Month: December 2006

January – The first victim of the year in dating was CL#5PornName. (Date #1.) We only went on one date, because I became enamoured with stupid CL#4NewJersey. That doofus. Sammy got a mysterious back problem that almost set me back $3000 for an MRI and such, but he magically recovered. I continue dating CL#4NewJersey (he’s in last year’s count so he doesn’t count for this year,) and El Guapo hits the scene and we team up for some good old Craigslist torture. You all loved it. Here are the links:

1) Choose your own adventure – explains the reason this guy is “chosen.”
2) With the Touch of a Velvet Glove, Abra Abra Cadabra – Enter El Guapo.
3) El Guapo Strikes Again – It just gets funnier.
4) El Guapo Fucks Up – But it is just so damn funny!
5) The Best of El Guapo Recap – Think of the Deli Meats!

February – Things continue on the CL#4NewJersey rollercoaster and then I have a date with CL#2BlueEyes (Date #2.) That doesn’t go anywhere though. CL#4NewJersey surprises me for a Valentine’s Day dinner and things seem to look up. But not for long. He disappears shortly after. It’s Just Lunch sends me out on my 10th date, Ray Romano, (Date #3) but that goes nowhere as well. CL#4NewJersey breaks up with me via email, solidifying his place as the supreme idiot of the dating world.

March – A generally non-descript month for me, though I did meet and start dating another wanker off Craigslist (Date #4.) He had a name consisting of something about a fruit (in general “fruit” is quite apropos though the specific choice of fruit in this case is not representative of his package,) and a place to take outside naps, but it’s all a hazy blur of a truly unremarkable person who told the same three stories over and over. Not so much a “catch” as something you’d like to throw back. Crazy friends included in that package as well.

April – My parents came to visit. That post is still one of my best hits on this blog. Guess you all can relate. Went to Arizona in the end of April and fell in love with the idea of moving out of D.C. It probably had something to do with an incredibly X-rated night with the cowboy. Not sure I can log this one as a “date.”

May – Not a lot of writing in May because one of my aforementioned dates went a little nuts and I just checked out of the scene for a while. It was a nice break.

June – On a major Dating Hiatus at this point. Went shopping at Victoria’s Secret and created the Hunting Guide to help gear myself back up for the game.

July – Went to Michigan to see friends get married and saw Cutest Baby in the World. Reconnected with It’s Just Lunch (who forgot about me) and went on a date with TheBoroughsBaby (Date #5) which had zero chemistry and had a date with SirTalksALot (Date #6) which also went a surprisingly nowhere.

August – Began a drama filled relationship with Sherlock (Date #7.) Found quickly that Sherlock comes complete with other girls he’s dated who are also bloggers who are also reading my blog. To say that this was a mess would be putting it lightly. I went out with OlderMan (Date #8) and he asked me out again but I wasn’t feeling that so much. Also went out with TheConsultant (Date #9.)

September – In my need to get the hell out of dodge, I head off to Atlanta. The rest of the month is pretty uneventful. Some on again / off again with Sherlock.

October – Mid October I finally had enough of the drama and went under password protection for a month. That was relieving, though hilarious to see “people” trying to crack the password as well as use the cache to get in and read. It proved to me that there really are a lot of crazies in this blog world. Things spun out of control and into directions I never expected. My panic attacks increased in frequency up from one or two a week to one or two a day.

November – Blog still under password. I learned a lot about myself by going back and reading these passworded posts. Sometimes you can get so caught up in the day to day that you miss the big picture entirely. It’s much more obvious to me at this point what was going on back then. I only wish I saw it more clearly. In my defense, work kept me very busy to notice the other stuff.

December – Posting is light again. I’m burned out on blogging this month. I’m doing more to take care of myself and trying to not be so deep and to not feel things so deeply. Letting it roll off becomes my new mantra.

When I went back and read some old posts to compile this recap, I realized how fun this blog used to be, how fun my life used to be, and how it seems to have become a big pile of shit and negativity. I’m not happy about it. Seeing it all in one place, I definitely can say that this year is not even close to what I wanted for myself. Last night I had a conversation with Sixes and Sevens and she said that dating is hard, and she prefers to coast superficially through relationships and not get entrenched emotionally because it is just too exhausting. I can totally relate. So, as I’ve said before, this isn’t exactly what I want for myself, but I don’t know what I do want. But, I’m going to keep looking. I think there is a better life out there. I just have to find it.

In any case, the score is as follows:

Velvet: 0
Potential Dating Pool: -9

I think in 2007 I’m going to consider getting back to writing about the original focus of Velvet in Dupont – Dating and Relationships.

I drank again last night. Sixes and Sevens is a bad influence. My night started off relatively healthy. I went to the gym, ran 3.4 miles on a 3% incline, came home and hopped in the shower. Then I got a text that said, “Wine? Champagne?” Damn you evil temptress. I was doing so well!

I grabbed my booze and my dogs, and went over to her place, stopping to bang on the King of the Dog Park’s window on the way. He opened it up and said he would meet me at Sixes and Seven’s house shortly. All of this drinking ensured that I would get home late, drunk, and be late for work today. But, it was a good thing. Driving to work an hour later than my usual time, I stopped at a red light downtown. I looked to my right and saw two men of the blue collar variety standing on the sidewalk talking to another guy whose face I couldn’t see.

These two guys were the hottest specimen I’ve seen in this city since I moved here. I wish I had my camera because I would have most definitely taken a picture. I seriously could not stop looking. Of course, it got the little squirrel in my brain thinking about something.

Growing up in Connecticut, and hanging out in the bars and clubs in New York City and Long Island, good looking men outnumbered the rodents in the city. Every night out yielded a handful of phone numbers from men who I would juggle for months to come. I then moved to Atlanta, and while the general look of Atlantans was different, there were still many hot men to feast the eyes on.

Then I moved here. Hollywood for the ugly. Why are we all so unattractive? I just don’t get it. Am I hanging out in the wrong places? Is it the whole city or just pockets? And good lord, am I becoming ugly by osmosis? I’m really at a loss. By New York City standards, the guys this morning would have blended in. Both about 6 feet tall, light to medium brown hair, one with some unshaven scruff, rough in a take-me-tame-me way, and not manorexic. They spend time at the gym without getting bulky and steroided up. They have the look that they actually play sports instead of watching them on t.v. They stand out in a city washed with “sameness” enough for me to slam on my brakes and stare without fear of getting caught.

When I moved here, my definition and standard of what was good looking changed without my knowledge or approval. The guys in D.C. fall into a few categories. Either he is the nerdy hipster with the trademark black frame glasses who looks like he hasn’t washed his clothes since “Like a Virgin” was number 1, or he’s the politico who spends too much time at the office going bald and not spending enough time exercising off his pot belly. If he doesn’t fall into one of the two above categories, then he has most likely become metrosexual. By process of elimination, I embraced the metrosexual look. I liked the guy who paid attention to what he looked like, bought the Seven jeans, and generally acted a bit gay when appropriate. But that hasn’t worked out so well for me. I just can’t emasculate the man I’m with. And the other types? Well, I’m just not the hipster kind of girl. And the politico? No thanks. I’ll choose celibacy.

But seeing this guy this morning just reminded me where I came from, what I grew up finding attractive and the kind of guy who I am most suited to be with. It’s more workman with toolbelt and less suits and briefcases. It’s more driving an F350 to work and less bike riding with the backpack in tow. It’s more Dane Cook, and less Buddy Holly, Carson Daly or Chris Robinson.

Aah, Dane Cook.

Oh. I hurt. Who else is at work today? Damn it. This sucks. Its a shitty day here in the District – foggy, rainy and quiet. All you people are still away. And I’m here at work, pretending to work. Though, this is for the best, because if I had one more consecutive day off, I would have been in detox by Wednesday for sure. I did a lot of drinking. I mean, a LOT of drinking. And self-medicating. Combine that with not a lot of eating and well, I hurt. HURT!

The weekend is a blur of events, quotes, hangovers and sleep, but heres what I got. If anyone who I saw can contribute more or connect any of the dots, it would be much appreciated.

The Upstairs Neighbor visited. In a drunken picture taking moment, he fell on Freckled K and broke her coccyx. We think. She was whining all weekend. FK, I did some research on broken coccyxs here. It doesnt say anything about if a hot hipster boy from San Fran falls on you at The Black Cat though.

The Upstairs Neighbor came out again on Saturday night but he brought a bodyguard this time. I dont think he wanted to be alone with FreckledK and I again. Damn.

FreckledK made me go to Georgetown on Christmas Eve to go shopping. Oh, the humanity. Okay, it wasnt that bad. I did announce to everyone on the first floor in Banana Republic, This was fun but I’m going upstairs to commence shopping for myself. Merry Christmas to the rest of you though.

After trying on several pairs of pants and discovering that after all these years Banana Republic still can’t make a pair of pants with pockets that lay flat, I went back downstairs to find FK. I saw my bestest friend in line next to her. I started screaming and pointing and he did too, then we all went to eat. The waitress at Clydes asked the kitchen to make me an item off the dinner menu and they said yes and it almost made me cry because I didn’t ask her to do that. I just mentioned that I loved it and wished it was on the lunch menu. Its the little things you know. Then we gave the waitress a ridiculous tip of like $30 on an $80 bill and she almost cried. Tears all around and we werent even at a funeral. Or my familys house.

Christmas Eve I went to dinner with Sixes and Sevens, her mom, and the King of the Dog Park. At some point during dinner, Sixes and Sevens mom mentioned her collection of shopping bags. Anything with a handle she said. I was sufficiently drunk by this point in time. Then I went home and collected every shopping bag I could find in my house and brought them over to her. She literally shrieked with joy. Who knew? I was also supposed to bring my new Taki the Greek speaking Teddy Bear that my brother gave me for Christmas (Dude, you know I’m not 10 anymore, right?) but it was just too embarrassing. “Alpha beta gamma delta epsilon zeta eta theta…OPA!…Mia Orea Petaloutha…Yeia Sou!” Jesus fucking Christ. What. The. Fuck. Did you not see the rocking pink tricycle I got you people? How about your Tourist Trap DVD or that Fekkai Gift Set? I get a Greek Teddy Bear? Fuck. What am I getting next year? A gang bang from Osama Bin Ladin and friends?

I went home and was messing around online and noticed something very interesting in my stats. Verrrrry interesting. I wonder why someone from Lewis Law Firm spent 5 hours checking the google cache for mentions of someone who has proven to be quite the psychotic around here. Then, interestingly enough, later that evening, someone in some redneck state down south did the same thing for a few hours. Christmas Eve people. Christmas Eve. Do you not have anything better to do than to scour a google cache that barely exists anymore for mentions of your nutball self? Or to have someone at a law firm do it? Jesus. What a waste of space you are.

I was about to pack it in for the night. But then FK and KassyK called me from a bar. Leave it to those two to find a bar that is open on Christmas Eve. More drinking. Could I possibly drink any more? Lets see. Yep. I could.

I spent yesterday recovering and checking out rehab programs. Just in case.

Its the Holidays everybody. Have you noticed yet how the holidays bring out the worst in many people?

Last week, Dunkin Donuts on 17^th Street was robbed. Calling all cars, calling all cars, Dunkin Donuts is in peril!

Friday 12/15, 9 p.m., Wonderland Ballroom was robbed by three masked men with guns. They took everyones cash and were out in under 3 minutes. Gentrification is a slow and painful process.

Monday 12/18, 3 p.m. A man was shot and killed at 12^th & U, just outside the 7-11. Apparently it was because of some sort of argument. 3 p.m. people. 3 p.m. Bunch of savages around here.

Monday 12/18, 3:30 p.m. I have to get Sammy & Thora out for a walk and also need to drop off an RX for my anti-anxiety medicine at CVS. I walk down the street and begin to tie them up outside. A man with a goiter rides up to me on his bike and says, Youre really trusting. I said, They wont run away. He says, No, I mean, just anyone could come and steal them. Now, this process of tying dogs outside a store is not my favorite, and Ive done it three times in my life as something happening to Sammy or Thora paralyzes me with so much fear, hence the anti-anxiety medicine RX that I was holding in hand! So I turn around and look at him, and my face must have said it all. He said, Well, I didn’t mean to scare you but and launches into more about how just anyone could steal the dogs and I would never find them. Finally he rides off. I make sure hes out of sight and I run in and drop off the RX and run back out. There are Sammy & Thora, sitting there licking their asses. Who would want to steal a mutt whose tongue tastes like ass? But, for those 30 seconds, I was really sweating it out. Asshole. Thanks a lot. Ill be doubling up when I get my hands on those pills.

Tuesday 12/19, 3 p.m., Blockbuster was robbed on 17^th Street, also by armed men. They forced an exiting customer back inside and held the place up. I would like to tell that customer that while I’m sorry for their trauma because I would have most likely crapped my pants, they should have long ago joined Netflix. Who goes to Blockbuster anymore?

I’m going to lock my door, train Sammy and Thora to use the toilet, and not leave until the madness is over.

Two friends asked me this weekend if I would post their respective, current plights on my blog seeking your expert, non-biased opinions. This works out well for me considering that my own weekend passed in such a drunken (cough, among other things, cough) haze that I don’t really recall any material of my own. Though, I do remember a near bar fight with some troll who couldn’t wait 10 seconds for me to pee and found it necessary to bang on the door like a lunatic and I also remember that the bar I went to on Friday was subjected to an armed robbery just minutes before my girls and I walked in. But I digress. Today is about the friends needing your advice.

Situation 1:
My friend Kate has been seeing a guy for a little while now, and he was at her house on the other night. As the evening progressed, they had sex. She told him to make sure he pulled out. Then, feeling a change in the dynamic, she knew that he had come and she asked him point blank if he did. He said no. She got up, and being that this is something we girls will find out anyway (helloooo gravity,) she went to the bathroom and realized that there was now a “mystery” substance coming out of her body. So she asked him again, “Are you SURE?” He said, again, “No.” So she presents her evidence (verbally, not like she showed it to him, though I said she should have,) and he says that he didn’t feel it. She told him she highly doubted he could have an orgasm and not feel it. He’s sticking with his story, denying all knowledge on his part that he actually came.

Now, despite the fact that I have very large balls, I do not have a penis. I cannot answer this question for sure, I just know that of the men I have been with, no one has ever been “not sure” whether they actually had an orgasm or not.

Boys? Little help? Is it possible to come and not feel it? Is he a big, fat, lying, selfish, pre-pubescent boy who can’t control or feel his orgasms?

Situation 2:
Another friend who I’ve named “Sixes and Sevens,” met a guy at a bar. They both seemed quite interested in each other and spent a good portion of the evening talking. The guy seemed to be painfully shy. Despite this, he asked for her number twice and they exchanged information. There were some emails over a couple days that seemed to show interest on both sides of this puzzle. Then there was talk of possible weekend plans. He was unable to meet her Friday, but said that Saturday he would be at a certain bar with a bunch of friends if she wanted to stop by.

The bar in question is not a contiguous space, and while we sat in the bar at the corner, he made his way around the place talking to various people but never came over to say hi to her. She assumes he saw us and didn’t want to come over because he didn’t like her or thought it was weird that she showed up at the bar. I think he was pretty drunk and possibly didn’t see us. He and the friends were really downing the Schlitz. So, what do you all think? Did he see her and not want to talk to her? What should she do? Wait for him to call? Call him? Email him and tell him that she was there and he didn’t see her and she felt like she was intruding in his night out with friends?

Help the girls out with their problems please, as my well of knowledge has been sliced, diced, cut, burned, bumped, blasted, blown and insufflated.

I was walking by a fancy store today, skidded to a halt and turned to feast my eyes on this:

It’s pink. It’s retro. It’s all things I love, and what tricycles should have been when I was bopping around. I bought it, shoved it in Speedracer, and whisked it away from the store so I could send it off to my beloved little niece. You may remember her as the “cutest baby in the world.” Well, she seriously is out of hand adorable. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my niece. See for yourself.

Clearly my brother got to her first instead of my more responsible and not nearly as sweet toothed sister-in-law. Sigh. That pint of ice cream is not for teething babies! It’s for PMSing Aunties. Send it my way bitches, I’m sending you this tricycle in exchange. God, that kid. She is so cute I can’t stand it.

In other cuteness news, Sammy and Thora are out of control with the UPS lady in my neighborhood. She gives them treats that she keeps in the truck. I get notes and calls from my dog walker that they saw the UPS truck and jumped inside. If Thora sees a UPS truck anywhere now, she bolts. I’m back to putting her on a leash because she is totally out of control. She saw the UPS lady driving down the street, and she walked out in the middle of the road with her little bow legs and stopped her in her tracks. The UPS lady had to open the door and let Thora in the truck with her because Thora would not move out of the road. My dog has become a stalker. And no, it’s not just her.

Yesterday Sammy craned his neck from the balcony and saw the UPS lady a FULL BLOCK AWAY delivering a package. She jumped out of the truck and Sammy started shrieking and barking.

I would like to hire them out for the holidays. Everyone could use a warning when UPS is coming, right? Well, I’ve got Sammy and Thora, ready to patrol for UPS, coming to a neighborhood near you. Their price is 3 milkbones an hour.

I spent a few years in my 20’s, training in Kickboxing, and not in a fruity neon lit aerobics studio kicking air. My Sensei was a Triple Degree Karate Blackbelt. Despite the fact that I used to show up for work with bruises a la Ed Norton in Fight Club, I learned a lot about how to fight and general fighting styles. Men and women fight totally different. Women are more vicious. Round for round, a woman will throw more punches per minute, hit harder, kick harder than a man ever will. To this day, that training is branded in my head. But my fighting style is also shaped through generations of Velvet family training.

The father of one Velvet in Dupont grew up in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, on the wrong side of the tracks. And I mean, the WRONG side of the tracks. No one goes into his neighborhood now. When my Uncle died, I went up to the house for memories and such, and the man who lived in the attached house said (as I was stalkerishly looking through the mail slot into what was once my Grandparents hallway,) “You don’t want to live here. This is an awful neighborhood.” But, one of my favorite family stories is one from this neighborhood. This little gem, courtesy of my dad, shaped my brothers and I how to respond in similar situations.

When my dad was in grade school in the early 1940’s in Bethlehem, he came home from school one day with a black eye. His dad, my barely-English speaking Grandfather (Papou,) pulled him aside, away from his mother and sisters and asked him what happened. My dad explained to him that every day there was a bully who was beating up the kids for their lunch money. My dad, at 10 years old (and still now at 74) refused to part with his cash and he suffered a daily beating because of it. Papou bent down and said something in my dad’s ear. My dad nodded, and they went about their evening.

The next day, Papou was summoned from his job at Bethlehem Steel down to my dad’s school. He goes in to the Principal’s office. The Principal says to Papou, “Your son is in here because he beat up this boy. Do you have any idea why?”

Papou said, “Because I told him to.”

Of course this caused all sorts of a ruckus until Papou was able to explain what had been going on. Of course the school had no knowledge of this. Everyone was sent home and problem solved. So what did Papou tell my dad when he bent down and whispered in his ear?

“Find a rock tomorrow. Roll it in snow and ice until it’s a big snowball. Then I want you to beat him with until he can’t get up.”

Let’s fast forward 45 years to the 1980’s. My oldest brother, a straight A student, became the target of a bully and a couple of his drug addict friends. The things this group did to my brother were heartbreaking. My parents refused to sit idly by and watch their son be intimidated while the school, of course, did nothing to stop what occurred on their property. One weekend we went on vacation, probably to look at colleges for my older brother. When we got off the highway that Sunday night and were making our way to our house, my brother said, “I just know they blew up our mailbox.” That was what people did in the 80’s. They blew up mailboxes with M-80’s. Vandalism was big in our neighborhood. No one could hang Christmas lights and everyone’s houses were always getting egged and sprayed with shaving cream.

Rounding the corner on my street, there was no mailbox where there should have been. My brother was so upset. My dad told him not to worry. Everyone unpacked the car and went inside. My dad went to get my brother and told him to put his shoes on. It was late at this point, the rest of us were going to bed. My dad walked into the garage and grabbed a baseball bat. He and my brother crept through the neighborhood over to the bully’s house. My dad, at 50 some odd years old, Sammy Sosa’ed their mailbox through the front yard, then walked over to it, picked it up and as my brother tells it, hurled it OVER their three story house into their backyard. I remember my brother saying, “Daddy was PISSED. I had no idea he could throw like that.”

My brother and my dad were walking back home, and my brother said, “You know, we still need a mailbox. We won’t get mail tomorrow without a mailbox.” He and my dad looked at each other and my dad said, “Oh fuck.” They turned back around and my dad ran into the bully’s backyard and got the mailbox from where it had landed just next to their pool. He brought it home to my mom, who then plopped it on a table in our garage and she painted it a different color the next moring. They put the mailbox out where ours had formerly been. Martha Stewart and Sammy Sosa – my parents.

After that, my dad and brother would occasionally sit in the car in the driveway with baseball bats, waiting for the kids to come back and try to blow up the new mailbox. I can remember being 10 years old, and watching from my window. Somehow, I wasn’t scared for my dad or brother. I just knew they had had enough and they weren’t going to take it anymore.

There are other stories that follow, of retailiation much worse, things that happened in our sleepy little town that made everyone wonder about who was really doing what. All in all, I think my brother got the last laugh, because, again, like last week’s lesson, people ALWAYS get what they deserve. Most of the kids in that group stayed on their drugs and didn’t amount to a whole lot in life. But one of them was the pilot of the flight that crashed in Queens just a couple months after September 11. While it sucked for everyone else on that plane, I can’t say I felt any sympathy for that bastard. He was the #2 guy in that gang of kids who picked on my brother incessantly.

Years later, the younger brother of the main bully started picking on my next younger brother. The legacy was passed down to the next generation. He would body slam my brother into the lockers during class changes. My mom doctored up my brother’s shoulder with a bunch of tacks, and taped them backwards to his shirt. Fucking hilarious. The next time the kid slammed into him was also the last.

That, ladies and gents, is how the Velvet family fights. There are countless more stories of my brothers and I being harassed by bullies during school. Each and every time, my parents directed us exactly how to fight back. And you just don’t fuck with Gloom and Doom, they don’t back down. We won’t instigate, but when pulled into the ring, we fight tooth and nail until the other guy is down for the count. My last name is tattooed across my back not to fill space, but to remind me that I’m part of a clique with good old days I remember happily – good old days that trained me for coping and fighting methods that I still use today. I will always and forever, no matter what, be a “insert Velvet’s Greek last name here.”

This one is long, but by far the best of the rest, and I wanted to tie it up and not have to go to a part 5!

On December 2, another surprise walks in the door – Opies predecessor and Ms. Rights old boss, the ex-Controller. He was the one who quit and they tried to get me to take his job. Ms. Right waits for the right time, then grabs him and walks into the Weasels office, and asks him about why he said she was a bad employee. I was SO PROUD of Ms. Right. I still to this day cant believe she had the balls to do this. She said to me, Oh, I’m not letting him get away. And I’m doing it in front of the Weasel, so all our stories are straight. Of course the old supervisor denied everything, and the Weasel was stunned. He sat there with his mouth on the floor like Dominick Dunne when they read the OJ verdict. Does anyone besides me remember that? No? Oh well. It was funny.

Ms. Right called corporate to report on the meeting with her old boss and the Weasel since she told them this during their meeting when they came to town. The HR bats said, “Why don’t you ask him?” Ms. Right said, “Because he doesn’t work here anymore.” Except no one counted on him showing up to say hi a couple weeks later after being MIA for a year. Ms. Right also asked about the status of their investigation. They said they completed their study and found that a lot of things were trumped up by the rumor mill. Ms. Right said, But MellyMel said she heard from Opies mouth that he wanted to fire me because I was black. Corporate HRs response? Its JUST. NOT. TRUE. We thought they were going to help us. Instead, they did nothing.

December 4^th, The Designer, MellyMel, Ms. Right, LongIsland and I have lunch in the conference room. We are laughing and making fun of each other, and a couple managers pop their heads in, with one saying it sounds good to hear laughter around the office after the last few months. Fat Bastard also pops his fat head in a bunch of times, and just stares, as he is famous for. Just staring at the girls and their boobies.

December 7^th, All of us are written up for having an extended lunch as referenced above. Fat Bastard, who as the Purchasing Manager had NO BUSINESS being in the meeting where we were told we were being written up is sitting in there just staring. (Gee Fat Bastard, dont you have some chickens to eat, or some house price calculations to fuck up? Oh, shoot, I ended that with a preposition, let me try it again. Don’t you have some house price calculations to fuck up, asshole?)

I refused to sign the sheet. The Weasel says, You know Velvet, we all just want to move on. I said, This doesnt seem like moving on. I flick their copy of the form back across the table and say, I dont need this, you can have it back. I’m not signing it. Ill write a response to what lies you have here. I walk over to the fax machine and send it off to some lawyer peeps I know who wrote a rebuttal for me in 10 minutes. I knocked on the door where they were still writing people up, threw their paper at them, then walked out. LongIsland called me in 10 minutes and said, OH MY GOD, what the HELL did you give them? They just walked out of the conference room, FLIPPING OUT and said they have to call corporate.

Then, LongIsland turned in a similar rebuttal. Gee, I wonder how it happened that ours were almost identical? A day after that, MellyMel turned in another very similar rebuttal. Again, can you believe the coincidence here? Wow! (The rebuttals were peppered with legalese designed to protect us in case we were fired. It accused them of retaliation for the sexual harassment investigation.) With each letter that arrived, the Weasel told my boss I could be in trouble if I didn’t stop. My boss said to the Weasel, I cant control what Velvet does. She is doing what she thinks is right. Then he said to me, You know I cut us deals to go to the new builder. Cant you just sit tight for 60 days and behave? I said, No. I cant. This is my good name at stake. I have to fight. I cant sit by and let them do this to us. What happened here is wrong. So very wrong. And they allow it. It’s the reason we can’t build a fucking house. Because of all this.

In January, Cocaine Carrie got drunk and called the Designer. Remember I said to not forget the conversation in Hawaii? Well, here it comes. Cocaine Carrie started telling the Designer all this strife in the office was the fault of my boss wife who shot her mouth off in Hawaii at the managers meeting. The Designer let her talk, and she said that the Weasel suspected that my boss was trying to take over, so he told corporate all about it, before any of us had even filed complaints. The Weasel sensed that the tide was turning, that people were getting sick of Opie, and instead of doing something about it, he decided to wag the dog, so to speak. He brought up another issue entirely, the planned takeover by my boss of the division, and told corporate that my boss was going to encourage all of us to file complaints against Opie to make him, the Weasel, look incompetent. So, when we all started calling and filing complaints, they expected our calls, and that is also why, despite our documentation, no one believed us.

A couple days later, they fired LongIsland for no good reason. The next day, my boss gave his notice. He handed me an external hard drive and said, Ive taken copies of all my files. Get yours too. The Weasel asked him to leave shortly thereafter, calling him disruptive.

Opie stepped back into the picture, trying to act like my new boss now. The Weasel actually told my boss he considered making me report to Opie, but my boss said, Are you kidding? After everything that happened? You need her, and thats the surest way to get her to walk out. So the Weasel became my new boss, with Opie sending me email after email asking me to do things and giving me 1 day deadlines when he knew I wasnt even in the office to work on them because I was in meetings all over the state of Maryland.

Then NeedsMeds emails me and tells me to give her the passwords for my budgets. I refused, since some Einstein from their department deleted a bunch of columns once, forcing me to have to recreate them from scratch. She copied the Weasel, so I responded as such and copied the Weasel back. He came to my desk to find out why I didn’t want to give out the password. I told him that I’m responsible for the budgets, and if they get messed up or deleted again, its my neck on the line. I also said, Besides, anyone can look at them by clicking read only, so I dont see what the problem is and why we go through this needless power play every week. He actually fucking agreed, so we asked her together why she needed the password. She said, without looking up from her computer, Opie told me to get it.

Feb 2^nd. I had a meeting with the Weasel and Opie to review budgets. We spent more time in that company reviewing budgets than we did building fucking houses. Later that day, I’m trying to run out for a meeting and the Construction Manager calls me.

CM: So what are you doing?
Velvet: I’m trying to run out of here for a meeting.
CM: No. What are you doing?
Velvet: Um, what??
CM: You know. They want to know what youre doing.
Velvet: Who wants to know?
CM: Well, the Weasel and Opie told me to ask you.

I was evasive. I told him I didn’t know. What I didn’t tell him was that a Fed Ex package arrived at my door that morning, with the offer letter to go work with my now ex, soon to be current again boss at the new builder. The only issue, I had a pending bonus of $5000 that I needed to get processed. It was supposed to be paid on the 15^th, but stupid NeedsMeds, who it seems was now boycotting the use of any brush or comb in her hair, was instructed by Opie to delay it for a month. Payroll cut off on the 3^rd. I needed proof that something I got this easement signed AND recorded before NeedsMeds will process my fucking bonus and I needed that proof within 24 hours.

I grab Ms. Right and we head to fucking Laurel Maryland. I march in to the Sanitary Commission and beg my ass off for the signed easement. The lady said, You people at OLDBUILDER and your problems, I am never doing this for you again. I said, and I promise it was hard to not smirk, Fine by me. I grabbed the letter, dropped Ms. Right off at her house, and headed to god damned Upper Marlboro to record it. In the snow I might add. I called the Recordations office and said I had something urgent that needed to be taken in today. They said I had until 4 p.m. Speedracer and I flew through the snow from Laurel to Upper Marlboro, and got to the office just in time. I asked them to record it on the spot, but because of the time, they couldnt. They did, however, give me a receipt.

I brought the receipt back to NeedsMeds that night and said, Look, see? It was recorded. She put the bonus in by the payroll deadline of the next day.

Feb 4^th. I overhear the rest of the managers talking about the Designer, and very poorly. Their gossip train continues down the office and through the halls from manager to manager. I witness it all, then inform the Designer what they were saying about her. What do I care? I’m quitting. They are all such ridiculous pathetic excuses for managers anyway. If they knew what they were doing, they would just get her on the phone to clarify what happened instead of gossiping. So happy I’m leaving! I signed that offer letter and fed exed it back. I started checking out of Old Builder.

One pending issue left. I had spent the last 6 months at Old Builder finding and negotiating the purchase of a fantastic building in D.C. This project was like my baby, and I was about to jump ship and leave it behind. The broker for the sellers of the building called and asked what was going to happen now that my boss was gone. I said that I doubted Old Builder would want to proceed, as they did not have the ability to build one house, let alone a building of condo conversions. He said in the wake of my boss quitting, he had been trying to discuss the contract with the Weasel who told him he didn’t want to proceed with the project, but he couldn’t get him to sign a termination letter. Fucking typical. I say, Send me that termination letter. He said, Oh, can you sign it? I said, No, but I know who can.

I walk into the Weasels office and with a couple magic tricks, he signs that fucking letter and signs away his right to purchase a building 5 blocks from the White House. Fucking idiot. I faxed the letter to the broker, then called him and said the letter should be coming through the fax now. He thanked me profusely, and said, I think Ill be seeing you again, no? I said, I think thats a safe assumption. Then my ex-boss calls me and says, HEY! How are you? You know, my new company is doing great. We just put a building in DC under contract…5 blocks from the White House. I said, Really? You dont say

I was fucking OldBuilder in the ass left and right this week. Damn did it feel good to strap on for once instead of having to take it.

Feb 15. Hop out of bed. Hellooooo Wachovia.com. I check my balance, see that my bonus is indeed there, and drive to work and resign to the Weasel. Damn that shit felt good. At 5 p.m., NeedsMeds wanders up to my desk, sits down and starts unloading. She told me that she asked for a raise, but Opie and the Weasel said no. Then she overheard them in their office and one of them said, A woman should never make that much money. Oh boys. Boys boys boys.

Feb 16, NeedsMeds says I need to write a resignation letter. It says, To whom it may concern: Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from OldBuilder. My last day will be Feb 28. It should have said, P.S. Please buy NeedsMeds a hairbrush, the Weasel a toothbrush, Fat Bastard 30 sessions with a nutritionist and Opie a blow up doll.

Feb 17, the Weasel told me I no longer seemed happy and we could just make today my last day. Fine by me. I just stared at him, sans expression. He said, Do you have anything to say? I said, Nope. I dont. He gave me my last check and asked for my expense report. He said it would be paid in a week or two. Fat Bastard walked me out. I’m surprised he wasnt in an electric wheelchair by that point he was so fat. Fucking asshole. I called my boss from the parking lot and said, GUESS WHERE I DONT WORK ANYMORE!!

That night I went out with MellyMel where some chick attacked us at this bar and tried to make out with us. Once we got rid of her, MellyMel and I went outside, and some guy who lived in my apartment complex followed me out there. He and I ended up making out, then I climbed to the top of the patio of this bar and was hanging upside down from the rafters. I was so fucking elated, you couldnt have brought me into a bad mood. Until at least 12 hours later.

The next morning I woke up with Bronchitis that turned into the Flu so bad I passed out twice at my house and ended up in the ER. I also passed out in the ER and they dragged me by my arm across the floor to the door of a room where the told me to get up and get in the bed. Who does this?? I would have filed a complaint but I was tired of filing complaints. I had a 103.5 temp for 4 days. Before they released me, they said, Do you need a note for work? I would have laughed if I could have opened my mouth. I like to view this as the catharsis of OldBuilder leaving my system. I was really sick. I mean, really sick. It was horrible. I think I may have died at one point, it was that bad. Actually, it took me 8 months to feel like myself again. I still don’t know what I had.

March 1. I say to no one in particular in my apartment: Is it possible I can no longer work for OldBuilder, yet they are still torturing me? An email from NeedsMeds informs me that she cannot release my expense check until I return the rolodex. (It is MY rolodex from my last job. Not theirs.) I’m done playing games with these fucking ninnies. They have officially fucked the wrong girl.

I fire off an email to the CEO at the Redneck Headquarters. I officially pull out the big guns. It says this:

Dear Mr. CEO:

You may recall that we met when you visited the Maryland Division last February. I worked directly for my boss. We also discussed the fact that you knew my brother, who works at hoity toity investment firm in New York. Sadly, I gave my notice to the Maryland Division and was subsequently terminated two days later. Now they are holding a final expense check for which they are claiming they want a rolodex returned which I have already explained to the Weasel, does not belong to Old Builder. It is my personal rolodex. While I’m no longer surprised by any of their behavior, it is unconscionable of them to hold this check, and might I add, illegal.

Sincerely,
Velvet

I never did get a response from him. He was probably out hunting with Cheney, picking off employees. But I got an email from the Weasel within the hour, who said that I would receive my check “tomorrow.” The fucking hilarious irony? The check was only for $60. So for $60 they were willing to fuck with someone who has a brother in a very high place in a New York Investment Firm, quite important for a public company who wants to look good to Wall Street and who may not want them to know what fucking dickwad poor, sexually harassing managers they are.

A week later NeedsMeds calls me at home to discuss how miserable she is. She goes on and on for an hour. I keep trying to get off the phone with her because she called during peak time and I was out of minutes. Then the crazy bitch goes back and tells the Weasel that I called her and pumped her for info. What. The. Fuck. The Weasel tells anyone who is talking to me that it could be very bad for them. OMG! In my whole life I have never been the bad influence. Now I’m a bad influence on an entire company!

Early April. Someone overhears Opie looking through resumes, picking out the obviously African-American names, saying, No, we dont want another problem around here. Lets hire an Asian. They are submissive.

April 8^th. When I left, Opie and NeedsMeds took the budgets over from me. Opie zeroed everything out and had the buffoon interns start from scratch. Without all the footnotes, formulas and detailed history, they were sufficiently fucked. CompanyGirl flew in from Redneck Headquarters to Maryland to have a meeting, and allegedly her boss was to come the following day. The first day Ms. Right was called into the meeting and she said she sat in there all day watching Opie get grilled, watching CompanyGirl ask where all the numbers were that Velvet and I worked on. Opie kept running out of the room, calling the interns in asking questions, and Ms. Right said it was an entire day of watching him squirm. Around 4 p.m., CompanyGirl called her boss and told him there was no reason to come. Then she turned back to the group and said to Ms. Right, Would you please leave us alone for a minute?

There were a lot of closed doors, but ultimately they fired him for zeroing out the budgets. According to NeedsMeds, he was really fired for the sexual harassment, but they were just waiting for another excuse. Part of me wished I could have hung in there for the extra 6 weeks it took to see him get fired, but, they needed me to leave to provide them with the excuse to fire Opie. (Sarcasm on its way in 321) Well, I’m so happy I could provide that for yall! Yee haw! Yall come back now when you learn how to really run a company, ya hear?

If anyone is keeping score, I’m the reason Opie got hired, and I’m also the reason he was fired. If I had wanted that job, he wouldnt have gotten it. And if I had stayed to be the budget bitch, they wouldnt have found their excuse to can him. He left my boss a message saying he was fired for not outing yours and Velvets mistakes. Then he emailed me the same garbage. My dad was like, Wait, he EMAILED YOU as if he never created all these problems? This guy is insane! Months later, my boss received a phone call from someone at Old Builder, and they said, We found old paper copies of the budgets, and everything was on target. Opie really did a number on this place.

The End.

OH, wait, you want the closing credits with each person’s fate. Okay.

NeedsMeds had a meltdown, quit, went back to Old Builder and then quit again. She showed up on my caller ID about a year later, and I picked it up. She hung up on me, and then I called her right back and she let the machine pick it up. I should have left her a message: Hello? Your crazy-meds ran out. Better get more before your insurance expires.

Opie went to work for another builder where he promptly asked his assistant if she shaved or waxed her pussy. He was fired within a year. Hes now job hunting again, and used my boss for a reference on a couple jobs. My boss said to anyone who called, Only hire him if you want all the women in your office to file a lawsuit. He is now using someone else I know for a reference, and that person hasnt provided him a good one either. My boss said, What? Hes using someone else? Wonder how long it took him to figure out I was slamming him all over the place. Its a small industry with consolidations daily. I doubt hell work in this town again. He can’t get a good reference.

Fat Bastard was fired. My boss saw him at a restaurant last week with his wife and kid, trying extra hard to use a coupon they didn’t qualify to use. Hes been out of work for 6 months and told my boss things were really bad. My boss said he was a dick about it. Well, he always was an angry asshole.

The Weasel was demoted, then fired. He now works for another builder but is allegedly miserable. They have him out in the field, instead of in a cushy office.

Cocaine Carrie was very miserable without the above people to keep her company. She called my boss at his home number to speak with him, presumably about a new job. Except she didn’t get that far. His wife answered. And she lit into Cocaine Carrie for everything she said to the Weasel, and all the trouble she caused. She said, None of you people helped my husband when he was at Old Builder, and now every one of you who is miserable or has been fired have come crawling back for a job.

People always get what they deserve. Remember that kids.

About a year after working for my current company, a company I love, I was on a business trip. My boss said I made a good impression on the President of another division and he wanted me to fly to Texas and hang out in his division for a week to see how things operate.

Velvet: No.
Boss: What? Why not?
Velvet: If I didn’t learn it at Old Builder, I would be a fool.
Boss: Oh, you don’t think hes on the up and up?
Velvet: No. I don’t. I’m better at it this time around.

Two months later, he was fired for sexual harassment. My boss came in and said, That manager was fired. Seems someone filed a complaint about him.” That’s what makes this company so great, they don’t tolerate that crap for a second.

Once you’ve suffered at the hands of an Opie, you can spot another one miles away. Sexual harassment isn’t about sex and some horny bastard who isn’t getting any at home. It’s about control, every single time.

*Entire story is true and happened over the course of 16 months at a top national homebuilder. Commenters who can verify that the preceding 4 posts are in fact, very true, are MellyMel and Kiki.

Okay, so it is now September. At our monthly division meeting, the Weasel made an announcement that no one is to call Corporate HR, and that they dont want to hear our problems.if we have issues, handle them with Opie. All the girls look around the room like, What the fuck?

One night in September, after Ms. Right is officially slated to join our department and escape the clutches of the evil Opie, the Weasel catches me on my way out of the office and tells me how untrustworthy Ms. Right is, and how she makes so many errors, and you have to constantly check her work, and that all her supervisors have had problems with her. Might I mention to you readers, that Ms. Right is not only a woman, but an African American woman? See where this is going? Yeah. Anyway, a week later, our Regional Accounting department come to town and mentioned to the Weasel that Ms. Right seems really happy in our department. He says, right in front of me, and I’m not kidding, Well, we are really happy to have saved an employee from quitting. When we have someone good, we like to keep them.

In the end of September, we are doing our fiscal year end budget meeting. I put my laptop on the conference room at the corner closest to the door and walk into the kitchen for some water. When I come back in, my laptop has been slid down the table, for no reason other than that Opie wanted to sit at the head of the table. And were talking about a conference table that seats 24-28 people. (Its a control thing, see? I only put my laptop there b/c it was closest to the door, but Opie likes to be at the head of the table. Its like when your boss chair is higher than the visitor chairs. Its because (s)he is exerting a perceived sense of control.) I said, You took my seat. He said, Well, you can sit on my face. The meeting ensues, and the Weasel asks me how things are going with Selma since our email war. I reply that shes still out of control and that someone should stop her bullying the rest of the admins. The Weasel says, Youre a manager now, you should say something to her too. My boss later said to Opie, Hey, you heard it, shes a manager now, put her raise and bonus through.

Putting me in the same management class as Opie, bringing my salary oh-so-much-closer to his, and giving me a bonus set into motion an entire office war.

The end of September. I walk by the reception area to see a temp waiting to interview with Opie. I know shes a temp, because she worked for us the prior spring, and Opie raved about her. Later:

Velvet: Hey, glad to see you got that temp back. I know you guys really liked her.
Opie: Can you believe she has 12 cats now?
Velvet: What? She said she was reconciling with her husband. Why would he move back in now with more cats there?
Opie: Why not? Thats a lot of PUSSY!
Velvet: Youre disgusting.

The next day, the Weasel walks up to me as I’m checking our mail at the reception desk.

Weasel: You know, if youre going to say that kind of stuff, you probably shouldnt say it to our HR person.
Velvet: What?
Weasel: You know, that comment, you shouldnt say that stuff to the HR person.
Velvet: What are you talking about?
Weasel: The comment about the temp. Opie told me what you said.
Velvet: What did I say?
Weasel: You knowthat thingabout the tempand her cats.
Velvet, raising voice: ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THE PUSSY COMMENT?
Weasel: ShhYes.
Velvet: I didn’t say that! He did.
Weasel: He said you said it.
Velvet: Well I didn’t say it. He said it.
Weasel: And he said you did.
Velvet: I didn’t say I’m not capable of saying it, but I didn’t say it. He did.
Weasel: He says its you.
Velvet: Hes lying.
Weasel (with a grin like hes calling my bluff:) You knowwe can settle this right now.
Velvet: Ill meet you in his office.

We meet in there and have the stupidest, most childish of fights. You said it, No, YOU said it. I stomped off, as Greeks are known to do, saying, “Opie, you aren’t making me take the fall for this.” The Weasel caught me in the hall and said the only non-asshole thing he said to me in my time working there: Are you okay? Because I do realize that if you said it that you are the type of person to own up to it, and since you insist he said it, I do believe you. I shrugged it off. But then I got this email from Opie:

If it wasn’t you who said it…it was somebody else…I couldn’t come up with that on my own… …. 🙂

XOXOXOX

My boss told me behind closed doors that I needed to get this documented, because things were going to get bad and we needed this to be down on paper. So I forwarded that email (including Opies XOXO kisses) to the Weasel, copied my boss and wrote this:

Dear The Weasel:

I received this email regarding our earlier conversation in Opies office, of which I am still seething. Opie verbally mentioned the person who he now alleges made this statement; however, I really think who said it is irrelevant. The fact that he repeated it and ultimately blamed it on me is very upsetting. We obviously do not have everyone on board with the new teamwork spirit. I thought you specifically addressed the blame game and asked the Managers to pass this information on to their staff. Wasnt Opie at that meeting? Again, I am not offended by the comment itself as much as I am by being blamed behind my back without a chance for immediate defense. I am upset to think that for hours or perhaps overnight, you were sitting with the feeling that I was responsible for saying this.

I have a review pending and I need reassurance from you that you know my name was mistakenly involved in this situation. I dont want any of this to negatively affect me.

I know that you want us to handle problems internally, however, there is more here and it might be bigger than handling within the division. You recommended at our last staff meeting that we could go to Opie with our issues. I am not alone in this division in my feelings that I cannot trust him. He is not a viable outlet for HR Complaints and Confidential Matters. Among the many inappropriate comments he has made to me, I personally witnessed a derogatory comment he made about one employee to another. These things may need to be on some sort of record. There are too many incidents at this time to ignore and I dont know that we should be sweeping these issues under the rug.

Thanks,
Velvet

The Weasel called me into his office, we had a quick chat, mostly so that he could stop me from calling Corporate about what had happened. He said he would take care of it. The next morning, the Weasel called me into his office again. He said he was extremely disturbed by what had transpired and spent a good portion of his evening thinking about it. He said he was 50/50 on whether to just fire Opie or to give him one more chance. He decided to write him up and give him his final chance. (The reason for this is that the fiscal year end AND the Hawaii Managers Meeting were rapidly approaching he needed Opie to fudge all the numbers he could and be available to explain them when asked. The Weasel has no sense of finance, numbers and sadly, PROFIT.) The Weasel said he had to ask me if I felt sexually harassed by the comment. I so so so badly wanted to say yes. I knew that if I did, Opie would have been fired in a heartbeat. But who am I kidding? I’m offended by very little. So I said no. But I did tell him that very few of the women in the office trust him and that this is not the first time something like this has happened.

Lets pause for a recap: If Opie didn’t grow to hate me when he was interviewing and knew if I accepted his job, he wouldnt get it, if he didn’t grow to hate me when he saw me getting salary increases and bonuses that rivaled his own compensation, he certainly hated me now that I put his fat little neck on the chopping block.

So they write Opie up. My boss is in the room. It doesnt go so well, Opie is obviously really pissed off and starts blaming a bunch of shit on me. My boss says, “You don’t get it. If she really had it in for you she could have had you fired for what you did. We’re a public company, do you think they want this kind of press?” The Weasel strips him of his HR duties and they pass them off to some other Accounting flunkie, NeedsMeds, who Opie and the Weasel become the puppet masters for anyway.

Opie sends an email to the CompanyGirl apologizing for his comment, and copies my boss and the Weasel. He predictably doesnt copy me, the one whose name he attempted to drag through the mud. Why should he?

After the Opie-getting written up saga, this is when the Division President called me into his office and asked me if I wanted to “go to the company ranch.” I put this story in Part 1, but here it is again, now in the context of what was going on in the office, it will make more sense why I said no. Recopied from Part 1:

When they asked me, a long time member of PETA, a vegetarian, a woman and other labels of all things that seemed to not belong at this ranch, I said no. The Division President (hereinafter referred to as the Weasel) said, You shouldnt say no. I said, You want me to share a room and eek, a bathroom with someone I dont know, in the middle of nowhere, with no cell phone, no computer, and no TV, watching guys hunt and kill things that I would be likely to leash and name Scruffie? I’m saying no. Needless to say, it didn’t go over very well. But that was to be expected. I had already helped blow the whistle on their rampant sexual harassment. They didn’t like me very much. And I thought they were trying to get me out to that ranch so they could kill me. There was no way in fucking hell I was going to go.

The Weasel, Opie, Cocaine Carrie and my boss go out to Hawaii in the end of October for the Company-wide Managers meeting. All anyone is talking about in Hawaii is the HR problem in Maryland. My boss then wife gets drunk and tells Cocaine Carrie all sorts of stuff about the Weasel and how inept he is as a manager. What she doesnt realize is that Cocaine Carrie and the Weasel are sleeping together. No one at the office, including my boss, ever knew this conversation took place for several months though. And, remember this conversation, it blindsides all of us shortly.

Meanwhile, back at the office, it was like mutiny. The inmates were running the asylum, people were fighting, screaming at each other, and the two lone managers left, Fat Bastard and some other manager who I actually thought was pretty cool, played golf all week.

So, the boys and Cocaine Carrie get back from Hawaii and suddenly there is a really weird vibe in the office. (Again, we didn’t know about the conversation between my boss’ wife and Cocaine Carrie. It takes months for everyone to find this out.) Opie and the Weasel joined forces on one side with Patty and Selma, and my boss was on the other with the rest of the people. The history here is that my boss had saved that division from shutting its doors by acquiring a lot of land and making them a lot of money. Most of the smart people knew who to side with. A few remained in the middle, but as Ive learned with my family fights and with this, you have to stake a claim in one side, otherwise, you get shunned by both, and if both turn on you, you could end up the new enemy.

Opie built up his harem of Accounting people from 3 to now 8. There are 8 people in Accounting. What the fuck they are all doing when admittedly from his own mouth, most of the accounting was done at a corporate level is beyond the rest of us.

Early November, my boss shows up at my desk.

Boss: Something is going on, I need you to call the CompanyGirl.
(Again, CompanyGirl is the Regional CFO and right under the CEO of our company. She is highly respected by the guys at the top – President, CEO and the rest. It is shocking they “let” a woman as high as CompanyGirl was, as she was one of two who made it this high in the company.)
Velvet: What am I calling her for?
Boss: These guys are setting me up. They are trying to make our department take the fall for us not making any money this year, and really its the fault of Purchasing because FatBastard has no fucking idea what hes doing. But I need you to fish around and see why they are on this witch hunt.
Velvet: What am I going to say?
Boss: Ask her what info they are looking for. Then try to tell her whats going on here.
Velvet: What? Youre going to get me fired.
Boss: Come on. You made friends with her when she was here, you took her out. I need you to do this.
Ms. Right slides her chair over to my desk and says: Yeah, you need to call her. Shes your bud.
Velvet, to boss: Are you going to protect me if something goes wrong?
Boss: Yes.
Velvet: God damned it. Okay.

So I made the call, and of course, got the point across that they were trying to blame our department for everyone elses mistakes. She must have called Opie and the Weasel to “clarify” what she was asking for, and that took the heat off all of us. For a bit. When my boss relayed this to his then-wife, she said, If you ever leave, you have to take Velvet with you. Shes incredibly loyal.

Mid November, MellyMel had some surgery that ended in a bit of a complication and she took a couple extra days off. When she came back to work, the girl literally had a tube coming out of her body to drain an infection. Opie told her that she better start looking for a new job because she had taken so much time off everyone wanted her fired. I said, Cocaine Carrie had a facelift and was gone for 2 weeks and no one said shit about that! MellyMel came to me at the point of tears. I called my boss who was not in the office that day and he said, Time for her to report it to HR. Its a violation of some sort. So she did. And then that is where MellyMel and I became good friends. She used to be on the other side with Opie and Patty and Selma. But, now, she realized that it was not doing her any good. Then she unloaded all sorts of stuff she knew. Hooray! I had all new goss – a lot of it about me, but typical stuff of Opie having disclosed both my salary and the Designers to Patty and Selma and that he called the Designer a gold-digger among many other names. His hatred of both the Designer and I was solely because our salaries were hovering closer and closer to his own, he had a Russian Mail order bride spending all his money, he just knocked her up with the 4^th kid and was totally miserable. Oh, and Kiki, he said that he was sorry you had quit because you had the biggest titties in the office.

At this point, aside from Patty and Selma, all the women in the office banded together. It was a good feeling. But of course it doesnt last.

November 18. I’m sitting at my desk, and LongIsland calls me. She said, You will never believe who just walked in. HR from Corporate! These two old bats spent two days interviewing select people, including myself, LongIsland, Selma, Ms. Right, the Doormouse and some managers including my boss and that other guy I said was pretty cool. One of the HR bats was wearing so much makeup, that Ms. Right and I had a skit routine of her getting ready in the morning. We would do the visual of her putting on powder, then more foundation, then more powder, then more foundation. She actually took calls on her cell phone as we were giving our reports. The other one, in this long flowered prairie skirt (hello rednecks) was taking notes. When you said something really offensive, she would write like a crazy person, then slow down to a more normal pace until you started saying, then Opie said he was going to rip my dress off and they would write at a furious pace again.

After they meet with everyone, they end up in the Weasel’s office. We are all heading out to lunch, and end up walking out with the HR bats and the Weasel. The Weasel was going to lunch with all the manager boys. But then he asked us where we were going, and ends up coming with us. LongIsland told him he had to pay! So I call my boss, who is still upstairs and say, “We’re going to the Italian restaurant and you will never believe this. The Weasel blew off the guys to come with us.” My boss asks where he is. I said, “In the other car with LongIsland.” My boss looks out the window then says, “Tell me if that car turns around for any reason. I’m going in his office.”

My boss goes in the Weasel’s office while I’m on the phone still. He finds his notes from his meeting with the HR bats. All it says is “Go on company outing” and “Buy tee shirts for staff that say ‘Old Builder.'” My boss says, “Jesus Christ. HR missed the whole point of this. They think we just need to have some bonding experiences.” This is the moment he made his decision to quit. November 19.

I went to Italy for 10 days right after this. The morning I was leaving, my boss called me and said, Are you coming back? I said, Yeah, why? He said, I was afraid with all this shit that you wouldnt come back. And my wife made me call you to tell you that I cut a deal for us to go to a new company, so you cant stay in Italy because you will have a new job soon. I flew back to Dulles on November 30. When I went back to work, it seemed like everything was getting back to normal. I was incredibly wrong.