the lampshade, undies on his cowboy hat. Oops. I digress. Anyway, that way you can get dressed in record time. (I’m actually a little too good at this, I’ve been told. I have to remind myself to dumb it down to, “Have you seen my bra?” instead of retrieving it from behind the refrigerator like I’m in a timed obstacle course.) 6.19.06
  • Clean your equipment damn it and store it in a secure area. Christ. Do I have to tell you everything?? HIV tests fucking suck whether the world famous tattoo artist didn’t use gloves and died of AIDS the year after your first tattoo or if the condom broke with your anal retentive Wall Street Trader Boyfriend. Not that I would know. On either case. 6.19.06
  • Dear Ovaries:
    Yes, I remember you. Once a month I find out that yet again, you’ve done a job that I really don’t give a shit about. So, I don’t need you. And knock on your cousin Uterina’s door and tell her I don’t need her either. I don’t want any of what you all are dishing out. Kids suck the life out of everyone they come in contact with. Now get out. If you all would abandon ship and exit my body, you would free up enough room for me to eat some more Samoa’s. 6.26.06
  • Sexual harassment, as I unfortunately learned with my last employer, is rarely about sex. It’s about power. The person doing the harassing is the one who is exerting the power, real or perceived. 6.26.06
  • Not a peep from the cop. He was very busy looking at the selection of Bear Claws. Hmm. One of America’s Most Wanted must be hiding in there. 6.27.06
  • Yeah, but whoever he was I would have probably had sex with him anyway, so why bother drugging me? Besides, my jeans are so tight that you would almost need me to be conscious to help get them off. 6.29.06
  • “Are you sure? Because I think they just pushed my hips so close together that I may not be able to deliver any children by the standard method.” 6.29.06
  • Frankly, I don’t really believe in spending any money on a wedding, but okay.) I’d rather take that money and sink it into a house and just send out an announcement that “Billy Bob and Velvet swung by the Justice of the Peace on their way home from Famous Dave’s BBQ and got hitched!” 7.2.06
  • So, that answers my question from the whole weekend. Why are Michigan speed limits 70 mph on all highways, non-interstates included? To get the people out faster, silly! 7.2.06
  • The job of the Director is to do everything possible up to and including oral and anal, to get you to part with your money. The Coordinator’s job is to ruin your life with dates scheduled for the days you say you have open heart surgery, send you to restaurants that don’t exist, and send you to meet people who don’t show up. 7.9.06
  • She then tosses me her phone as he’s jumping to reach it, and I run for the end zone, deleting the text along the way. Touchdown. The crowd goes wild. Please. Like any man can compete with me in heels. People please. If we’re out and I send you a text, don’t share with the person you just met! I use that texting function to point out things that can’t be said out loud! 7.9.06
  • Lord. Woman, if I could shove my size 7 cork high heel shoe in your fat mouth, believe me I would. 7.9.06
  • If only I was smart enough to remember to NOT put on lip gloss before the ride. I ate probably three bugs, not including the ones that got stuck in my Lancome Juicy Tubes. 7.11.06
  • However, since it’s my policy to embrace things that are bigger and faster, well, there you go. 7.11.06
  • Yeah, that was boring. Even I stopped paying attention after I was done discussing my boobs. Anyone need smelling salts? 7.11.06
  • Those unknowns can make you nervous, happy, or put you on the edge of your seat. Those unknowns can elicit the most genuine feeling you have had in months. You may imagine the details, script how they could possibly occur and relish in the pure delight of what you expect to happen, but you will never really know. There always end up being feelings you have that are new and unique to you, that you never anticipated. Those feelings, those unknowns are what I look forward to - the unique and genuine feeling about something just so wonderful remind me that I’m not in control, but my emotions are very much alive. Finally. 7.13.06
  • I’ve got a bridge to sell you. It’s made of Velvet. 7.14.06
  • Shake some trees, and let’s see who falls out and who can hang on. 7.14.06
  • And take that gum out of your mouth, who are you? Jessica Simpson? Gum chewing looks ridiculous on anyone over 14. 7.14.06
  • Please do something about this very poor excuse for a police force. I have lived in Miami, Phoenix, Atlanta and New York. I have never seen a lazier group of police than here. Never mind that none of them are good looking (NYC wins first, second and third place on that) but they are totally and completely useless. “I understand you want me to put my elderly, passive dog with a slipped disc on a leash, but do you think you could arrest this man who just put a knife in my spleen first?” Heh. The cop would probably tell me to shut the fuck up. 7.14.06
  • I said, “You’re not from here, are you?” He said, “Nope. I live in Texas. How did you know? My cowboy boots?” No, but thanks for pointing them out because now I just got misty….down there. But I told him, “Because a guy here would never buy a random girl a drink.” He said, “Really?” Yeah dude, really. 7.16.06
  • The Queen of Quantity is going to be mad at me, cause she doesn’t want you bitches running up and down U Street using this line, okay? 7.16.06
  • Somehow, we ended up attached at the hip with these guys we started calling, “the band.” That mere statement made a couple stupid girls all giddy with excitement. One asked the other, “They are in the band? Ohmigod!” I didn’t know they made people this dumb anymore. And where were they hearing a band anyway? No band plays at Local 16. Christ. 7.16.06
  • I took a quick inventory of the situation. I quietly apologized to my Yuengling, acknowledging all the great nights we’ve had together since I moved to D.C. and took this locally (well, Philly) brewed beer under my wing. I said, “Sorry Yuengling. Tonight you will service me in a way that won’t involve being routed through my liver.” I turned around, watching him at the bottom of the stairs, and tossed my very full beer all over him. It was like watching it in slo-mo. I could hear the Bionic Woman music in the background as everything went slllloooowww. My aim was better than a Briana Banks money shot. The beer hit his bald head and drenched him. I looked back at the QofQ as if to apologize for being so rash, and she bust out laughing and said, “Run!” He attempted throw beer back at us, but gravity and my uncanny ability to fun like FloJo in 4 inch heels were not helping his cause. 7.16.06
  • we apparently have to solve our own crimes now 7.19.06
  • it turns out that this man’s fucking co-worker can’t even figure out who he is. If they can’t find each other, how the hell are they going to find any criminals? Even when you hand them the address and location of the criminal, they still don’t do anything. Maybe the key here is to actually place the criminals where the cops will find them, so they don’t have to try. Though, the last time I checked, murderers weren’t crawling out from under a Krispy Kreme. 7.19.06
  • Anyone who knows me knows this is prime skin cancer hour and I do not like giving that up for what might be a shitty date. And we know that it’s not like IJL is going to suddenly discover an arsenal of good looking men who they forgot to set me up with before. 7.19.06
  • I was too lazy to change. Or shower. So I smelled like Eau de White Trash in line for the roller coaster at an Amusement Park - Coppertone SPF 8! 7.19.06
  • I’m late because I stopped at Loehmann’s. Stupid Velvet. Remember the layoffs! But at least I didn’t buy anything. (When did clothes become ugly? Hang in there Seven Jeans, I need to squeeze another year out of you…) 7.19.06
  • Just talks a lot. Way too much in fact. Let’s knight him and give him his name: Date 12 Sir Talks A Lot. There. 7.19.06
  • I learned all I needed to know about Beth Steel. (Note to eyes: If you fucking glaze over again when I need you to feign interest, you are dead to me. I will bring you back for more laser surgery since you loved it so much the last time…remember? You sealed yourself shut for two fucking days and refused to come out! Try me!) 7.19.06
  • Suddenly in my head, I’m whisked away to New York and I’m having sex with James Gandolfini. I have no idea where this daydream came from, but I was trying to wager what sex with him would be like. Would it be Tony Soprano “I’m in control/holding a gun to your head” kind of sex, or would it be a big joke of an experience with a semi flaccid penis that barely registers on the scale? 7.19.06
  • And now, Papou and Yiyia are rolling over in their graves. 7.19.06
  • He says, “I know the whole history of the tie.” Sometimes, I will never learn. Seriously. Stupid mouth. You’re next after the eyes for some surgery, and I’ll have you lasered shut if possible too. 7.19.06
  • Obviously there was no way I wanted to rip his clothes off. In fact, I wanted him to put more clothes on. Please, more ties. Several of them. Really, the look great on you. Nice as you are, I just can’t imagine you with nothing on. 7.19.06
  • Two to go. Then, I’m lubed up and ready to go out on real dates. Oops. Poor choice of words. Lubed. Heh. Eh, fuck it. Just…hit…publish. 7.19.06
  • It’s like the Wiz in New York. “I’m the Wiz…I’m the Wiz” - or maybe that’s from Seinfeld, yeah, the real commercial was “Nobody beats the Wiz.” Except that someone did because I think they are out of business. 7.20.06
  • Everyone has someone who comes into their life who they love more than that person loves them, everyone has someone who loves them more than they are loved, and everyone finds a balanced love. 7.21.06
  • Did you know that you can take an ordinary man, slap a cowboy hat on him, and he becomes instantly hot? 7.24.06
  • We head back to his place for the old “Let’s have one more drink but we both know we are going to fool around” finale to the evening. 7.31.06
  • You say all the right things. You do. But I was on the noncommittal express and you pulled the bait and switch. You said you didn’t want a relationship in your profile. For 95% of women, what you are saying would be gold. But it’s just not for me. 7.31.06
  • This leads me to wonder if I somehow, in being nice and engaging, am giving off the wrong signals? I don’t know, I can charm the pants off a lamp post if need be, it’s just my style. 8.1.06
  • It was time to put the sheet over that one and call the time of death. That sort of control is infective. You start to just accept it as natural that you forget what it’s like to make your own decisions. So now I’m incredibly independent? You bet your ass. 8.2.06
  • I’d like to bet it all in the Daily Double Alex. 8.3.06
  • This ladies and gents, is how the ball just got thrown into play on Operation Get-Velvet-The-Fuck-Out-Of-This-Swamp. Up until now, I was just fantasizing. But now? Yeah. I’m ready to start packing. So, Johnny, The boys of Cafe 227, Double O, Ninja? We better hurry and make out now because I may not be here much longer. Not at the same time though. Well, unless you all are into that. 8.3.06
  • Twas the first weekend in August and all through the town
    Not a creature was attractive at old Chi Cha Lounge.
    The lawyer limped along with her dead ugly stare,
    With a skunk streak of gray right through her hair.
    Her nutjob client must be off his meds
    Cause visions of craziness dance in his head…
    …when what to my wondering eyes should appear
    but a text from a man you all know from here… 8.6.06
  • By the way counselor, I figured he would have paid you enough in fees to die that skunk stripe of gray hair you got going on. 8.6.06
  • It was the night of the ugly at Chi Cha Lounge. Where did all these ugly people with their bad dancing come from? It was like the Geek Squad bus unloaded right on U Street…Can’t you people stay in your own quadrants? 8.6.06
  • When I went from dating the guy in the next dorm to the guy who is planning his 50th bash and doubling up his IRA contributions in preparation for retirement is beyond me. 8.10.06
  • When I drive, the phone is always in my crotch. I enjoy the vibration, what can I say? 8.13.06
  • My own reflection in the glass surrounded her face. I stared at it for a long time, to see if there was any similarity in our appearance. Nothing. I couldn’t see one thing in her face that resembled my own. But that’s just the outside. It’s not the outside that counts. 8.13.06
  • Hmm…ass kicking at my gym by hottie Mike who makes me drool, and not just from my mouth, or donuts and cops. It’s a tough choice. Truly. 8.14.06
  • I’m off on a tangent. The point to this paragraph was really to show that I’m a porn loving whore with no conscience for the fact that buying porn online with Sherlock, who adores me, then telling him in the same breath that I’m going out with someone else is mean, and that my past dates continue to reappear while I’m on new dates because this city is too small. Yeah. Run on sentence motherfucker. Read it and weep…literally. 8.24.06
  • Velvet: Drawer next to one side of the bed - vibes that work. When they break, they move to the other side of the bed and go in the other nightstand. That’s the Vibrator Graveyard.
    Boss: Why do you keep them?
    Velvet: What am I going to do with them? Toss them in the trash with my junk mail so someone diving in the trash can find out my address AND know that I just broke a vibrator? Besides, they’ve served me well. I don’t want to throw them out. 8.25.06
  • Last night I left some of my toys over at Sherlock’s house. In the act of stockpiling vibrators all over town, I like to think that I’m well prepared in case of nuclear war or terrorist attack. Don’t laugh bitches, when something happens here again, cause it will, I’ll be the one with safe houses all over the neighborhood. So don’t come crying to me. 8.25.06
  • I do realize that my bitter snark toward dating and life in general has been cultivated through years of bad dates, a couple shitty friends, a car that spends more time in the shop than it should, crazy Greek parents, living with a man for six years in the south, snorting sordid snorts and powders, having two dogs capable of doing geometry, being sexually harassed at my last job, owning more porn and vibrators than Jenna Jameson, hating cops, and getting thrown out of a strip bar. I’m not sure there really is a replacement for all that. I am my own train wreck. And I do kind of like that. 8.25.06
  • I’m fucked out. I don’t need to sleep around with a bunch of people to prove my worth. 8.27.06
  • And Sherlock did share something with me that I’m going to share with you. He said, “They all know Velvet, but I got to see a piece of the real you.” I said, “I don’t think you understand, that is me. It’s not a persona. I write what I feel.” And he said, “No. There’s something sweeter and more vulnerable about the real you. No one could possibly get that unless they know you in real life.” 8.27.06
  • I read this morning in the article I linked above for you that some churches in the area were trying to convince the District that it was against Scripture to grant a liquor license. Vomit. There’s nothing I hate more than a bible-toter. Embrace gentrification people, embrace it. It helps us all. 9.1.06
  • Normally I don’t participate in “group classes” because, well, they just annoy the fuck out of me. I make my one exception for delicious Mike, at my gym in D.C., who can run a weightlifting class like boot camp, incapacitating me to the point where I actually consider calling a cab to take me three blocks home. 9.5.06
  • Looking back, I find it comical that I could commit to both moving so far from home and to living with a man when today I can’t even commit to wearing the same pair of socks from sun up till sundown. 9.7.06
  • I did invent several ingenious things on that high, including the “Commemorative Sonny Bono Christmas Ornament” and the “Giant Baseball for the Yankees in Times Square.” 9.7.06
  • In addition to the fact that driving cross country proved to me that danger can find you anywhere, I also learned something else. This country, state to state, offers more diversity in one continuous stretch of land than any other country I know of. Now, I haven’t been to Alaska or Hawaii, but I plan to go to each in the next few years. But, for the lower 48, all climates, all cultures, all political and religious beliefs converge here in the states. If you haven’t been to the Rockies, you should go. If you haven’t been to Glacier National Park, it’s worth the trip to get there. If you haven’t put your feet in the Pacific Ocean, cold as it is, you should. If you haven’t spent a weekend in a cottage on Cape Cod, you are missing out on a New England ritual. If you haven’t seen the line of people trying to cross the border from Mexico, you may not realize how many people really want to be you. If you haven’t been to New York City and had a slice of pizza, well, then you’re just not living. 9.11.06
  • If it doesn’t make it through the Velvet Quality Control team (uh, that’s just me really) I don’t hit publish. 9.14.06
  • It was pure misery packaged neatly into equal time blocks called Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. I’ve renamed those days “Shitday, Assday, Cuntday, Bitchday and Fuckday.” 9.25.06
  • Sex moved inside the house and ended up being by far, hands down, no more calls we have a winner, I can name that song in 2 notes, No Whammies, I’ll take Jim J. Bullock for the block, I’d like to bet it all in the Daily Double Alex, that’s my final answer sex I’ve ever had in my life, complete with four of the most amazing orgasms - one strong enough that it propelled him out of me. (By the way boys, if you didn’t feel it, she faked it.) 9.25.06
  • He doesn’t bitch about this, he just knows that I have no clue which button lowers the volume, which button cooks breakfast and which button fires up electricity under Bin Ladin’s bunker. 9.29.06
  • The folks at Greenspan and Company have assfucked our ENTIRE ECONOMY, sans lube. 10.2.06
  • Two years ago, it was “no brokers, no investors, bring 10% cash to contract.” Now, they be having a wee bit of trouble. I think even Sammy and Thora could qualify for a loan. 10.2.06
  • There are a few units left in this building for sale. New boy and I went to see five of them. While people were oohing and aahing over the higher floor condos, new boy and I were in unit 411 having sex. 10.2.06
  • My undies continued to be a sloppy wet until we made it home, safe in the confines of a place where we could only be heard, but not seen, and we hit a couple homeruns. Woo hoo. I needed that. It’s been a while. Well, okay. A week. 10.2.06
  • I went to another division to have my hard drive rebuilt, and when I took the IT person out to lunch, everyone was texting her asking who “that lady was.” You know, for an instant, I said, “Dude. What lady?” She said, “YOU!” I’m many things, but I am NO LADY. 10.4.06
  • The one complaint I have with Angel is that I smell like a cheap whore the next morning. (Wait…maybe that’s not the perfume…) 10.11.06
  • I hate to say this about a deranged asylum escapee… 10.15.06
  • I’m walking double fisted with the gin and tonics. Then my phone buzzes. Fucking great. I have to put one of the G&T’s down. Mentally taking note to watch no one slips the date rape drug in there. 10.20.06
  • Enough position changes so as to not get bored, but not so many that you feel like you’re being sport-fucked, complete with the annoucer calling the plays (“Now he’s behind her, and he’s got her up on her knees, okay, he’s flipped her to the side and has one leg up on his shoulder, some may call this the scissors position. Those heels look like they are really digging into his shoulder, don’t they Ron?”) 10.22.06
  • (less annoying cleanup delay - one swipe as opposed to waiting several hours for it all to drip back out and land in your $20 underwear because these are the ones you DIDN’T get at the Victoria’s Secret sale.) 10.22.06
  • I figured out how to detach sex from love and commitment. Not that they don’t belong together, they do in the right context, but I can fuck someone, and get up and get dressed and walk out while they are in the bathroom washing up. Somehow this has become something I’m actually proud of. 10.22.06
  • Bloodshot eye casualty; result of wayward cumshot: One. My left eye. Still hurts. 10.22.06
  • you know when you see that faraway look in someone’s eyes like they just have no clue what you are saying and are pretending that they do because they sense you are getting irritated and want to put their balls in a vice grip out of sheer frustration and mental exhaustion? Yeah. That. 10.31.06
  • See, the irony here is not that he’s been shut out of my world. It’s that I’ve shut myself out of his. Really, I’m the one on the outside looking in, he just doesn’t know it. 11.1.06
  • Quite a contrast from the other times I’ve bumped into him where he looks about as uncomfortable as one would look, say when a pair of boxer briefs is shoved up their asshole. With a car tire attached. 11.3.06
  • I’m sorry that your life is so, snore, boring, yawn, that what you perceive as a “trainwreck” is a boatload of fun for me. It’s what they call “living.” But really, stay on your couch watching Oprah get fat, get thin, then get fat again. 11.12.06
  • Just know that I’ve outlined a game plan for her on a chalkboard she made in her house. (Fucking Martha Stewart wannabe without the jail time.) I like that chalkboard. I could use one next to my bed refrigerator. 11.27.06
  • Hurry! Breathe in a mirror and tell me if there’s fog on it! You are so boring you may as well be dead. 11.27.06
  • Why the hell did you have to pick the Blues Traveler? Come on! It’s your own fault. I can’t help you if you can’t at least try to help yourself you know. If you ever or still listen to the Blues Traveler, I hate you. I hated you in college, and I hate you now. 11.27.06
  • No one I am friends with should ever compare themself to these vapid, useless characters who did nothing for feminism besides prove that every female blogger fancies herself a Carrie-writer, deserving of a book deal and all sorts of expensive shoes. No one is as stupid as Charlotte what’s her name. Samantha in real life would have burned off her CLIT and be HIV-positive. Miranda exists people. Go down to K Street right now and look up at all those lawyers in the offices that are still lit. She’s still working, and she would never get Steve because she’s too much of a bitch. Magda would have run off with the baby by now. 11.27.06
  • I don’t leave the house without my bra and panties, but I can appreciate those who do, so some points there as well. If you let the beast fall asleep on something, then I have no points for you. You haven’t been paying attention here at Velvet in Dupont. The fine art of the strip is important. You act like you are casually tossing your clothes off in the heat of the moment, but make a mental map of where everything lands. And nothing should land in a place where it can’t be retrieved later. 11.27.06
  • I know what you’re thinking, “Why Velvet! You didn’t get an MBA to be someone’s secretary!” Okay, maybe you weren’t thinking it. But if you were, I would say to you, “Don’t forget I got a FOUR POINT OH OH OH!! So I definitely don’t want to be that bitch’s secretary.” But unfortch, in this industry, they see a woman coming and they see tits and someone they can make take dictation. Or just dick. Depends which builder you work for. 11.29.06
  • Pay attention to where your company’s Headquarters is located - it determines a lot about your corporate culture. My old company (hereinafter referred to as Old Company,) had a headquarters in yeeeeee hawwwww, Cletus, the middle of fucking nowhere. 11.29.06
  • Anyway, the President of Old Company had this ranch out in the middle of bumfuck Texas, that was literally 3 HOURS from a cell tower. It was so fucking far from anything relevant that even the tornadoes won’t go there. 11.29.06
  • Every year they pegged a couple of suckers from each division to go “out to the ranch.” It was supposedly an honor to be asked. You would be flown to Dallas, then to some smaller city west of Dallas (no, don’t say Ft. Worth and no I don’t remember where it was,) then driven 3 hours in ATV’s to the ranch. Events that occurred at this ranch included hunting, killing things, shooting anything that ran and skinning various animals. 11.29.06
  • When they asked me, a long time member of PETA, a vegetarian, a woman and other labels of “all things that seemed to not belong at this ranch,” I said no. The Division President (hereinafter referred to as the Weasel) said, “You shouldn’t say no.” I said, “You want me to share a room and eek, a bathroom with someone I don’t know, in the middle of nowhere, with no cell phone, no computer, and no TV, watching guys hunt and kill things that I would be likely to leash and name Scruffie? I’m saying no.” 11.29.06
  • the Weasel sent out an email announcing this visit, copied the CEO, then spelled his name wrong in the body of the email. I had not laughed that hard since my High School Geometry Teacher backed up and fell into the garbage pail. 11.30.06
  • The next day was our Company Outing, on some stupid boat out to St. Michaels Island. (Whose fucking idea was this? Yes, lets put a company full of people who hate each other on a boat and sail them through the swamps of the Chesapeake Bay.) 11.30.06
  • A few remained in the middle, but as I’ve learned with my family fights and with this, you have to stake a claim in one side, otherwise, you get shunned by both, and if both turn on you, you could end up the new enemy. 12.2.06
  • the Weasel was stunned. He sat there with his mouth on the floor like Dominick Dunne when they read the OJ verdict. Does anyone besides me remember that? No? Oh well. It was funny. 12.4.06
  • (Gee Fat Bastard, don’t you have some chickens to eat, or some house price calculations to fuck up? Oh, shoot, I ended that with a preposition, let me try it again. Don’t you have some house price calculations to fuck up, asshole?”) 12.4.06
  • This is my good name at stake. I have to fight. I can’t sit by and let them do this to us. What happened here is wrong. So very wrong. And they allow it. It’s the reason we can’t build a fucking house. Because of all this. 12.4.06
  • It was supposed to be paid on the 15th, but stupid NeedsMeds, who it seems was now boycotting the use of any brush or comb in her hair, was instructed by Opie to delay it for a month. 12.4.06
  • Feb 16, NeedsMeds says I need to write a resignation letter. It says, “To whom it may concern: Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from OldBuilder. My last day will be Feb 28.” It should have said, “P.S. Please buy NeedsMeds a hairbrush, the Weasel a toothbrush, Fat Bastard 30 sessions with a nutritionist and Opie a blow up doll.” 12.4.06
  • Fat Bastard walked me out. I’m surprised he wasn’t in an electric wheelchair by that point he was so fat. Fucking asshole. 12.4.06
  • I never did get a response from him. He was probably out hunting with Cheney, picking off employees. 12.4.06
  • Because here in D.C., our police department is a bunch of lazy, useless, inept, couldn’t-find-a-criminal if they were sitting next to them, system abusing, power hungry, donut eating, newspaper reading, coffee drinking, double parking, traffic blocking, gossiping, overnight shift sleeping, disability for “work related” stress filing, money drain on our taxes. 12.14.06
  • Jesus fucking Christ. What. The. Fuck. Did you not see the rocking pink tricycle I got you people? How about your Tourist Trap DVD or that Fekkai Gift Set? I get a Greek Teddy Bear? Fuck. What am I getting next year? A gang bang from Osama Bin Ladin and friends? 12.26.06
  • Unless I pick a fight with one of the cops, or Sammy and Thora vomit off my balcony, I’m so much more suited to writing about boys and sex, sex and boys, drinking, drugs and pills. Besides, that’s what Velvet in Dupont was created for anyway. 1.3.07
  • When his plans suddenly changed and he was going to be in town after a planned weekend out of town, he was quite pissed that I didn’t drop my plans. I am just not the girl who fucking bails on all her friends because her boyfriend is back in town. Granted, a lot of you all do it to me. A lot of you. But I do not do it back. I do not click over to talk to a boy if I’m talking to you. I do not hang up on you if he calls. And I don’t make excuses about that. Maybe it makes me a shitty girlfriend, but, that is who I am. 1.3.07
  • But I also wouldn’t walk into a room of meth addicts and start chopping, cutting, lining and snorting like a hibachi chef going for the Onion Volcano. 1.3.07
  • What’s today? January 6th? Great. 359 days left in the year and what, at this rate, 240 more dates? 1.7.07
  • I’m not being picky, I’m just trying to get “back out there.” So I’ll pretty much go out with anyone who isn’t married or a serial killer. Not that I would even know either of those things until it is too late. 1.7.07
  • Historically I never find out that they are stalkers until it is too late. 1.9.07
  • as I went down for my nappy time I thought, “It sure would be nice to have Sherlock here now.” Then I slapped myself several times and punched myself in the face for even thinking it. 1.9.07
  • my liver submitted it’s letter of resignation this weekend. I was shocked too to find out that my liver could write at all… 1.14.07
  • I should add myself to the Liver Transplant List. Is there a doctor on the blog? 1.14.07
  • Oh no. OH NO! FUCK! Whatever is in those boxes will NOT fit in la Casa de Velvet! I’m at the point where I may have to throw out my tampons so I have room for Sammy and Thora’s heartworm pills! 1.21.07
  • I can only hope that is ALL he answered. I really don’t want to have a free Nuva Ring arrive tomorrow and coupons for a free pap smear next week at some doctor whose license was probably revoked. Ugh. 1.21.07
  • We got home and he had to try to get a stain out of my shirt where some wayward food landed after I didn’t try hard enough to get it into my mouth. I unpacked the bags from the store, (that means I just threw everything on the counter,) and opened the coveted and very exciting Heart Shaped Box of candy. 1.25.07
  • I’m trying to wrap my brain around what is going on but it just isn’t making any sense. I said, “So what are you eating?” He just looked at me with this expression like, “This is where I’ve fucked up. I know.” 1.25.07
  • After some discussion, we all came to the same conclusion: It’s a Greek thing. Greeks are extremely ethnocentric. Even among other Greeks - if you were from the “wrong” island, my Grandmother would not be seen speaking to you. I guess Billy wasn’t from Crete. Shit, what did I know? I thought I was doing good because his last name ended in -giannis. 1.28.07
  • Not seeing the point of lying at 33 years old, I said, “Match.com.” I also briefly considered trying to validate it by mentioning that my oldest brother met the sister-in-law who got away on match.com, but they didn’t like her either, so no sense in poisoning the well. 1.28.07
  • Guess who was sore the next day? I’ll give you a clue, it wasn’t me. The irony here is that Sherlock has a rocking body and he’s always giving me nutrition advice so I really laughed my ass off at him when he was too sore to get his coat on. Oh, FUCK! I wasn’t supposed to say that. I think we agreed I would post something about my big tough strong boyfriend. Huh. Oh well. Fucked that up and I can’t seem to find the backspace key right now… 2.12.07
  • I swear that stupid overpriced grocery store is the only piece of New York City we have here in D.C. Why drive to New York when you can just go to Whole Foods? 2.12.07
  • I refuse to perpetuate the Bush/Clinton/Bush/Clinton ping pong match for the White House. Get someone else in there already. Since 1988 we’ve had the same two families in there. What kind of democracy is that? 2.15.07
  • What this country needs is a New Yorker, who can fucking get things done instead of another country bumpkin who wants to fight a useless war or get his dick sucked by some intern. 2.15.07
  • Apparently rolling around mattresses in “Have a good night’s sleep on us…Mattress DISCOUNTERS” got Sherlock a bit excited. Foreplay has never been so easy. 2.25.07
  • Okay, so that’s less logic and more emotion, which violates my number one rule of cutting a good deal. Never never never negotiate when you have your heart set on something for emotional reasons. 2.25.07
  • Continuing in the spirit of spending the GNP equivalent of a third world country, Sherlock went off in search of a platform bed at Theodores. 2.25.07
  • I’ve been tasked to go out and find the sluttiest outfit I could get my hands on. People, you have hired the right woman for this job. When I see “Fashion K City” in a strip mall, I know I’ve hit paydirt. The first choice, a zip up catsuit didn’t come in my size: Extra boobs. 2.25.07
  • My friend and I were laughing so hard we offended the employees who probably cherish their associate discount. 2.25.07
  • Buying a couch for Sixes and Sevens is a difficult endeavor. You think you can just show up at the couch store and sit on a few, then make a decision? Hell no. When you buy things, you have to think about how they will be used so that you do the best job in choosing the item. Like, had I known my beautiful $1300 throwback-to-the-50’s couch would become home for all things dog, I never would have spent that much money on it. Anyway, at this point, Gazoo appeared over my head. “She’s going to nail her men here, Velvet. The couch must be comfortable enough for that but not too comfortable because we don’t want the guy to fall asleep and God Forbid, stay over!” “Thanks Gazoo. I also think the couch needs to repel fluids.” “Well that goes without saying you dumb whore.” God. When did Gazoo turn into such an asshole? 2.5.08
  • Somewhere around here comes the third pitcher of Miller Lite. Then this is where I got sloppy and forgot to knock off the flash. Sixes likes this picture for its yellow 1970’s quality. I like it because these three chicks didn’t catch me even after the flash went off, because you know they could easily beat my ass. Easily. 2.5.08
  • And after that award winning blowjob I administered the other night, I’m fucking tired. 2.14.08
  • Then you cap off the night by having very destructive sex which somehow results in your contour leg pillow (shut up I have back problems) flying off the bed straight toward your heirloom china (read: Ikea glass you bought in 1997) which rolls off the nightstand oh so very slowly before it hits the floor taking the precious raspberry Crystal LightTM with it, and smashing all over your fluffy sherpa rugs (fake, uh, hello, PETA member here) into thousands of shards which either of you could have easily prevented had you chose to dis-en-fornicate.That’s okay though, because now you can cross “cleaned up broken glass while naked with cum dripping out of you” off your list of things to do, right? 3.9.08
  • I spent the better portion of the second act masturbating Mr. X through his pants. He used his Playbill to disguise this fact from the Countess sitting to his left. Classy. 3.19.08
  • I’m beeping my horn at you and you have no clue that I’m considering macing you in the face. 4.6.08
  • The bathroom currently smells like someone cooked a flounder, then took a shit on it. This a twice-daily occurrence. Someone needs a colonoscopy, STAT. 5.14.08
  • I’m not sure whose stupid idea it was to not get cable (mine) but the beach house of one Velvet and Mr. X hurts for some quality entertainment. Wait. That implies there’s no sex. That’s not true. We don’t hurt for x-rated entertainment of the self-made variety. But once that’s done, we’re relegated to our Amish exile. Since the neighbors are crazy…yeah. Anyway. You can only watch your man paint the kitchen Caribbean Yellow with one opposing wall in East India Spice while you do crossword puzzles and stay warm by farting under the blankie because the effing heat is broken in your brand new house and no one knows why for so long before you get positively bored. 4.9.09
  • We went back home at which point I discovered I’m officially 84 years old and my back was in major pain from being hunched over drawers and closets all day. I had to sleep with an icy hot on it. Hot as in hot, yes. Hot as in sexy? Not so much. Nothing screams, “Buddy are you sure you know what you’re doing with this whorebag like, ‘Baby, can you take off my Icy-Hot?’” 4.19.09
  • It was less of the one-night-stand variety of cheating and more of the full-blown-relationship cheating. 5.4.09
  • By the end of 2001, I was headed back to Atlanta to take care of the breakup in person. K sensed this was coming. They always know, don’t they? That’s when they pull out all the stops. Four years in a relationship where the best present I got was an incredible hit of acid, and now he busts out the diamond necklace. I couldn’t accept it. I’m not a material girl. I returned the necklace, and we broke up. 5.4.09
  • We broke up and got back together more times than Puddy and Elaine. God. The night he went running down Route 301 calling me a bitch on a coke infused high when I had to go home and finish a Management project. Jesus. Sometimes you just look back and shake your head. 5.6.09
  • V: Dad. He’s going to fire me if I go to the settlement.
    Dad: How much will you make by going to work tomorrow?
    V: I don’t know.
    Dad: Is it safe to say $250?
    V: Sure.
    Dad: And how much would you make by going to your settlement tomorrow?
    V: $50,000.
    Dad: Um, lemme ask you. Did you just get an MBA?
    V: Yes.
    Dad: Are we done here? 5.8.09
  • Welcome to my fucking world for the last six years lady. Welcome. Pull up a god damned chair, get your ass some sweet tea and get comfortable, because we’re gonna be here a while. 5.12.09
  • “Did y’all lose a dog? I think my neighbor’s keepin’ her.” (That’s redneck-speak.) 5.12.09
  • I dated the Metro for 2004’s May-December romance, with our last time seeing each other being New Years Eve, going into 2005. I believe he probably got just totally sick of my shit. I had this backlash after the breakup with K. I knew drugs were to blame for our demise, and then I started doing them often instead of just here and there for fun. When the Metro and I were at a party New Year’s Eve, someone gave me something which I threw in there on top of a bunch of other things and I turned into a pile of mush. He practically had to carry me back to his place. I believe that’s when he decided, “I’m done.” It was upsetting. I really liked him. It didn’t stop my whirlwind tour of self-destruction though. Work got worse before it got better. I partied more than any person should in one sitting. I started getting totally ridiculously reckless with it. It began to consume me. What a mess. 5.13.09
  • Starting with him, I perfected the fine art of throwing men out of my house. I think this was the order, and yes, they are real names because who the fuck cares anymore: Derek who stole my Vicodin, Bret who asked if I would consider having sex with him despite having a fight on our first (and last) date because he thought leaving work at 3:00 in Reston for a 6:30 date was normal and showing up very early was also normal, George who lopped 10 years off his age and thought I wouldn’t notice, Mike who could have had staying power but we just drifted apart, Josh who conducted an entire “relationship” over text and whose rampant non-stop use of the word “amazing” made me want to punch him in the balls, Jeff who was such an amateur liar that it resulted in my throwing a sandwich at him and the Bartender who did nothing but encourage my narcotics use. 5.14.09
  • The Boss chose the following Tuesday, Valentines Day, to end his marriage. There was a simple conversation, followed by a door slamming, a bottle of pills, a Britney Spears style hair shaving and subsequent threats of suicide. Kidding. Sort of. 5.15.09
  • By the fall we were somewhat stable and it’s always a good idea when you’re barely somewhat stable to discuss co-habitation, right?  5.15.09
  • Being in the wrong relationship was painful. But deciding to end somehow had a backlash that was more painful. Why? Because ending a mediocre relationship in your mid-thirties takes a lot of work when the ball is in your court. You wonder if this is your last chance. You wonder if you’ve been too picky. You wonder if this is your last chance. You wonder if you were too hard on him. You wonder if this is your last chance. You wonder if you’ve become inflexible. You wonder if this is your last chance. You wonder if you aren’t meant to be with anyone ever in life. You wonder, god damned it, if this, for the love of all holy hell, is your last fucking chance. 5.19.09
  • We started with the Bombay and Tonics. We talked the stupidest small talk for hours. I mean, hours. I swear, I really thought when I walked in that he was just going to rip my clothes off and we would fuck like we were in the conjugal visit trailer, but we talked so much I started to wonder if anything was going to happen at all. We caught up on what we had missed in each other’s lives. He told me the separation had been so horrible that he doubted he would ever get married again. I said I couldn’t blame him. I told him one day I would job hunt again but for now I just didn’t feel like it. He said he couldn’t blame me. Oh my god. I think we’re back to the fucking friend zone. Eek! 911, 911! Help!!! I’m drowning! 5.21.09
  • I backed off his lap, stood up, took his hand, and we walked into the bedroom. It was time. I didn’t want to wait any longer. I was done waiting. Fuck waiting. Waiting is for Catholics. 5.21.09
  • When I walked out the door and got to my car, I texted one of my best friends who is also my real estate agent. I said, “I just fucked your next client. You can thank me later.” I’ll always be somewhat evil. I readily admit this. 5.22.09
  • That shrimp was doing the backstroke in about three sticks of butter. I saw it. X saw it. My cholesterol went up 10 points just by being in the same room with it. 6.29.09
  • He looked confused for a split second, until his face formed a look of relief I haven’t seen since 1999, when my then-boyfriend only saw one pink line show up in the window. 7.21.09
  • Do you know how many brides out there are selling size zero and 2 dresses? A whole hell of a lot. And I swear to you that I saw Oprah sized arms coming out of what someone called a size 6. Slap margarine on my butter, lady, if you are a size 6 (which in bridal, is a size 2) then I’m writing this from Bret Michael’s bedside. (Oh poor Bret, please get better!) 4.29.10