Month: September 2006

Help! The deadline is close. Please help Brent reach his goal for the AIDS walk!! Click this. I’m just going to keep nagging you about it. Ok. Think of it like this. I’ve gotten plenty of emails and “offers” to do things for me as a thank you of sorts for the entertainment I provide. I’ve never been able to justify asking for anything back from you kids. But, just this once, pretty please, click the link and give to the AIDS walk. Pretty please with cherries on top and I’ll be your best friend.

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So I saw my therapist this week. If you recall, but you may not so I’ll repeat myself, I started seeing her about 2 1/2 years ago when my anxiety issues started um, ruining my life. I refused to get on an airplane post-September 11th and it caused a lot of problems. I had resolved to just drive everywhere, but then, yanno, when my brother decided to get married, it was too far to drive. Then my friend wanted to go to Italy and I realized I would miss Europe entirely unless I could get 6 weeks off to ride the Mayflower over there. And then work wanted me to go somewhere – bastards! You have blown my cocoon apart. It was time to put this fear on the back burner. Anyway, during my time with the therapist, I learned that fear of flying is really fear of losing control – something I hate. I had to confront so many other stupid little things I do to maintain control and(subconsciously) avoid panic attacks.

All right, enough of that. So I spent my entire 50 minute hour talking about him. The new boy. When she asked me what it was that I liked about him, I couldn’t really put it into words. Is that stupid? I mean, for those of you who are in a relationship where you are completely immersed in your feelings for this person, can you actually give a list of the things you like about him/her? Are people really capable of that?

For me, attraction and that feeling of belonging with someone isn’t based on a set of characteristics or a laundry list of things you want. (This is a fabulous argument for why online dating is fatally flawed.) It’s harder to put my finger on than checking off a list. It’s how the person makes me feel. But, sometimes what is more important than how they make you feel is how they DON’T make me feel. As an example, I described my years with AtlantaBoy to the therapist as this:

“We were like two kids living together without adult supervision. We were like two puzzle pieces that just fit together into a working relationship and household. Even though there was no ‘adult supervision,’ we made it work.” She asked me to describe this more. It’s hard to without coming up with a solid example. I told her that one morning my car tire was flat. AtlantaBoy left for work before I was awake, but he had seen the flat, and came back in and left me a very descriptive note that somewhere I believe I still have. It detailed that I needed to get a “plug” and to not let them talk me into a whole new tire, and had directions to the nearest tire place. The note was really long, but it was a step by step of what I had to do. He just knew that I would have no clue how to do any of the assessing of the flat, as well as finding the place to get it done. He even told me about how much it would cost, so I wouldn’t get hosed. And he never made me feel stupid for his having to write that note to his automotivally and mechanically inept girlfriend.

That’s the kind of stuff great relationships are made of – where two people just know how to treat and how not to treat each other. AtlantaBoy knew he needed to spoonfeed that to me just like I knew when it came time to pay our monthly bills, I had to tell him what to write checks for. He just knew that I had it worked out to a 50/50 split and didn’t question it. Of course that relationship efficiency dissipated over time, but that’s another story.

All of that dynamic between us was basically unspoken. And what I have going on currently is more of the same. Well, don’t get me wrong, it’s an entirely different relationship. I feel much more like an “adult” now than I did when I lived with AtlantaBoy, the dynamic is there though. Take for instance the fact that I have no knowledge how to work your new, fancy, thousand-button remote controls of today. He knows that. When something happens that requires remote control assistance, I’ll just hand it to him. He’s tried to show me what the important buttons are, but you know what? I don’t care. I’m more than happy to let him do it, even screaming from the couch when he’s in another room that I need him to change the channel. 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.

So as I’m getting ready to leave, my therapist says, “I think you may have met your match.” It means a lot to hear that from a woman who just might know me better than I know myself.

Before I open my eyes in the morning, I am thinking about you.

When I’m getting dressed for work and receive your first text of the day, I smile.

When I am driving to work and we talk on the phone or text some more, I get excited.

When I get to work and plug away, behind the computer, I think about you and I become incredibly happy.

When I’m driving home in traffic, cursing the car in front of me for driving too slow, it just doesn’t bother me. Once I get home, once the dogs are walked, once I’ve made it to the gym, once I’ve showered and changed, I will see you. I am going to be in your arms. Safe and loved.

We might go out to eat. We might go to the mall. We might watch Entourage or Lucky Louie. We might wrestle because, how dare you eat ice cream in front of me when you know I’m doing my best to lose the “last 10 pounds” that you claim you can’t see and don’t care about. We might go to open houses and imagine ourselves living there. We might just stare at each other. What we do doesn’t matter. What matters, is that I am with you. Touching you. Next to you. In front of you. With your arms around me. And there is no where else in the world I want to be.

Still campaigning for Brent’s HIV Walk. If everyone who reads this blog today gave ONE DOLLAR, he would reach the goal and then some. Please help!

On to other stuff.

The week of September 11th, 2006 was by far my shittiest week ever. 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.” I could not wait for Friday to end so I could have a weekend to recoup and make a plan for my life. Oddly enough, Saturday night I was laying in bed taking inventory of the week, and the half of my weekend that had already passed, I thought, “Surprisingly, after the last 5 days of hell, today has been the most perfect day. In fact, this has been my favorite day of this entire year. Shit, it might not just be the best of 2006, but the entire decade.” Yeah, it was that good. So I can call it this early, even with three+ years to go in the decade.

Most of this is stupid, but here’s the rundown:

• I woke up next to a boy. Even though he pissed me off by making too much noise for 7:30 on a Saturday morning, I was still quite happy.
• I ate spaghetti with tomato sauce in an Italian Restaurant with damn fine bread, Creamy Italian dressing (which you NEVER find in restaurants anymore) and red checkered tablecloths – a sign of an old world place. Spaghetti and tomato sauce is my comfort food. Even though they brought me a meatball and I’m a veg, I survived quite well.
• I got the best professional massage I’ve ever had in my life, for an entire hour.
• I ate some Baklava.
• I ran the most perfect carb loaded run, breezing through a few miles without even realizing it. Usually it’s a struggle. I’m no Baby Banana, evidenced by this.
• I drank two Yuengling, my favorite beer, and the exact right amount before they start to lose their taste in my drunkenness.
• I played Ms. Pac Man with a boy.
• I had sex on said boy’s Harley. Yes. On the Harley.
• 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.)
• Went home and went to bed with my doggies, listening to Christina Aguilera’s new album, which is the best fucking album that I’ve heard in a long time. This thing just doesn’t have a bad song.

I know, I finished off with Christina Aguilera. How…odd, after that buildup. But it was nearing midnight, and stuff that happened after midnight doesn’t count. And interestingly enough, it poured rain most of the day Saturday. The sun didn’t come out except for a couple minutes. I didn’t get to lay out and it was still my favorite day.

When was this? Saturday September 16. Yeah, last weekend. I know. You don’t care about any of it, you just want to know who the boy was. I’d tell you, but I’m not sure I know who he is either. I’m still trying to figure it out.

While my life continues on Spin Cycle, I wanted to ask for your assistance with two items for some friends.

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First, a very good friend is participating in the 2006 DC AIDS Walk on behalf of Whitman Walker Clinic, where he has volunteered for 10 years. The Clinic is a non-profit community based health organization serving Washington D.C. and the metro area. It is estimated that 1 in 20 adults living in Washington D.C. are infected with HIV. D.C. also has the highest rate of new AIDS cases per 100,000 population in the U.S. – a rate that is 10 times the national average. In D.C., the greatest increases in HIV/AIDS cases is occuring among African-Americans, women, IV drug users and through heterosexual contact. More than 11,000 people in the Washington Metro area live with AIDS. Tens of thousands more are estimated to be infected with HIV, and one third of those are not aware of their status. Nationwide, someone under 25 is infected with HIV every 30 minutes.

I got my HIV test this morning as a matter of fact. Have you done yours this year?

Please support Brent in his walk on October 7th, and the old statement “every little bit helps” is true.

Click here to give to this important cause.

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Second, on a lighter note, but also a cause after my own heart – Annie at Smart at Love needs LADIES ONLY to fill out a quick survey on porn. Fun stuff girls. The survey can be found by going to her site at the link above, and on the right under surveys, it is the first one. Only a few questions, less than 5 minutes of your time. I tried to post the direct link but it said to not copy and when I tried, it didn’t work.

In the last three weeks, my life has done several major tailspins. Usually, writing about what is going on provides a sense of relief. I’ve been holding back on all of this because, well, it’s just become incredibly difficult to live my life online in this manner. Too many paths cross in a city this small, and sometimes I’d really rather everyone and their mother not know my business.

When something major happens to me, I feel an obligation to spill it here. Let me clarify that – it’s not an obligation to you all, it’s an obligation to myself. To sit here, and pen my thoughts, and give them the time they deserve so I can properly decide how best to react – that’s my obligation. Lately I haven’t felt like doing this, and I refuse to fill a blog with bullshit posting of things that don’t follow the focus of what Velvet in Dupont was created for: “Mostly dating but sometimes life in Dupont Circle.” If it doesn’t make it through the Velvet Quality Control team (uh, that’s just me really) I don’t hit publish.

Bear with me. I’m not shutting down. When life rains down change (expected, unexpected, wanted, unwanted) in all major areas of your life (career, romance, homelife, personal goals) it’s a lot to manage. I’m just biding my time until I figure all this out, and until I can get myself to a place where I can and want to put it into words.

When I graduated college 11 years ago, my parents had these grand plans for me that included working on Wall Street. Lacking any other real plan, I entertained their idea. I interviewed with some of the big names, but it never felt like me. Wearing a suit every day at a time when women were “just starting to be able to wear pants,” tying my hair up, covering my tattoo, being generally understated, wearing pantyhose with socks and sneakers. Ugh. Believe me, if I ended up there, I would have made friends with the chicks from Longuyland, smoking cigarettes and getting fake nails on our lunch breaks.

Standing in the lobby of one of the Twin Towers at 22 years old, I recall taking what I remember to be two separate elevators to the 80 something floor for my interview. Why two elevators? Well, in case you’ve not been in buildings ridiculously high, they just can’t make elevator shafts that tall. It’s engineering stuff, not anything I understand. And you don’t always get the first elevator. You may wait for three or four cars before one becomes available. So you could get to the lobby of your building at 8:45 and feasibly not be at your desk until 9:00. That, my friends, is why I wouldn’t have perished in the September 11 attacks. Because I’m fucking late everywhere.

I went on to have a lazy job working for Nine West, buying shoes and stocking inventory at their Corporate Offices in Connecticut. Then the wind blew me off to Atlanta, where I worked in a buying office for what was Rich’s, but is now Macy’s. Then I bailed out of retail entirely, managing a restaurant until AtlantaBoy and I decided to leave Atlanta and drive cross country in April, 2001. The Christmas before we left, my mom spent many hours trying to talk me out of it, telling me how dangerous it would be, and to be careful for all the “crazies” we would meet on the road. Bottom line assessment? Yes, there are some freaks out there, but for the most part, everyone we met was nice, if not a bit simple. Especially in smaller towns.

We came back to Atlanta to get our things out of storage on Sept 2, 2001. We planned to spend a couple weeks there staying with AtlantaBoy’s family, tying up loose ends, closing bank accounts, fixing vehicle transmissions until we were ready to leave for D.C. Four airplanes and 19 terrorists altered our plan slightly, but not forever.

Driving cross country didn’t seem so dangerous anymore, when compared with the thousands who went to work that morning, like every other mundane morning of their lives, only to find an airplane crashing into their office.

My brother’s office building is on the south side of midtown. That part of downtown NY is relatively unobstructed by buildings, giving him a clear view of the Twin Towers. He said he saw the first plane hit, and instantly knew we were under attack. What continues to amaze me, is that many of the people in the 2nd tower who started their descent to the ground believed others, namely security guards, who told them everything was okay and to return to their offices. Everything was NOT okay. We discussed this phenomenon in one of my grad school classes – how in times of mass hysteria information gets skewed and people don’t make the right decisions on faulty information. It basically amounts to people not following their intuition. When it comes to my safety, no one can assure me of it – not a WTC security guard, not a coworker, especially not a D.C. Cop.

When I finally got my brother on the phone, I said I wanted to come up there and help. He said two things I distinctly remember. The first were comments about capitalism and how amazing it is for our economy. Agreed wholeheartedly. The second was that those in small towns were safest.

Events like September 11th bring out both the best and the worst in people. While some hoteliers were charging three times their nightly rate to those who were stranded in places far from home, others were cleaning up rubble and helping search for people they never knew, and never would.

For anyone who hasn’t read the 9/11 Commission report, you should. It’s fascinating. Reports were documented in August, 2001, basically outlining the probability for a major air attack on U.S. Soil. Can you point the finger at any one person for ignoring this? Eh, probably not. D.C. is a city of Liberal Bush-Bashers. I’ve said before I’m a Centrist, possible Libertarian. I think all politicians are assholes and liars. But Bush doesn’t act alone. His decisions are ultimately voted on by those other shitheads in Congress getting their dicks sucked by interns, so we can’t pin all the blame on him.

I drove to work this morning thinking about all of our presidents, wondering which one had the most difficult and trying term, based on events going on in the world, not on anything personal like illness. Who is it? I don’t know, but I certainly would argue that GW is in the running. We’re seeing times right now unlike any other, weapons of many kinds, plotting behind our backs that we can’t foresee and don’t always have the intelligence to uncover. Shit, one of my friends who shall remain nameless, made it through Pentagon security with a homemade bong in her car. They searched her car, and she still made it through. Post September 11. Fun shit I tell you.

I might have a Greek Flag tattooed on my back, but I’m an American through and through. The national anthem gives me goose bumps. My grandparents wanted so badly to leave Greece to get here, and they did, some not legally. They did that so that life for my parents, and ultimately for me would be better. There’s not a day that goes by that I take being here in this country for granted. Sure, we’re not perfect, what country is? And if you can answer that question, then you should move there. And spare me the hiding behind your First Amendment Rights to justify your criticism of our government.

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.

Disclaimer: TOTALLY UNSAFE FOR FAMILY. DO YOURSELVES AND ME A FAVOR AND GET OFF NOW…

It’s funny that I write this blog and routinely get comments and emails from people saying that they can’t believe the shit that happens to me. My life is relatively calm now compared to the life I used to have which was was completely insane. Hotbox and I have been in her kitchen for 3 hours and counting, making homemade dog biscuits for her little home business. I’ve got her linked in my sidebar as Bella’s Bones.

I lived in Connecticut when I graduated college in 1995 until 1998. Then, I moved to Atlanta to be with my then boyfriend who you all know as AtlantaBoy. We were dating long distance and I decided to leave the hell that was Connecticut, to join him to start our life together. I stayed until April, 2001. 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. After that point, I spent the summer in Phoenix and then moved to Baltimore for grad school in 2001.

Hotbox, one of my best friends from Connecticut, also left our home state and moved to Atlanta. I was unfortunately already gone from Atlanta by two years though. She moved here in the Fall of 2003. But it gives me a reason to come back and visit her and a couple other friends who haven’t left the area. The big secret about Atlanta is that a lot of people move here, but rarely do they stay. Sorta like D.C.

A sampling of the weeks conversations, flashbacks to rougher times, circa 1996 – 2000.

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Expert Driving

Hotbox: “Remember when you made me drive by your high school boyfriends house and I smashed into that car on his street?”
Velvet: “Yeah, no one told you to back up down a one way street doing 40, that shit was your fault.”

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Expert Waitressing

Velvet: “Remember when we were waitresses at the bar and you fell and dropped my table’s food? I was talking to some guy and I saw you fall but I didn’t come help you. Then you got up like nothing happened, brushed yourself off, swept their stuff into the dust pan and walked into the kitchen screaming ‘I need another order of nachos, fish sticks, and three burgers on the fly!’ And the table turned out to be the biggest assholes and they stiffed me on the bill? I remember all the illegal guys in the kitchen searching and searching for fish sticks in the freezer for like hours.”*

*There’s actually more to this story but it involves some really bad shit that could land me in jail so I’m going to shut up now.

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Waitress Blackmail

Hotbox: What ever happened to that guy Gavin?
Velvet: I don’t know, but I remember he was dating that high school waitress* who had a curfew and he used to beg me to close for him. I never got out of that fucking place early.
Hotbox: He used to do that to everyone.
Velvet: One time he said, ‘Hey, I left a bag of coke on the back of the toilet in the women’s bathroom, you can have it if you close for me.’ I did close for him that night so he could go play with what’s-her-name, but, who just leaves a bag of coke laying around like that?

*This high school waitress was so dumb, she walked up to the owner of the restaurant, holding a menu with his fucking picture on the front and said, “Can I get you a table?” She didn’t know it was him.

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Projectile Vomit & Million Dollar Ideas

Velvet: “Do you remember AtlantaBoy’s friend Kevin? Talked like he was chewing his cheek?
Hotbox: No. Which one was that?
Velvet: He came to New York to help AtlantaBoy and I move my stuff down. He used to date a stripper at the now-defunct Gold Club and she dumped him for some Prince from another country who handed her tens of thousands of dollars to go home with him. He slept on our couch for weeks, he was so upset. We lived across the street from the Gold Club back then.
Hotbox: Is he the one that gave us the drugs and you almost died at that club on the Lower East Side?
Velvet: You got it. That’s him.
Hotbox: Does anyone know what it was that he gave you?
Velvet: I have no clue. He said it was X, but no way. I just remember projectile vomiting for a couple days. AtlantaBoy thought it was heroin. But 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.”

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Priorities

Hotbox: When was the last time you were here?
Velvet: When you moved down here and I came to see AtlantaBoy and we broke up.
Hotbox’s boyfriend: Was I here?
Velvet: Yes, HotBox was mad at you because you wouldn’t help her unpack. You just kept smoking pot all day.
Hotbox: That was so annoying. Fucking idiot.
Velvet: Sort of hypocritical since I’ve witnessed you snorting coke off my dashboard when we were stuck in traffic in the Bronx.
Hotbox: Yeah, but that’s different. BF becomes useless when he smokes pot. I needed him to be productive and help me unpack. You and I were going to Webster Hall that night.
Velvet: It’s shocking we actually have two separate nasal passages you know.

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Driving through the neighborhood the other day of my first apartment with AtlantaBoy:

Velvet: Oh. My. God. This place is amazing now.
Hotbox: What was it like when you lived here?
Velvet: You wouldn’t believe it. That Home Depot, that now has a Best Buy and a bunch of other great stores surrounding it, used to be the only store here. And behind there are projects. So the people from the projects used to come through the Home Depot parking lot and come into our complex, basically also projects, and steal shit. One day the management put a note up that someone’s bicycle had been stolen off their patio. The next week a note about a car being broken into. The notes went like that for a while, each time AtlantaBoy and I joking about the color of the notes – bright blue, green, pink – to get your attention. Then he walked in one day with a purple piece of paper in his hand and said, ‘We’re fucking moving.’ I asked why and he read me the note. Someone had been kidnapped and carjacked out of our complex the night before.

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Gun Control to Major Tom

Velvet: Remember that guy Tom?
Hotbox: Yeah, IrishOne still talks to him.
Velvet: Is he still trying to be a cop?
Hotbox: I think he’s a Sheriff now.
Velvet: He used to get drunk all the time and sleep on my couch. He left his gun under my bed once.
Hotbox: Well, now he can actually legally carry a gun.

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When a Guy will Endure Anything to Get in a Woman’s Pants

Hotbox: Who was AtlantaBoy’s friend who I dressed up and put makeup on?
Velvet: Terry. You know I have all that on video.
Hotbox: What happened to him?
Velvet: He’s still around. He told AtlantaBoy that he came to D.C. and we fucked.
Hotbox: Is that true?
Velvet: Nope. He and AtlantaBoy got into a fight and he was trying to piss him off. I think AtlantaBoy believes him though.
Hotbox: There’s something wrong with all of them you know.
Velvet: Too many drugs. Everyone’s brain is fucking burned out.

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The Real Live Grinch

Hotbox: Why are you going to make me out to be worse than you on your blog? You were really bad when we lived in Connecticut.
Velvet: Whatever, you stole a Christmas tree!
Hotbox: Oh yeah.

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The Princess of Grace

Hotbox: You were with me when I fell at the Thirsty Turtle, right?
Velvet: Yeah. You said you were going to the bathroom, so I turned my head to look out the window and reached blindly for my beer which was sitting on our table. But you had tripped getting up from the table and your pant leg caught the leg of the table and brought the whole thing down on top of you, including my purse, our beers and that chick sitting on the barstool in the aisle.
Hotbox: You just sat there laughing.
Velvet: That was some fall. The whole place was staring at us.
Hotbox: And look at us now. Making homemade dog biscuits in the suburbs.

The Thora update is, well, there’s not really an update. Yesterday morning I woke up, went for a run, and called AtlantaBoy as planned. He has yet to call back. From YESTERDAY MORNING. Typical. Fucking typical. Reason #754 why we are no longer together: his irresponsibility.

Last night as I was falling asleep Thora let out a deep breath. I looked over at her and she was laying on her stomach with her head on top of her paws, staring out the window. I rolled over on to my side and said, “He’s not coming baby.” She didn’t turn to look at me, just kept staring out the window. I swear that my dogs understand me when I speak to them. Then I thought about how awful it would be if he and I had gotten married and had kids that we had to share in this manner. He would never show up to get them. Everything happens for a reason I suppose.

While I’m barely an eater when I’m in D.C., I’ve been steadily eating my way through Atlanta, hitting all the old favorites. Side note: for anyone who also had a love affair with Fratelli di Napoli, it’s no longer that good, so don’t bother. Knowing that I’ve become an eating machine, I was quite pleased to discover that the gym I still pay for has a location across from my friend’s house. I went over there Sunday to plan my workouts, grabbing a schedule for their group classes just for the hell of it.

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. But when I saw the group schedule, something caught my eye.

Gin Miller was teaching a class. Who is Gin Miller you ask? Aside from being world famous in the fitness industry, her major claim to fame is that she invented step aerobics. There was no way once I saw that, that I wasn’t dragging my fat overeating ass to the gym.

During the class, someone actually yelled “yee haw” instead of the normal “woo hoo” you hear in other cities, reminding me I was in the south again. After class, Hotbox and I (yes, that’s her name for this blog, and yes, it came from exactly where you think it did) went up to say hi to her. Hotbox asked me if I was creaming my pants. Not quite, bitch. Anyway, Gin had said during class that she was selling her house. So we asked her if she was leaving the area. She said no, that she was just moving north a little and had to sell the house because she was getting divorced.

We got out to the parking lot and Hotbox said, “See? You can be totally gorgeous, have a great body, be sweet as pie, have a great job and your husband will still divorce you.” Amen.

Oh. Shucks. Did I just say “Amen?” Heavens to Betsy, I reckon I’ve been in the south too long! Better get out of here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

I’m in Atlanta.

As I left town early Saturday morning to make the trip south, it was really quiet in my neighborhood. Probably a combination of the early hour and the holiday weekend, there were only a few people milling about. My last glimpse of Dupont Circle was a man walking up the street, flipping through the Yellow Pages. I really wonder about some other people’s worlds, you know?

I sat in hellacious traffic from Arlington to oh, Richmond. I now know why it is appropriately called “NoVa.” No va in Spanish? “Doesn’t go.” Yeah. That was me for three hours yesterday morning. I attempted to make up for lost time, doing about 90 alongside some boys in a Mercedes from Connecticut. Eventually through a traffic altercation, where they slowed down to 50, I pulled up next to them and asked them if they were okay. We ended up having a conversation at about 70 m.p.h. on the highway just north of Charlotte. Seems they lived on the same street as me in Connecticut. Since the street is about three blocks long, I’d say that yes, it is a small world.

I stopped in Charlotte for dinner. I tied the dogs up outside a restaurant and went in to order food and use the restroom. When I came back outside, someone had given Thora and Sammy their own cups of cold water. Um…wow. I forgot what it was like to be in the south again.

Then I got in the car and hauled ass to my friends house. I got there just before 10 p.m., and I was reminded instantly of why she is one of my best friends. She began to explain her theory of how she could be a waitress who telecommutes. Sigh. That chick is just too funny.

Now, the meat of this post is really about Thora. And my ex. Two and a half years ago my ex left town and left Thora with someone who was supposed to watch her. But his version of “watching her” meant opening the doggie door and letting her do whatever she wanted. After a week when he didn’t return home, she took off. He and I had a fight because he never went to look for her, I put an ad in the paper, someone called me and I drove all night with Penny to get her. That was the fateful trip where the cop pulled us over and asked if he knew why we were pulled over. Penny says no, and he says, “Because you almost hit me.” Well, shit. We were exhausted!

Okay, so it’s been 2 and a half years, and he seems to have cleaned up his act. I decided to tell him that I was coming to town. He’s asked me if he can have Thora for the time I’m here. I’m so scared to just let him have her because he’ll try to take her back. But I don’t want to deny him the chance to get to see her and play with her. So, I’m totally at a loss. The person he was a few years ago is hopefully long gone, replaced by someone more responsible and less angry. But it’s only a guess. So now I’m stuck in the position of trusting someone who swears he can’t care for the dog and won’t separate her from Sammy again. We’re supposed to meet tomorrow and all I can hope is that this doesn’t backfire. I don’t think I will be lucky enough to find her a second time if she gets lost. Damn me and my conscience. I could have come to town and not said a word. Shit.

Okay. A couple quick things, then some news.

First, I found a blog that had linked to me, following the trials and tribulations of my hellacious dating life. When I started reading said blog, I was fascinated. This poor guy is being stalked by a woman he calls “Bunny” (for Bunny Boiler in Fatal Attraction.) We’ve emailed a bit and shared some stories. I just wanted you all to know about him, because his stuff is good:

The Upstairs Neighbor

Second, the Queen of Quantity and I went to the pre-opening of Bebar. Our positively delicious instructor from the gym opened a bar on Ninth Street. The bar officially opens tonight. 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.

Anyway, we spent the majority of the evening looking at the beautiful gay men and wondering why they couldn’t be straight and look that hot. They went top of the line for this event, sparing no expense. Nice work boys. Anyway, here’s the inside of the bar at peak time:

And Linda Cropp came out for a little speakage:

That’s all. I have pictures of the QofQ and I drinking pink drinks, but you know. We can’t post that. I also have a picture of Mike, but a) I’m not sure he wants it posted and b) I’m still not convinced he’s 100% gay and I’m drooling over his picture and creating a plan to convert him to my team.

Last Thing:

Sammy? Thora?

PACK YOUR THINGS!!! We’re going out of town!!!
I’d really like to do this:

• Merge onto I-66 W (Crossing into VIRGINIA). 75.2 miles

• Merge onto I-81 S via EXIT 1A on the LEFT toward ROANOKE (Crossing into TENNESSEE). 376.3 miles

• Merge onto I-40 W via EXIT 1B toward KNOXVILLE. (Pass through Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico, crossing into Arizona.) 1751.1 miles

• Merge on to 17 South via the exit on the left toward Sedona 138.7 miles

But I don’t think it’s going to work cramping the dogs in Speedracer for so long. Sans plan, I’m still excited at the prospects…