Month: August 2006

Okay. I’m doing better. And I have you kids to thank, the support was truly amazing. I also caught site of this, by MY blog crush, Circumlocutor. Stay anon my precious Circumlocutor, for look at all the trouble I’m now enduring!

It has been an emotionally exhausting 48 hours. But, I’m through it. I’d go into full detail, but even I’m unsure that I know everything that transpired behind the scenes. I liken this situation to peeling an onion: with every layer there is something else under there that you find.

The best I can come up with in a situation this volatile is to try to learn something. I have found through my life that I’ve encountered very few people in whom I can find absolutely zero redeeming qualities. Usually everyone has something in them that I can see as positive. But, occasionally I come across a person who is miserable, nasty, malicious and incredibly self absorbed and I realize I don’t want them in my life at all. I really should be the opposite – I shouldn’t trust anyone until I eliminate them from the “potential enemy” category. Especially since el bloggo has become more widely-read than I ever thought. It brings out the worst in some of the most jealous. And sometimes haters do some serious damage.

Through my life, I’ve had two people, both women, with whom I had a fight and we stopped speaking. Both of those friendships were repaired successfully – one months after and one years after the initial incident. I was enemy-free for a while. But I collected three more in the spring, and now I feel as though I’ve got one more purely poisonous person to add to the list. Four. I’ve got four enemies. All thanks to blogs and blogging.

There have been a lot of behind-the-scenes emails back and forth, with some unlikely sources who emerged, throwing in two cents that under normal circumstances would be nothing but an outsider’s opinion. But these people mattered tremendously as they revealed they knew the parties at hand. I found out more than I needed to, and I think I pieced together a good deal of what happened.

I would like to think that Sherlock learned to not tell other girls about his love life, no matter how much they state that they have “other things going on” or aren’t interested in him. Most women get jealous and possessive. He shared too much private information about me with some other women. He trusted them too much and as a result, I couldn’t trust him. Too many people knew our business. I’m not talking about things that I wrote on the blog – I’m talking about my name, where I work etc. That sort of stuff should not be revealed to other people.

When I was attacked in my comments, I fought back as I stated previously. I don’t tolerate that shit at all. I’m not a fighter, but if you pull me into the ring, I will make it very ugly. I feel that Sherlock and I were set up, for someone’s sick thirst for entertainment. I saw a portion of an email that floored me. Interesting that a woman who is incredibly protective of her anonymity would threaten to reveal mine as well as Sherlocks personal information online. Sad. Pathetic and sad, and I cringe that people like this exist among us, wagging the dog into sympathy posts on natural disasters. It makes me ill.

You may find my focus on the “other parties” to be, in a way, absolving Sherlock of his guilt in the matter. I’m not doing that. If there wasn’t a lie to be blackmailed with, then none of this would have happened. But only when threatened, did he come clean. Again, I can’t fault the man for this behavior. Look, some people have a lot of sex with a lot of different people. But as Homer Simpson said, “There’s a time and a place for everything and it’s called college.” For many reasons, Sherlock didn’t have the same experiences in his 20’s that the rest of us did. I did. I’m fucked out. I don’t need to sleep around with a bunch of people to prove my worth. But my answer would have been different a few years ago, just out of a six year relationship. That’s the stage he’s at, and it’s where he needs to be so he can get it out of his system. He shouldn’t have lied to me. I don’t know how I would have reacted, but it would have been easier to take coming from him, on his own terms, and not because he was threatened with it.

I’m quite happy to be able to put this entire situation to rest. 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.” I’ve maintained for the duration of this blog that I give 100% and tell all. But you know, he’s right. There are small parts that I keep for myself. And it will stay that way.

All you really need is a quick recap of where I’m at right now, but for those of you who know me, who truly care about me and want to know the update of this situation with Sherlock, etc., I will post the long version as well.

Cliffs Notes Version:

Kids, I admit when I’m wrong. Most of you were right. Sherlock turned out to be withholding quite a bit of information from me, and his “fuck buddy” friend is now threatening me and placing incendiary comments on this blog.

What have I (we) learned in the last year plus of reading this blog?

1) I will not tolerate a liar.

2) I will not tolerate attempts to bully me into behaving a certain way, especially if attacked first, and without provocation.

3) It never works out to have someone you are dating also reading your blog.

4) I can end a relationship without ever looking back. That said, I’ve employed a new break up line we must add to the list: “I want you out of my life.”

Reading The Whole Book:

Laying in bed watching CMT on Sunday morning, wishing for my headache to go away. The headache is a casualty of a Saturday night with one Foto Fox of I am Therefore I Date. Two bottles of wine, five splits of champagne and very little food made for two very drunk girls. Sort of a “when dating blogs collide” event. But oh, how glad I am that you have moved here one Foto Fox, for you are one cool chick.

My week and weekend up until the point of drunken debauchery Saturday night was a non stop Sherlock extravaganza. Friday night we had a really late dinner, went back to my place and had this incredibly deep and intense conversation that gave me the chills. There was a definite connection with him during and after that conversation that brought us to the next level. He stayed over with me (I was two for two!) and Saturday morning he came with me to take the dogs to the beach in Annapolis. On our way back into the city, we decided to have lunch at the much despised Lauriol Plaza (service again receives zero stars) and then went back to my place. When I had to get ready for my above blind-lesbian-blogger date, he went home.

Something had been transpiring on my blog that I was keeping an eye on. A commenter seemed particularly vicious with respect to this situation with me and Sherlock. I know that some of you get heated, and want to slap me around for doing stupid shit, and sometimes I get upset and snap back at you, but this was different. And a couple people (Kokonutz, NR) noticed it as well and said something in the comments that had not occurred to me – which was, “Is this the fuck buddy coming out?” This is where commenters I don’t know can be extremely useful – seeing another angle of a situation I can’t see. Thanks to you kids for that.

At some point after oh, 104 drinks with Foto Fox, Sherlock sent me a text telling me that the raging bitch in my comments had outed herself as another personality, one who had commented as another name. She’s the girl who he dated before me, who told him about my blog. He read me what she wrote over the phone while I was at the bar. I’m not understanding what it is with some psychotics that they want to ruin things for others or just be nasty bitches. All I could think was that this girls life must be so miserable that she’s trying to ruin what happiness I have. This girl is the same girl who lamented to him, “You’re going to get serious with this girl, why is it that every guy gets serious with the girl right after me?” Boo fucking hoo. As pathetic as that statement was, I no longer feel bad for her.

I still honor my credo of deleting people and blocking them if they become downright mean spirited. I’ve been through a lot of shit on and with this blog. For some reason, some people see a good thing and get jealous. It makes them act out in ways that are truly ridiculous, and I’ve had to do a good deal of protecting myself from this cattiness because it just isn’t positive or productive for my life.

So while Sherlock and I were on the phone, and while I was still out with Foto Fox, he made a statement that I just can’t stop thinking about. He said, “Look, I don’t want to get in the middle of this between you and her, maybe you could just make up?” Um….first of all, this bitch is coming after ME, I’m not laying into her, and what the fuck is that comment all about? I can understand not wanting any conflict in life, but shit, most men consistently fail to see what bitches other women are to each other. What I said back was, “Oh, you ARE the middle, you’re in it, and welcome to the fucking middle.” Without him, this wouldn’t be going on, right?

We’ve just spent the last three days discussing “us” and our status, talking of getting married and having fucking babies. We got to the elusive BF/GF words I cringe to use with anyone. Part of that commitment, minor as it may be compared to say, a marriage, is being on your partner’s side. Not loafing around in the middle. No matter how genuine his affirmation of the statement “I love you” might be, he has to back it up with actions. Fortunately for me, that feeling of love was still a one way street.

Sherlock came to get my drunken ass, and while I wasn’t upset with him for any of this stuff that is currently going on, I couldn’t get past the “don’t want to be in the middle” comment. I was quiet and brooding on the ride home. We get to my place, I responded to the dumb bitch in the comments. It’s not the prettiest side of my personality, but when someone pulls me into the ring, I fight back with no remorse for the feelings I’ll hurt along the way. I’ve since pulled her last name and employer’s name, not because of her threats but because I really just don’t care about her and don’t want anyone to be directed over to her site. After, when we were walking the dogs, he asked me what my options are.

We fixated on her outlash being a jealousy thing and proceeded to have a whole conversation about what this blog has become, and how it got that way. I told him that I hear rumblings of pissed off people who think their writing is better or their material and content is better, and they can’t understand how I get the hits that I do. Half of me wants to shrug at that, but the other half wants to say, “Fuck you. It’s not easy to get out there over and over, dating shithead after shithead, so I can chronicle a slice of the dating scene in Washington D.C. for everyone.” I’ve formed a lot of friends and allies along the way, I read a lot of other blogs, I spend a lot of time reading stuff of new commenters. I take a genuine interest in what people have to say and they pay me the same respect back. Also, I’m NICE to other women. When a woman is around who is better at something than I am, then I want to learn what makes her tick, and I’m certainly not going to gain anything by being nasty to her. Unfortch, not all of us have learned that art.

When people come to know you, through your writing, they either decide that they are rooting for you or against you. Fortunately 99% of you appear to be rooting for me. Occasionally I come across the 1% and I’m always shocked at their childish spoiled behavior, almost stamping their feet crying, “But my blog is better!” Ugh. Sickening. Grow the fuck up.

So where are we? He goes home and this morning I get a text message from him that the bitch is threatening all sorts of shit. Wah wah wah. She sent an ultimatum of sorts to Sherlock asking me to take her name off my blog, when in fact you can just google her blogger id and come up with her real name. Ok, I’ll indulge you, stupid whore. She wants to put all my information online. So I call and ask Sherlock how she could possibly know the things she’s threatening to put online. He told her of course. Something isn’t passing the sniff test. I ask what else went on with them, and fired off a bunch of questions that amounted to asking why this girl is so vicious, and that something else must have gone on with them.

He finally tells me that he’s scared to talk and I tell him he better start talking immediately. There wasn’t just one girl he slept with during his two weeks of stalking. There were three. Some back to back, including this bitch in my comments. Of course when I asked him the first time, he lied. He also lied earlier this week you might recall, because he only fessed up to one, not three. He said he told her how much he liked me and she must have been jealous. Um…hello? How could you be fucking one woman telling her that you really like another? That makes no sense to me. You learn that shit in 2nd grade. So I listen to him tell me of all the women he’s nailed in that time period, all the details and I start shaking. I can’t believe that when I choose to let someone in, it turns out like this. And yeah, I know most of you saw it. But you knew I had to give it a shot. I had to at least try.

He asked me what I wanted to do. It was calm, and it was honest, and it came out of my mouth so directly and so forcefully that I knew there was no other alternative:

“I want you out of my life.”

I told him I would be over within the hour to pick up what little I had left there (you know, porn…toys.) I dropped the dogs off and went over there. He let me in, I walked by him, not looking at him, found my shit and headed for the door. Then I turned around and said, “Where’s your cell phone?” He pointed at the counter. I told him to delete my number out of it. He did it in front of me, and I turned around toward the door. Parting words?

Sherlock: I’m sorry.

Velvet: Fuck you.

******

Final Stuff For You to Know:

I’ve blocked his email, not that it will do much good. Anyone can create more email addresses. He’s getting new internet service so there’s no point in blocking his IP’s.

Well, this saga is officially over. I’ve taken about all the bullshit I can from Sherlock and company. My sheets, smelling faintly of him, have been ripped off the bed and thrown in the wash. With bleach.

Comment moderation is on. I’ll approve them as quickly as I can.

Just a random post about my yesterday.

My boss brought his two kids in to work. They spent the day playing a video game online. When I popped my head in to say bye, I asked him if the video game was accessed online or if it was running off a disc. Let’s switch to convo mode.

Boss: It’s online.
Velvet: So they have been playing games all day on the internet? Corporate is going to think we are fucking around up here.
Boss: Oops.
Velvet: Well, they will know one of us is playing video games and another ordered a new toy on Mojo Garden. Well, actually, I just added it to my shopping cart, I didn’t want to actually send the credit card info from here.
Boss: Another one? What happened to the last one you bought?
Velvet: I broke it.
Boss: Isn’t this like the third one? What do you do to those things?
Velvet: I don’t know. It’s good to keep a supply though. 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.
Boss: It’s fun being you, isn’t it?
Velvet: Well. Yes.

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.

*****

I am sad to inform you all that I am ill. Very very ill. I have something they call the Stockholm Syndrome. In short, the Stockholm Syndrome is where a kidnap victim starts to identify with their kidnappers. In Sherlock’s stalking of me, I somehow embraced it because I learned to stalk back. Witness:

Sherlock: So I was reading your blog today and I saw the comment where so-and-so said blah-blah. (You know “so-and-so” was one of you commenters, right?)
Velvet: Yeah, I saw you on there a bunch of times. Every time I saw you on I figured I would get a return email from you on our email volley.
Sherlock: Wait, so you are checking up on me to see when I’m online, then you are waiting for me to write back? Are you reverse stalking me?
Velvet: Huh.

Stupid tables turning.

*****

In other Sherlock news, cause yanno, that’s all my life has been this week, he had a fanfuckingtastic idea. He said, “I have a way for you to get your anonymity back, though I haven’t quite worked out all the details.” He goes on to explain that I would franchise the blog. At first I thought that we would have “Velvet-in’s” all over the country. Ideas:

Velvet in Phoenix
Velvet in Miami
Velvet in The Big Apple
Velvet in Sing-Sing

But he said that no, he meant we would find a replacement Velvet. Essentially, I would take the show on the road, searching for a replacement in an excrutiating interview process. I’m imagining it like an American Idol tryout, only way less people. I thought this was hilariously hilarious. He had all these ideas for questions too:

Describe your worst date ever.
When was your last boyfriend?
How did you break up with the last boyfriend?
What’s the worst thing you’ve done to a man in the last 6 months?

Oh…..the questions. Can you imagine the stories women across the country could tell about dating? Then the replacement is selected and I bow out.

It’s a funny thought, but, 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.

But just in case you’re wondering who I think could really date the entire population of D.C. and rip them to shreds a la Velvet, it’s Diet Coke of Evil.

*****

Finally, I slept over Sherlock’s house last night.

Is there something wrong with the fact that earlier tonight, I was on the phone with Sherlock discussing what movies would be best to order off Excalibur Films, finding myself saying, “Well, years ago, anal and girl on girl were considered fetish, but now that stuff is in pretty much every movie you would buy…make sure you get something newer because full bush and no implants really piss me off now. Oh, shoot. I have to go, I have a date.” But okay, as bad as that is, is it worse that I had my date with TheConsultant and saw CL#3TextTormenter across the fucking bar? You remember CL#3TextTormenter, the spitting image of a drunken Kennedy. I know, is there really any other kind of Kennedy? Prior to dating me, he also dated Kathryn and attempted to get a little Cookie. Hot as we are, his claim to fame seems to be having dated Miss Delaware. 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.

I know, you want to know how I ended up on the phone with Sherlock. I called him Monday night after the debacle. Look, he reads this blog and a wee few of you are very critical (and some of you are Judgie McJudgie Poo’s) so I’m just not going to get into the specifics of our conversation. Basically it was the type of conversation each of you have had when you are trying to make those decisions about if the person we are talking to is someone we want to be with. It’s the deep, “long term outlook for the two of us” stuff. I won’t bother writing it because there were some incredibly sweet words exchanged that will get ripped to shreds by a couple of you who seem to forget that I’m like, a person under here with a heart. Frankly, I know Sherlock and I have both made our mistakes, but I just can’t sit by and put him in a position to get roasted on this blog when we may have a future together. I’ve put you guys and your entertainment first for a long time, but now, I have to remember what I’ve always said: I will never let the blog stand in the way of a good relationship. Is it good with Sherlock and I? Time will tell. The jury is still out.

That said, what can I tell you? That in addition to talking Monday, he came over on Tuesday and we watched a movie. He said he’s not going to see anyone else until we resolve what we’re doing. I said, “I can’t make the same promise.” I’m sorry, I just can’t. I have a really really exceptionally hard time trusting people. I let my guard down this weekend and Monday it got crushed. So the guard is back up. It’s not conscious, I just notice that my skin is thicker now. I need to figure out if he can get back in, and I just don’t know the answer yet. I’m not stringing him along, so please don’t bother accusing me of that.

In other news, I’ve received an email from a reader I’ve never heard from before – either via comments or email. His name was somewhat familiar. His original email asked me to get a drink with him. I replied asking if he was a blogger. He said, “No. I was never a blogger.” Unfortunately that is a big fat lie. I hate lies. I replied, stating the name of the now defunct blog, and he said if I meet him for a drink he’ll explain. Hmm. So, you lied to me for some reason, and you’re using the reason for your lie as bait to get me to go out with you? I go out with people on MY TERMS, not yours. I decided to just not answer this email, but another one came, instructing me to meet him at a bar tonight at a certain time, with his phone number in the email. Since I was on a date with TheConsultant, and staring ex-date CL#3 in the face at a bar in Clarendon, all the while wondering what porn Sherlock had ordered, I was unable to physically or mentally make it for this date. So sorry. Try commenting some time though. Then at least I’d have a frame of reference for who you are, and I may have agreed to go out with you.

Continuing in the My Life Sucks vein, I am going to tell you straight out that blogging and being “public” is scaring the shit out of me. The disturbing emails have picked up again and I can never tell how harmless someone may be from this side of a screen. I forwarded an email I received to Sherlock and he was like, “I had no idea you dealt with this kind of stuff.” I’m sorry to have to inform those of you who read, don’t comment, then email me thinking we have some sort of rapport, we don’t. Without comments or a reference to your own blog, I don’t even have a glimpse of you. I understand that I pour my heart out here and you feel as if you know me. But, I don’t know you. Sherlock is going through a bit of this now, realizing that he’s read a lot and not heard it from me, and that’s partially to blame for him being in the fast lane – he already knows me. I’m realizing, sadly, that some of the email relationships I’ve participated in are not healthy. I give my all to this blog. I am going to continue giving my all to this blog until the day I wake up and decide it’s over. Don’t worry. It’s not soon. I’ve got a lot left in me that has yet to hit the keyboard.

Nothing like a Velvet heartbreak to bust my hits through the roof. I broke previous records by 200 more visits, and it makes me wonder about you newbies…coming for the drama! Though I’d trade them for all of this to just go away. Anyway, I’m coping. And in the spirit of coping, I have to infuse some humor into the situation. I can rarely stay in the same emotional place for very long. Indulge me with my nonsense, and when I get any updates for you on the Sherlock/Velvet situation, I’ll let you know. For now, all’s quiet. Standby for the Velvet Variety Show.

Dogs
1) I went to New York this weekend, sans dogs. Friday, Abby called me to tell me that Sammy was limping and wouldn’t put any weight on his front paw. I told her, “That fucker has done this to me countless times. He’s faking. I used to drag him to the vet all the time when I was in grad school because of the shit he’d pull. I came home one day and there were tissues all over the house and he was limping. I take him to the vet, and he’s running around the office like a loon. So I snatch him, and my much lighter wallet, and go home. Then once, he chased a squirrel into the woods behind my condo, and either he got his damn paw stuck on a thorn or the squirrel beat the shit out of him, but he screeched like an 8 year old girl. He scored three more sympathy visits to the vet before I realized he was faking each and every time. I think he falls asleep with his paw tucked under him and the paw falls asleep or something. That dog is bad.” This story is irrelevant, but keep in mind what a little devil I have. You’ll need it for item #3 below.

Dinner
2) Last night I had dinner with some really important people. I say important, because we are all so busy, we had to schedule this dinner like, months in advance. Do you know how ridiculous it is to be putting on a scarf and mittens when you are writing “Dinner, sure, August 21st” in an email? Who are these important peeps? Well, we have DCOE, Law-Rah, Sharkbail (yes, that’s her new name, though she didn’t bail last night,) Asian Mistress and Stef (who beat me to a recap found here.) Anyway, our waitress was horribly slow, and when she took our drink order and failed to return after 20 minutes, we started to wonder. Wonder no more, she waved goodbye to us and walked out, with her purse. We had to hail down the manager (channeling DCOE…and by “we” I mean, Sharkie.) He said he’d be taking care of us (definition of “take care” is actually “to ignore” at Chevys in Ballston) for the rest of the night as our waitress would no longer be returning. I can’t remember the exact words, but yeah, he fired her. Damn. How bad was she to get fired at 7 p.m. during dinner?

More Dogs
3) Still laughing from a dinner that took too long but passed quickly due to great company, I seriously came home to this note from my dog walker. I am copying word for word.

What a way to start my week. First, another client told me she is moving. Then, Sammy decided to poop two feet away from a sunbather’s head in Dupont Circle. As I was apologizing to the guy, Sammy kicked it right in his face with his back feet. This chunk of turd stuck to his cheek and slid off, leaving a trail of shit down his face. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Thank God the guy turned out to be the nicest guy on the planet. He wouldn’t even take my shirt to clean the crap off. With all that commotion, Thora didn’t poop.

May I remind you all that my parents, Gloom and Doom, play favorites, and think Sammy is the king and Thora is the asshole dog? They should revise their assessment. That’s par for the course with them though. I was the black sheep growing up, alienated from the family, and now I hear, “What is wrong with your two brothers?” Last night I told my mom, “All these years, you tortured me, and look now, I’m your favorite.” HA! But I’m not done with the dogs.

4) So I walk the dogs after reading this note, and there’s some house party in my neighborhood. Sammy and Thora invite themselves to the party, while I’m standing on the sidewalk. I can hear, “Hi little doggie, where did you come from?” I’m screaming like a moron, “SAMMY! MOMMY SAID RIGHT NOW!!!” And I look up in the window and see that little fucker Sammy running up the staircase in this person’s house. The guy out front smoking was like, “It’s my house and I don’t care, so don’t worry about it.” I said, “Buddy, after what he pulled today, you might find yourself with a new pet. I just may leave him here.” Finally he came out and we went home. Pause for picture of S and T dogs swimming in Annapolis a few weeks ago!

Dupont Circle
5) My neighbor was wearing the craziest shirt to work the other day. I said, “Well, no one is going to accuse you of being a heterosexual today, are they?” He said, “That is the greatest compliment anyone could pay me.”

Conversations With My Boss
Boss: So, Gary asked me for my home address and I asked why he needed that. He said he was going to invite me to his daughter’s wedding. I said, “Gary, I don’t even know your daughter, I can’t come to her wedding!”
Velvet: People and their wedding bullshit are just so weird.
Boss: I know, I don’t want to go to her wedding. I’d go to yours though.
Velvet: That’s not nice!
Boss: What do you mean?
Velvet: You know I’m too practical to have a stupid expensive wedding and that I’d just send everyone to Vegas with a roll of quarters and directions to an All-you-can-eat-buffet. And you’re also making a joke that I’ll never get married at the rate I’m going.
Boss: HA! You’re right. You know, I think I’m going to buy you a wedding gift, even though you’re not getting married. His and hers wine glasses.
Velvet: Ooh, I’m going to make a registry even though I’m not getting married. Think anyone will buy anything from it?

More Conversations with My Boss
Boss: So, I have a great story for you. You can put it on your blog.
Velvet: Do tell.
Boss: You know I went to New York this weekend. And I went down to the bar in my hotel one night and had a few drinks and talked to the bartender. This girl comes in, and she’s like 6 feet tall and she sits right next to me.
Velvet: Wait, where were the kids?
Boss: Upstairs with Sara.
Velvet: Wait. What? You brought your soon to be ex-wife to New York with you so she could be a nanny to the kids while you went to the bars?
Boss: Yeah. So?
Velvet: You’re my idol. I really have no idea how you have gotten this pending divorce to work out so well for you. Okay, keep going.
Boss: So the girls sits, and she starts telling me she has a problem. I tell her to tell me because my job is fixing problems. She says that she tried to be a porn star in L.A. and the told her she was too tall for what they needed, but they had a contact in New York that would work with her. So here she is in New York, and she doesn’t know anyone. She meets with the guy and he tells her she’ll get $2000 for three days of shooting. But, if she agrees to do only anal, she’ll get $2800 and she doesn’t know what she should do.
Velvet: It’s truly unbelievable that I’m the one who watches all this porn and yet, you get the porn stars sitting next to you in bars. What the hell?
Boss: So I say to her, ‘Okay, you wanted my advice, if you were my daughter this is what I would tell you. One day, you will meet someone and you will have this conversation about getting serious and you’ll have to admit that one day once, you did this movie, and you will have to hope he’s okay with it.’ So she sits there and thinks about it, then as she’s leaving, this slimey guy in his 60’s comes in and puts his arm around her, and she introduces me. They are getting ready to leave and she says “Thank you, you really helped me out. I know what I’m going to do now. I’m going to save my pussy for my boyfriend and do the anal.”

Seriously, only my boss. Unbelievable.

My New Blog Crush
People. Please. How much more of this do we have to take? Brought to you by my new blog crush.

All right. I can’t sit silent anymore. Here’s what I originally posted this morning. The first five comments are from the original post. Anything after that is new. After the asterisks is the new stuff.

Here’s a phone call I made today.

IJL: Thanks for Calling It’s Just Lunch.
Me: Hi, this is Velvet. I, um, need to cancel my date with what’s his name next week.
IJL: Oh, with number 13?
Me: Yes, that’s him.
IJL: Awwww. I’m sorry. Why?
Me: Well, I guess I’m no longer dating.
IJL: Okay, so that’s good news!
Me: Yeah. It’s really good news.
IJL: Great. Well, we’ll put your membership on hold, and just give us a call back if you want to be rematched again.

There’s a phone number I hope to never dial again.

I’ll explain. You all know I ate dinner with Sherlock Wednesday. Thursday I was packing to head out of town for the weekend. He and I briefly discussed seeing eachother for a bit. He was out with friends and I was running around like a crazy person taking my bedding to the dry cleaner (thanks Thora for vomiting all over my down comforter) packing, squeezing in the gym, getting hijacked by damn Gay Friend M for some stupid crap (I hate you) and well, there you go. By the time Sherlock and I connected, it was around 10:30. And, um, I let him come over.

He met Sammy and Thora.

He came into my house.

I broke my rules.

Then we left and went over to his place, where I stayed for approximately three hours. Most of those three hours I spent suspiciously, but blissfully, unclothed. When I got home, I realized that yes, I had somehow taken the turn with the tide, and I was happy. But my realistic side said it was good that I was leaving town, because getting out of town is the best way for me to realize how I feel about him. And Friday morning when I woke up, I thought, “Huh. I won’t miss him.”

How wrong I was. We spent the entire weekend in text message foreplay and had a few conversations on the phone. He told me Saturday night he was going out with friends. But it turns out he had a date, which he confessed after the fact. No biggie, I just don’t like being lied to. I had to remind myself that just because my head caught up, didn’t mean he was back where I left him a few weeks ago. Deep breath. I thought of a few things I planned to say when I was back and I would leave it at that.

He picked me up from Union Station. We went and got the dogs, brought my stuff home, then went to his place for a few hours of the Thursday night, blissfully unclothed variety. What I planned to say, I said, calmly, knowing it was well thought out:

“Tuesday night I have a date, which I intend to keep. But I’m only going out with someone else for spite, because you lied to me about Saturday. But when I come home after that date, I promise to be done. I’ll stop.”

I know we had an awful start and a rough patch early on. But I think it set a dynamic between us that I’m quite happy with. He crossed a line early on, hell, a few lines, and I put my foot down, and that showed my resolve. But, eventually, after a little guilt set in for the way I handled things, and that little feeling of just plain old missing him, I responded to his contact. I’m glad I did.

I’m not going to stop him from reading. As I told him, it will keep me honest.

Kids? I adore this man.

**************************************************

All right. So what happened?

This morning I suppose Sherlock and I were getting our dating houses in order. I took care of the above crap with It’s Just Lunch. We had a couple texts of a sweet nature, then he sent me a text telling me that he canceled a pending date and “told his fuck buddy it was done.”

Um. What? Your who?

So I called him. He first said he told me about that, then he said that he didn’t and he shouldn’t have told me via text. Um, yeah. Maybe that’s a start. So my mind is reeling thinking about how unfair it is that he’s seen EVERY SINGLE THING I’ve written, thought, person I’ve dated, since he came into my life. I think, unless I’m a big fat fucking liar, that it’s safe to say that he’s the only person I’ve slept with recently. So I find out that he hasn’t been just with me. Okay okay. Trying to breathe for a minute. This really isn’t such a big deal.

Then I ask, “When was the last time it happened?”

He says, “Once before you and once after.”

This people, this, is why I don’t get into relationships. There it is. Please don’t get me wrong, it isn’t the act and the fact that it happened. I know it happened when we weren’t talking. It’s that he kept it from me until after I agreed to stop seeing other people. ANY TIME PRIOR TO THIS MORNING would have been a better time to tell me. But, I can see how, you know, when you’re getting your dick wet, why the fuck would you bother to be like, “oh, by the way…”

So I say, “Okay, so in the interim where you and I first slept together, you spent 10 days stalking me like a fucking lunatic, calling, texting, emailing, jogging by my house, sending flowers, reading the blog, and somehow you find time to fuck someone else?”

He said “Yeah.”

I had to get off the phone. I had to hang up before I said something that didn’t need to be said out loud. But he emailed me, attempting to explain. I don’t care that it happened, even though putting into context that it happened during the full on stalking period it strikes me as odd, I care that he waited until the absolute wrong time to tell me. I responded to his email and said:

This is typical sales guy again. Do you convince doctors to use equipment, then tell them mid-operation that “oh by the way, in the trials it killed a few people, no biggie.”

Fuck you. I’m so mad at you right now I don’t even know what to think…You deserve everything you got on the blog. And everything that’s coming. If I even bother to give you an ounce anymore.

Well, I guess I did give an ounce. I have to keep you kids informed. But look at the bright side, I have been writing this blog for 14 months. It’s hard to keep this new and fresh, right? But now, here you have it – Velvet gets into a committed relationship for 12 hours. Five of which I was asleep for! (Make your jokes, I know, I was asleep for all 12.) Really, it just doesn’t get any better.

Oh, one more thing. Fuck you Sherlock.

Some of you may know there was just a post up for an hour or so. I took it down. Something just came to my attention, not of the good variety and I have to figure it out. Let me get my thoughts in order and I’ll get it together again. Sorry.

While I have so enjoyed watching the cop comments in the last post, you are requesting more. And I have more to give. Here we go.

Every afternoon when I come back from lunch, I toss my change on my desk. Every night when I leave, I forget to take it with me. Every morning when I come back in, the change is gone. It’s no secret that our cleaning crew at my office are a bunch of thieves. They have made off with a laptop from our office, as well as several cases of soda. Now they are stealing my money. Like the time when some redneck in Atlanta was stealing our Sunday paper, I set up a sting operation to catch the criminal – or to at least tell him/her that I knew what they were doing.

I should tell you that I’m a vindictive revenge-getter. If you wrong me, you best step back, because it won’t be pretty. I hate a thief the most of any. Get a job and get your own shit, don’t take mine! The person who stole that last Sunday paper from me in Atlanta pulled it out of the bag to find 4 weeks worth of chinchilla and hamster shit collected from the bottoms of their cages. Awww. So sad. I’m sure with as packed as that paper was with animal poop, there was no way it didn’t get all over their house. With my change thief, I taped my change to a sticky note that said, “How long will you keep stealing my change?” This morning I got a response to my note – a sticky note taped to a dollar that said, “I’m sorry. I took your money, here’s what I stole.”

Then my heart sank. I felt bad. I’m leaving him his dollar with a note that he can have it, I just wanted him to know that I knew what he was doing. I’m not trying to get a cleaning person in trouble for some change. If he gets fired, then he collects unemployment, maybe goes on welfare and I end up paying more for that, don’t I? I just want the thieves to know they can’t get away with it. Keep in mind my personality trait of feeling guilt for the rest of this post, okay?

After my post on visiting Uncle M (who by the way, told my cousin that I didn’t come up there to see him…hmm…) and the car accident, I got a text from everyone’s favorite enemy Sherlock. Well, he can’t be our favorite enemy anymore because from the last post I think we have a new asshole around here. Sherlock apologized, and said that I wrote a great post. I wanted to write back because I just didn’t think this would fix itself without a conversation. And someone thought I should just talk to him and deal with it head on. I replied that he was acting like a lunatic, and that two weeks of all this communication without a response from me was insane. We went back and forth in some texting over Monday and Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon we decided to have dinner on Wednesday. So, I ate dinner with Sherlock last night. It was fine. We had to clear the air, and each tell our side of what we thought happened. Mixed signals I suppose.

It’s not often that this type of sorting out occurs. I think in a lot of situations, one person just gets tired of the other and stops communication, without feedback. I would love to know what I did or didn’t do with regard to some of my exes.

Anyway, Sherlock walked me home and I said, “I really liked you the first night, and then something happened.” (I mean, I really liked him. Then it went all wrong, crashing and burning on the way.) He said, “Yeah, because I didn’t care the first night I met you.” But then he started caring. And shit changed.

Exactly.

And there we have it. I’m not saying this is a hard and fast rule, but showing someone you are available to them at every juncture is somehow unappealing. We like the challenge. We like to think that someone isn’t exactly ours from the start. I asked Sherlock if his interest in me was solely because I wasn’t interested in his attention. He said it was possible, but, who knows. Does anyone ever know with these things?

Final result: No matter what happens, he promised to stop being a psycho. And yes, he did use that word, and he did acknowledge that he was acting crazy. But he said it will stop, right…now.

I went to New Jersey this weekend to visit my Great Uncle in the nursing home. Well, I guess it’s a nursing home, I’m not quite sure what the P.C. name is – Retirement Home?

I left early Saturday morning to make the drive. I grabbed a bunch of old CD’s to listen to on the ride. As I made my way through them, only listening to the songs I like as opposed to listening to the whole CD, I stumbled on Expose. For those of you who did NOT grow up in the 80’s in New York, listening to Z100 broadcast “live from the top of the Twin Towers,” you may not have the same fondness for bands like Expose, Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam, and Pebbles. Let’s have a nod to some true girl jammin’ shall we? A reminder of the days when hair was big, spandex was streetwear, dancing wasn’t always sychronized and ladies could sing.

Hmm. What’s this? Do I smell Spandex?

What about this one? Reminds me of skipping gym class.

Good lord. Mr. Washuk just gave me detention. Dick!

Probably their best. Hit #1, it did.

Best line ever here – “Apology not accepted, add me to the broken hearts you’ve collected.”

Something tells me only KassyK will enjoy this the most. It’s a tri-state area thing. Z100, neon lights under your car and weekends at the Jersey Shore.

Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed that, for I shall continue with my story. I needed to lift you up before I brought you down. I’m jamming along through the Baltimore Tunnel, straight up 95 to a little Expose. My mind wanders to the whole New York in the 80’s thing, and the feel of growing up during that time. I’m instantly tossed back to 8th grade, hanging out with my friend at the end of my street, talking about boys. On the highway, I see a car with New York plates in front of me, and realize that they are heading “home.” Brain wandering. My dad asked me on Friday if I would consider moving back to New York and give up my pipe dream of moving to Phoenix. I said no, but secretly it is something I do consider. I’m on the fence between Phoenix and New York. It would make more sense to just go back home. Besides, I could get back together with my hot ex-boyfriend. You know, the one who picked me up in a bar when I was 19, with the line, “If you guess what kind of car I drive you can have it.” I looked him up and down and said, “Black Ford Mustang.” He said, “Did you see me get out of my car?” I really didn’t, it was easy. All those guys drove Ford Mustangs.

As I’m mulling this over in my head, a tour bus cuts off the New Yorkers in the car ahead of me. They drive out of the lane to avoid an accident, skidded in the left shoulder, burning rubber in the process. Then the driver lost control of the car and it fell into the median, flipped over and landed on its side. Right in front of me.

Holy fuck.

I slam on the breaks and immediately call 911. (When I drive, the phone is always in my crotch. I enjoy the vibration, what can I say?) So, I get out of Speedracer and I’m in a full sprint back to their car. I never knew I could run this fast in flip flops. A guy was standing next to the car pulling the people out, as they had to climb up just to get out. Just as I said, “I’ve told them to send an ambulance,” out of the car comes a 3 year old little girl.

Holy fuck.

All four adults and one child climbed out of that car. Alive. Not injured. I never would have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.

Then someone said, “The car is smoking, everyone back away.” Traffic had come to a stop on the highway in both directions, and we started walking away from the car. Secure that they didn’t need me and had enough people around with an ambulance on the way, I made my way back to Speedracer to continue on. Needless to say, I was later than Uncle M expected. But he was just watching a Lifetime special, and he didn’t understand it anyway. He said, “Do I have to live a lifetime just to understand what the hell they are saying?”

I wheeled him back to his room, then we went for a walk outside on the grounds. Two ladies asked us to join them in the swing, so we did. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, and in between small talk, Uncle M started in on these political rants. Everything is a conspiracy. Gotta love it.

Before I left, I saw a picture in his room of his mother, my great grandmother. This is the woman allegedly responsible for a lot of misery in the family. She was supposedly such a raging bitch, that she pitted my grandmother and her sister against each other for most of their lives.

I sat in the chair looking at the picture of my great grandmother, feeling nothing, knowing that she created a mess of shit that we are all still dealing with today. Uncle M never got married because she forbid him to marry a non-Greek who he was in love with. My Great Aunt committed suicide. My grandmother became completely crazy and tortured the hell out of my mom. The stories my mom can tell about growing up with my grandmother, lord. They could send us all to therapy. Though, the ones who need it don’t seem to end up there, do they? It’s the rest of us who have to go. Hell, they have even sent Uncle M to therapy now. He said they asked him why he can’t get along with anyone at the home. I said, “Did you tell them cause you’re Greek? It’s in your heritage?” At least he laughed at that.

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.

Yes everyone. Last night yours truly went out with a man 15 years older than I am. I’m really pushing that age limit thing, aren’t I? It’s my hope that there is a point in time that these men actually grow up. Since we’ve discovered that most are children well through their 30’s, I set my sights on the 40’s. This one last night? 48 baby. 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.

I met him at a bar downtown. I’m over disclosing locations because frankly, I don’t need certain people showing up there. So, from here on out, any location I disclose will be a lie. Damn! Cause I hate lying to you kids.

I called from outside because I have not embraced that whole “walk into a bar looking for someone you probably won’t recognize” thing. We’re on the phone, find each other, and sit down. He’s really quite good looking. I order a beer, he is finishing what I assume to be his first gin and tonic, and orders a second. He informed me that he isn’t working this entire month, so he’s going to get good and liquored up. Um, okay. He made good on that bet, he really did drink a lot. He was drinking doubles the entire time. I had just my one beer. So, the drinking thing could be an issue. But anyway.

We had great conversation. We told stories, I’m full of them as a matter of fact. I never lack for conversation on a date. I had told him in an email that I was a bit gunshy, and he asked why last night. I had to recount the whole last 4 months of drama, and he said he’s surprised I’m dating at all. Then I told him I had a dating blog to support. KIDDING! I have learned, I will never do that again. He did garner major points for coming out with my favorite political statement ever: “I’m socially liberal and fiscally conservative.” Wooooo hoooo!!!!

He wanted to eat, so we got a table and ordered a bunch of appetizers and ate and ate and ate. He paid the bill, despite my attempts to throw money at him, and we made our way to the street. I said I was going to grab a cab, because of attempted mugging the other night, and he hailed one for me. A hug and a kiss goodbye and I was off. Verdict? I’d “throw him into the rotation” as the Queen of Quantity says, but I’m not sure. He sent me a text this morning and an email, saying he had a good time and wanted to do it again. I’m game, but I realize that I’m not as happy and smiley as I was say, after my first date with Sherlock. This leads me to wonder – am I losing steam again or is he just not the right guy? Jury still out.

So, back to last night for a second. The cabbie asks me how I’m doing and I tell him I’m fine, and that I’m taking this cab because I was almost mugged the other night. He starts telling me I need to get Tim Larkin’s self defense tapes or something. He spends the ride describing the tapes, telling me that the aim of them is to fight to kill, not fight to fight. The tapes allegedly tell you how to disarm someone in a few moves, by going for the pressure points. Then we get to my place and I’ve got one foot out of the car and he won’t stop talking. He puts the car in park. He takes off his seatbelt, he’s describing things in the tape, telling me I need to buy it. Then he turns off the engine and continues talking. So I’m like, “Holy hell, these tapes sound great.” I go upstairs and check it out online and find that the tapes cost a few million dollars.

I can always get suckered into buying things, especially with such an enthusiastic recommendation like that, but damn. Why are the tapes so expensive? If I knew how to kill someone with one shot of my hand to a body part, I’d tell everyone for free. Why charge so much money? I checked him out on some message boards and people didn’t have very nice things to say about him. Anyone hear of him? Anyone have any other ideas of what I could buy to learn? Perhaps I’m resigned to just breaking someone’s knee if they attack me, since that’s what I can do best.

The other night I was walking home, and was within two blocks of my house. I saw three kids, about 15, 16 years old, on bikes, riding the opposite way past me. I was on the sidewalk. They were in the street. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the kids whisper something to the others as he looked at me. Not good. My senses went up. I walked faster to get to the intersection just ahead. As I got to the corner, I turned around. One of the kids had ducked away from his friends and was within inches of me, just next to the arm that was holding my bag. I know what you’re doing motherfucker.

When he realized I saw him, he had a brief look of shock on his face and nodded at me. I don’t think he was expecting me to know he was there. Then he doubled back, deciding to ride on sidewalk on the side of the street we were on instead of the sidewalk to which we were crossing. He and I continued, each on our own side of the street, staring at each other, waiting to see what the other one was going to do. My adrenaline was pumping. I was pissed, there’s nothing I hate more than a thief. Nothing. I almost dared him to do something. He’s alone, he’s younger than me, and sans weapon or backup from his friends, I could probably beat his thieving fucking ass if it came down to it. Kids these days are pumped full of McDonald’s. Hardly a match for my Protein Shakes and routine ass kicking at my gym. He came up to the next block before I did, I saw him do a U-turn in the street, right in front of a cop, and sped off the way he came, toward his friends.

I walked clear across the intersection and told the cop what had just happened. He took off in their direction. I can guarantee he probably didn’t catch them, for we’ve learned that the roaches can outsmart the D.C. Cops on their best day.

So, what told me I was about to be mugged? Yes, I grew up in Connecticut but we spent every weekend in New York in the 70’s and 80’s, pre-Giuliani, when crime was rampant. I have the Hudson River in my blood, and I can sense when I’m in danger. These kids didn’t belong in this neighborhood. They acted suspicious. When people eye you and start whispering, you are being talked about. When one abandons his other friends and follows you coming within inches of you, yeah. Feel it. You are about to be mugged. Unlike many of the faces I pass each day and evening, I’ve never seen these kids before. I had to ask myself as I continued walking home if I would have felt the same way if the kids were white. Yeah. I would have. They acted suspicious and that was what made me worried. Then I asked myself if I could have been wrong. Sure, but it’s a slim chance. Did I “profile” them because of their race, age and behavior? Yup. I sure did. Call it racism, but it saved me from being mugged. And frankly I’d listen to my senses again if it’s going to save me from getting hurt.

Believe me, I wish we could all just get along. I am a true believer in every word in John Lennon’s “Imagine.” I wrote a grad school paper on that song. But I’m not a bleeding heart and I know that this will never happen. I’m realistic. I see that there’s a lot of resent in all directions, across all races, and I know we will never see a day without racism and hate. I refuse to contribute to that sort of hate, but I know how things work and I get that as the white, upper middle class female, I have to be aware of other’s hatred of me and what I stand for in their eyes. That puts me in a position to be victimized. Do I cringe or brace myself because someone approaches me who “looks dangerous?” Nope. I cringe and brace myself because I know that that person, of another race, may have been trained to hate me, and may just do something about it.

I carry mace with me. And the next time someone fucks with me, they aren’t going to be pleased. But, I dare them. If the cops can’t clean up the streets, it’s up to the rest of us.

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…

Okay, cryptic. Either I’m getting fatter, or this city is getting smaller. And I know with the time I spend at the gym, I am definitely not getting fatter. The lunacy that was my weekend is truly unbelievable. So many worlds colliding, in so many different ways.

• Happy Hour Friday. I can’t do a recap because I suck at recaps and the pros are better at it anyway. But, I met a reader who nailed the identity of someone I discuss here. Do I not disguise these people enough? Or is D.C. really this small? Wow. Regardless, I’m glad she said something to me, because now I have a new friend who I think is going to be dangerous of the fun fun fun variety.
• Someone I used to date decided to post his delusional account online of what he thinks transpired between us. Fucking hilarious. I wish I could wander through life with my head up my ass like that. I guess it helps when you have a couple lunatic “friends” by your side to help get your head up there. Christ you people are soooo pathetic.
• Then, in an interesting twist of fate, half an hour after the above internet posting came to my attention, I almost ran over said person’s lawyer. You know, the one he showed up in court with because he was too chicken shit to face me alone? You know, the one who escorted him out of the courtroom so quickly, that they missed the real fireworks that occurred? You fool. You should have stuck around to hear what everyone thought of you! It’s funny to have court personnel chase you out of the courtroom to talk to you. But I digress. When I saw said lawyer, clumping along the street with her trademark limp, I said to my friend, “Lookie here. It’s the bastard’s lawyer.” Friend, who was in court with me said, “Yep. I couldn’t miss that limp anywhere.” 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.
• Headed out Saturday night. 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. Anyway, someone very close to a disgusting piece of shit who threw their name into above court case showed up at Chi Cha. How small has this city become? Can’t you people stay in your own quadrants?
• The night comes full circle just as I decided to go home. Out on the street, I get a text from everyone’s favorite man of last week, saying he was in Chi Cha and he hopes he didn’t run me off. Jesus Christ. It was me who introduced you to this bar, and I had no fucking idea you would make it your god damned new home, having never been there before you met me. It’s getting a little old having you “show up” places where you know I’ll be. I’ve left the rest of your maneuvers off this blog, but for some reason, you seem to be tempting me don’t you? Ok. I’ll bite. Then, I’m done. Ready? Because it’s obviously what you’ve been waiting for.

Dear Sherlock:

My last words to you were via text, “Don’t be fooled by a false sense of intimacy.” Since then, you sent three more texts on Sunday, one on Monday, sent flowers on Tuesday, sent a two page email on Wednesday, texted again Wednesday night, and called three times on Thursday, magically showed up at a bar Saturday you know I frequent, then texted me saying, “Well that was weird.” No. No it wasn’t weird. YOU FUCKING KNOW I GO THERE ALL THE TIME AND YOU HAD NEVER BEEN THERE BEFORE MEETING ME JUST TWO WEEKS AGO. Is all of this above stuff your version of “laying off the intensity?” Do you not see how showing up at a concert at Nissan Pavillion or showing up at my house at 2:15 a.m. when I ask you not to, or showing up at a bar I go to enough to know the freaking staff is insane? Do you not get this?

It’s enough. I’ve had enough. I have not answered any of your attempts to contact me because, listen carefully, I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU. Frankly, you scare the fuck out of me. Your ability to twist what I say, or blatantly disregard what I say and do what you want anyway is beyond scary. Get the fuck off this blog or I’ll block your Verizon wireless card and then you’ll have a hell of a time trying to come back.

No longer a breeding ground for psychotics,
Velvet

P.S. If you want to create a blog about what a bitch I am, something about my being a crack whore URL is already taken.

It’s Raining Men right now.

I don’t have names for any of them yet, but I have tentative plans with a bunch of men. I don’t even know where they all came from, but for some reason, there’s that old theory – the more you have the more you can get. There are five in total.

1) Dupont Boy – Engaged in emailing. Trying to set something up for this weekend or next week. Another Greek. Oh boy.

2) Older Man – Is on leave of absence from his work so that he can finish construction on his house. Seems nice, but 15 years older than me. We’ll see how I like this. We have plans for Wednesday.

3) Consultant – Just called me this morning. He sounds fun. A little off the wall maybe, but fun. We’re going out Monday night.

4) IJL #13 – I’m sooooo close to being done with these people. Two dates to go. Two dates to go. Two dates to go. And after next week, I can change the chant to “One date to go!”

5) Arizona Online Man – I don’t know how this happened, but some stupidly hot man emailed me from Phoenix. There was that one point in time where I had my profile as saying I lived in Phoenix. Anyway, he used to live here in Maryland, if that’s not weird. When I go out there we’re going to meet up. I’m a resourceful little bitch aren’t I? I may just create a duplicate profile and run it for Phoenix and see what I can shake out of the trees when I go. Fucking hooray.

There you have it. The “Scorecard” has returned.

I talked to my cousin last week. We have been dealing with some disturbing news about how my Uncle is being treated in the Nursing/Retirement home. Let’s just say it wasn’t good. They really don’t plan to do shit for him, despite the $8000 being spent each month to keep him there. If they can’t keep him from falling all the time by alleviating the pressure on his brain, they will be strapping him in his chair and bed until he dies. Now my parents are involved, taking him to some doctor in Philly, ugh what a mess. Details details. None of us are pleased – my other Uncle, my cousin, myself, my parents. Then. This:

Cousin: I’m going to Phoenix to look for houses for my Dad and I and see about what the homes are like for Uncle M.
Velvet: When?
Cousin: First week of September.
Velvet: I’m there. I’ll ask for the time off work.

It’s moments like this that make me appreciate that I hoard my vacation time and stockpile my money for rainy days. I haven’t asked for the time yet, but I will. And I’m going to drive so I can bring the dogs. So get ready bitches. When I drive is when my best writing comes to me. I’ll probably overload you with posts the entire time I’m gone. And if the trip goes anything like the last one, cough cough cough, well, maybe this time I’ll actually write it up instead of just sending out salacious emails.

Anyway, Tuesday I had lunch with someone really high up in a company in my industry. We met a few years ago and somehow ended up getting along really well, and I did him a massive favor just recently. During the lunch, the purpose of which was to thank me, he asked about business and such. I told him of our rounds of layoffs and consolidations. He said, “Yeah, you mentioned that on the phone, are you safe?” I said I didn’t know if any of us were to be honest.

Then he said, “God Forbid you get laid off, please call me. We are hiring like mad in Costa Mesa and Phoenix.

I’d like to bet it all in the Daily Double Alex.

What did I just hear? Holy fucking shit.

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.

Let me try to give a little clarity to what we’ve been discussing.

Everyone has a relationship with someone, usually early in their dating life, that ultimately shapes the person they become for every other significant other.

When I was 21, my first love, AlwaysDrunk, broke my heart. An alcoholic, he was incredibly incapable of being the person he promised he would be. At the beginning of the end, I saw the writing on the wall and ended things. He found me the next evening, in my usual watering hole. It was hard to mix up the social life in SmallTown, Connecticut, so we all ended up at the same bar. He begged me to get back with him. I agreed, but told him to “Cut the shit.” He promised. But he never made good on that promise.

A few nights later, he was all over some girl right in front of me. I asked him what the hell he was doing. He had no answer. I left the bar in tears. But I wasn’t alone. TheCop followed me out. I only knew TheCop through friends, we had never really had an actual conversation other than being introduced months earlier where I noticed he couldn’t stop looking at me. I hadn’t seen him since that night. I still remember though, The Cranberries song “Linger” was blasting on the radio. Aah, 1994.

TheCop told me to get in his car so we could talk. He wanted to drive down to New York City to get some late dinner. I agreed, but only on the pretense that other people came with us. We grabbed three more people from the bar and drove into the city. On the way, we stopped to pee and this girl and I walked for what seemed like miles across a field so we could squat without the guys seeing us. We turn around and they are about 10 feet from us. So, she says, “Screw it, I’m going in this bush.” She parted the branches and walked in. Except I saw her head disappear and heard her scream, then heard a splash. Apparently there was some sort of ravine and she fell into a pile of mud. When she crawled out, her white shirt was soaked in mud, and she tossed out her shoes and socks. But we kept going.

We get into New York, and stupid TheCop went the wrong way. (It’s a big joke up there that you can’t take the goombas out of Connecticut because they get the shakes, and get lost.) Long story short, nothing is open by the time we get there and we go home. But not before TheCop tries to kiss me. I pushed him off, still upset over AlwaysDrunk, and went home.

This started an entire summer of cat and mouse. TheCop was the chaser, I, the chasee. I was at a similar place in life then that I am now – not really wanting anything serious. But emotionally, I was exhausted and felt like maybe I needed a diversion to get through this hell summer of not being with AlwaysDrunk, at least until I go back to college. Let’s just do it in bullets because it’s too traumatic to relive. Things I remember well:

• Me and TheCop having some sort of fight and him calling over and over and over to the point where my mom said, “You better talk to him, I think he’s suicidal.”
• Us having another of our infamous fights and him showing up at my house, ingratiating himself to my parents.
• Me breaking up with him and him following me all over town, scaring the hell out of me. One night I was walking to my car from the bar, and he was hiding in the woods, breaking branches, trying to scare me into thinking someone was after me.
• Me telling him I wasn’t in love and wanted to break up. He then climbed on the roof of my parents house to sit outside my bedroom watching me sleep.
• Him admitting several other disturbing things he did when we were broken up at one point – following me, following my friends, showing up at my friends jobs.
• He followed me back to college in Miami, and tried to become best buddies with my friends. We had a fight because he called me “The bitch” in front of my roommate. He ran out of the bar as though I did something wrong. I followed him, he raised his fist to punch me, but some guy started yelling, so he punched a telephone pole instead and took off into the ghetto. I called the cops and they came out to get my story before looking for him. I remember hearing the guy in the parking lot saying, “I see this guy storm out of the bar and he’s about to punch that girl over there…” Yeah. That was bad. TheCop got mugged and spent his night at the MDPD. Miami Dade Police baby.
• Me feeling incredible relief when he was out of my life.
• SmallTown Connecticut police investigating why TheCop was in that neighborhood at that time, and rumors surfaced (untrue from what I knew) that he really was selling his badge for drugs, because no one in their right mind would walk down Grand Avenue in Coconut Grove. TheCop asked me to testify on his behalf so he could keep his job. I said no.
• Him calling as recently as two years ago, hearing another man’s voice in my presence, and screaming, “I’M THE ONLY MAN YOU WILL EVER LOVE NOW GET RID OF HIM.”

Though the actual relationship was 6 months, this maniacal behavior went on for the better part of 12 years. I still cringe when I see a Connecticut area code show up on my phone. I’ve moved several times and he always manages to find me. I sneak back to my parents house for a day and he just “happens” to drive by their house and see my car. I go home to their house and 3 hours after being in the front door, the phone starts ringing and the hangups begin. Everyone gives the knowing glance and says, “It’s TheCop.” Some people are just so crazy they can’t be reasoned with.In many ways, this relationship with TheCop ruined me. I developed a huge aversion to any sort of control, real or perceived. But it also fine tuned my senses to a point where I can see the signs. I recall having fights with TheCop where I would say “You’re a great guy but…” and launch into 8000 insults of why I hate him so much. All he would hear was the “You’re a great guy” part, and would end up showing up at my door, or making some sort of other threats through my friends that if “Velvet doesn’t call me, I’m gonna…” It became impossible to live my life. I finally stopped returning his calls and eventually he got the hint. I mean, as much a hint as he could get.

I remember like it was yesterday, being out with my roommate senior year, and walking up the stairs to our apartment and hearing the phone ring. I broke into a full sprint fumbling for my keys saying, “I have to get the phone, it’s TheCop.” I missed the phone, he hung up and didn’t leave a message. My roommate said, “I’m only going to ask you this once. Are you in an abusive relationship?” 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.

Back to present day. A lot of the phone calls and off blog conversations I’ve had with some of you remind me of exactly that point in time 12 years ago. Sometimes being in something, it’s harder to see it for what it is. But some of my best, most level headed friends are freaked. And that is the only truth that matters.

**Not safe for family. Mom, Dad, OlderBrother – off now. Don’t come back for a few days.

I left you off at Friday night as I went to bed. Saturday was a hellaciously busy day, and I must apologize profusely for not making it to the Cafe 227 extravaganza. They write one of my favorite blogs by the way, so check it out peeps.

At some point Saturday evening, I checked my email to see that I had received two separate messages from Sherlock. The first, written sometime Friday night and the second just a forward about Phoenix.

The basic message in the first email, the longest email I’ve received from a man in years, was as follows. He explained that he didn’t mean to be interviewing me, but felt he knew me through the blog and wanted to recreate that rapport in person. (Reason #457 why a man you are dating should not know about your dating blog.) He continued to say that he thought he was getting the feeling back from me and knows that I wasn’t feeling what he thought I was. (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.) He goes on to say that I’m going to have to let someone in someday, and am I just dating for blog material, and if so then why am I dating at all? (Well, because it can be fun when it’s not totally mind numbing or too intense.) He promised to not read the blog anymore and says that the finality of my tone on the phone the prior evening was heard loud and clear.

He closes by saying, “the ferocity of your independence is both captivating and addictive. And I know it does not come without a price.” Well. That part was incredibly deep, true, and thought provoking.

When I first got the email, I actually didn’t read it. I shut off the computer and went to Tyson’s with the Queen of Quantity. I braced myself for what was in the email though.The prior night that some of the true high pressure talk involved him saying that he had canceled other dates and asking me if I still wanted to date other people. I wasn’t ready to read an email knowing that we had already had that exchange. So, I get home, turn on the computer, find the email, then plow through. After reading, I knew why I was so hesitant. Peppered throughout the explanations were things that clouded the message – a message which should have been to explain, and maybe just say good luck? I don’t know. I’ll never know. I’m obviously not good at this. But, he made comments about finding someone else and hoping he can stay open minded enough to do that. Is that truly commiserating with my non-emotional component, or a slam as if to say that his lack of openmindedness is somehow my fault.

Anyway, other than the 2nd email about why “Phoenix is a great city” I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. Until he sent me a 2 a.m. text. Let me switch modes so it’s easier to read.

Him: How was your night? Want to talk?
Me: No. I just want to have sex with you.
Him: Give me 10 minutes.
Me: No. Not tonight. But soon.
Him: Of course. Tonight we’ll just finish your backrub.
Me: No. Do not come here. I have to be up in five hours. But one day soon I am going to come over there and we are not going to say a word to each other…

The rest of what I wrote was really pretty X-rated. It was an alternate version of the wanting to have sex part.

Then he called. He told me to look out my window. I was exhausted and couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. I told him no. He said he parked and was going to come up for a couple minutes. I said no and told him to go home. Then he asked me to come down to the lobby so he could meet the dogs and give me a kiss. I said no again. I’ve actually instituted a new rule. No one meets Sammy and Thora until I know they are going to be around for a bit. I know that’s lame, but it’s just how I feel. Hey, my dog park friends understood!

So he leaves. In many ways, he reminds me of TheCop, who I dated for 6 months when I was 21. No matter what I told TheCop, he continued to disregard what I asked. I’ve got a side post coming on that, because that relationship truly shaped my feelings toward overzealous men.

We continued texting, and it got a bit steamy, but we left it that we could move this along to sex at a point to be determined. Texts continued all day Sunday and we made that “point to be determined,” Sunday night.

I’m sooooo sorry I have to fast forward, but you know how I feel about writing about sex. I typically don’t do it, for the ensuing creepy email component, so just know that it happened. For hours. And was awesome. It is an arrangement I’m content with at this point in time. He takes me home, and we’re outside my building saying goodbye. We kiss, and we’re about to lean in for another kiss when he says, “You know that was about more than sex, right?”

I swear to Christ, I could hear this deflating balloon in my head. What. The. FUCK??? I backed off and got out of the car. I stood at the window and said, “No it wasn’t.” He said, “I’m not trying to change you.” I said, “Don’t be fooled into thinking it was about anything other than sex.” Shit.

I go inside, and get a text from him that said that no two people are ever at the same place in a relationship, that he isn’t trying to change me and was just making an observation. He said he’ll call when he wants and I can do the same. I texted back, “It is just sex. Please don’t be fooled by a false sense of intimacy.” He sent another back that said, “Whatever you say…and if you can do whatever you want, then I can read whatever I want. Ask me to refrain and I will but I may bow out completely, that’s the risk you take.”

You know what? I’m pissed. It’s NOT the risk I take. I don’t take any risks, I live my god damned life, being straight with people about what I want, occasionally screwing up but owning up to all my mistakes. And I write a blog. And his friend, ex-girlfriend, reader, commenter, blogger, whatever, told him about the blog. Now he alternates between promises to not read and threats to read it to see what I’m thinking and what I’m saying. It isn’t going to work. I was an idiot to think that by taking the relationship issue off the table that this would make it easier on me. It just made it harder. Now I truly feel like a caged animal.

Though, all of this is probably irrelevant, as I can see he checked in to the blog several times yesterday. I wouldn’t be happy if someone wrote yesterday’s post or this post about me, and I certainly wouldn’t go back for more. But that Sherlock. He’s full of surprises, so one could never know. I can only hope he realizes the reprecussions of dating someone who says they will write about the dates. Because this isn’t a forum. It’s a one sided account of my dating life. Though I will argue each and every time that my side is the truth. HA!