Attacking Life with Comedic Jaws of Sarcasm. Recovering Dating & Relationship Blogger - Made it to Step 12 When I Got Married.

Month: March 2007

See You On The Other Side

I called the Ninja to check on the status of his home improvement project. After we finished discussing his progress, he asked me how my life was going. Then I told him. Then he said, “You know, this stuff is gold, and it never makes the blog anymore. I’m glad I’m friends with you so I get to hear it though.”

He’s right. He’s 100% right. Couple that with the dozen other reasons why, and, people, it’s time. I think we all knew it was coming.

There’s plenty to say, but I have nothing I really want to say, except one thing.

I’m done.

Coming Quicker Than Fedex

I had dinner tonight with Giggles, The King of the Dog Park and Sixes and Sevens. Giggles was sent away for work, so it was a catch up dinner of sorts.

Sixes and Sevens, holding up her beverage and looking at me: Mazel Tov!

We were toasting to my aforementioned good news. No, not engaged. No, not preggers. Despite my hatred of Greenspan and the damage he did to our economy while making MY PRECIOUS INDUSTRY the fall guy, I know a good deal when I see one. And people? A house on the Eastern Shore that your company built and needs to get rid of for a drastically reduced price is a GOOD DEAL. I am a homeowner. Again! Two homes in my name, my mini real estate empire has begun!

I would have filled Giggles in on all the details, but I didn’t bother. I told him the one thing that I knew would make his face light up: My front door faces a liquor store.

The King of the Dog Park: So, Giggles, did Velvet tell you what she did?
Giggles: No.
Sixes and Sevens: You haven’t been reading her blog!
Velvet: I haven’t posted it yet. I needed to whale on Greenspan.
Giggles: So? What happened?
The King of the Dog Park: A public blowjob!
Sixes and Sevens: In the Sports Authority dressing room!
Velvet: Potomac Yard baby. Dressing room one. Don’t go in there.
Giggles: Wait, why?
The King of the Dog Park: Bitch didn’t swallow! Poor Sherlock!
Velvet: What the fuck! I didn’t have a beverage to wash it down with, nor did I want to go out and pay for the clothes I just tried on with goop all over my face! So I ripped off a price tag and cleaned up with that. I stuck it under the bench, so really, don’t go in there barefoot.
The King of the Dog Park: That story gets me so hot.
Sixes and Sevens: Why? Because you have a thing for Shirley?
The King of the Dog Park: No. It’s the public sex that turns me on.
Velvet: Well, for him too. He was so fast I didn’t get lockjaw this time. All future blowjobs will occur in public.
The King of the Dog Park: This is masturbation material for a week now.

So Build a Wall and Behind it Crawl and Hide Until It’s Light ~ Part Two

Update. Just found this!

Dear Alan Greenspan:

Sigh. This is my second letter to you. Much like Santa Claus when I asked for magic mushrooms and Mayor Fenty when I requested the streets be plowed after snowstorms, you did not answer my first letter. I’m not hopeful you will answer this one either.

I know you are very busy with your retirement, alternating between sipping your Mai Tai and making blanket idiotic statements that get picked up by the media, but really, stop. You are no longer the Chairman of the Federal Reserve, so what you say doesn’t matter. Well, I would like to think it doesn’t matter. Unfortunately, stupid people hang on your every word, believing it to be it to be gospel. If you predict a housing market crash, it will surely happen because people “believe” it will happen, and they react as such, creating the very market conditions you warned of, and then you have mayhem.

Frankly, the fact that you even speak at all is so totally unfathomable to me. You created this mess we’re all living out right now. You consistently reduced the Federal Funds rate which, through a whole series of economic events, affected the Bond Market in turn lowering mortgage rates. I know, you were just trying to make sure our economy didn’t tank after September 11th. Understandable. Respectable. But, going from 3% to 1% by June 25, 2003, and leaving it there for a full year? At how many dozens of Fed Meetings did you fuck with the rate? Too many.

See, again, we have this guiding principle about the U.S. Economy: It is self-correcting. It doesn’t need a whole lot of help. Here is where I would draw for you, a supply and demand diagram with the Price and Quantity coordinates. We’d compare guns to butter, or I would dumb it down for you to houses and prices, and explain that when you make money cheaper to borrow, you suddenly put more people in the market to buy a house because they think they can finally afford the American Dream. Too much money chasing too few goods and services makes prices increase. Inflation. Remember? You entice people in the market who don’t want to be there yet, robbing future demand. You also lure speculators (a.k.a. investors, scumballs) into the market. People saw the housing industry like they did bootlegging, day trading and junk bonds – a place to make quick and easy cash. Except everyone viewed housing to contain very little risk because they were speculating on something with an underlying asset – the actual home in which someone can live. This is “artificial demand.” People aren’t there because they need the house, they are in the market because you have made the house easier (read: cheaper) to get and instead of living there, they are purchasing it with other plans in mind.

If you are following along on our x-y axis, you will see that you have more demand, and then supply goes down. Then, prices go up to meet that demand. As we all know, home prices went up. And up. And up. You lowered the Federal Funds rate to an unprecendented 1% and kept it there for over a year. Why? My only explanation is because you are a fucking idiot. The other explanation is senility but I prefer the “fucking idiot” scenario.

Now, let’s look at what happened out here in the real world, away from the corner offices, leather chairs and ivory backscratchers of your world.

Holly and Harry Homeowner went to buy a house. They stretched and saved, and ended up still not being able to finance a home because prices had slipped just beyond their reach. But they believed everyone who said they should go buy a house and they would make a killing when they sold it. So along comes the lender with “creative financing” and sold them some “no money down / no doc” loan they call an ARM, where the rate adjusts. Irony lives and dies in the fact that they call it an arm, because once the rate changes it costs you an arm and the proverbial leg to get out of the mess you’ve created. So the prices start going down on homes, people start foreclosing on loans, and you have things like this happening.

Again, I would like to remind you: self-correcting economy. Your intent in keeping the economy afloat was a wise foresight on your part. But, you should have stopped with the rate reductions at some point earlier than 2003. You should have also increased the rates at a much faster pace than you did. Since you are so good at shooting your mouth off, you should have also warned all those homebuyers: If they can’t afford a fixed rate mortgage, then they can’t afford that particular house. Of course, you didn’t though. You’re saying it now, but back then, you were happy that the homebuilding industry was keeping the economy afloat and that you looked like a hero. You can’t give stupid people a bunch of money and not advise them of some basic financial rules because everyone else has to suffer the fallout when those people mismanage their money. I say it at work all the time: You can’t walk into a room and say “This is fucked up, fix it,” but not guide people in exactly HOW to fix it. If they knew, it wouldn’t be fucked up in the first place, right?
Read this if you want to vomit along with me. (“High housing prices are more of a problem than loans” – whose fault is that now? Asshole.)

No love for you,
Velvet

P.S. Putting names and faces to all this foreclosure does nothing for me. I’ve been reading these articles for weeks now. I don’t feel sorry for these people. They are idiots. Just because someone hands you really cheap money, doesn’t mean you should take it. Again, if you can’t afford a fixed rate mortgage, YOU CAN’T AFFORD THAT HOUSE. It was the buyer’s responsibility to determine that their job as the Assistant Manager at CVS wasn’t going to have a 30% pay increase occur at the same time the “adjustable” portion of their mortgage kicked in. Before one makes a multi-hundred thousand dollar purchase, they need to get some financial advice from someone other than their loan officer who has a vested interested in closing their loan and making a commission. Someone who will tell them, to their face, that they cannot afford this particular home.

I’m Addicted to You But I Know That You’re Toxic

It’s me. Before you get any ideas, it’s me I’m referring to in the title. I’m the one who is toxic.

When Sherlock went into his stalk-mode-of-Velvet last summer, I have to admit, it wasn’t the first time that it happened to me. It’s not because I’m being a drama queen, it’s not because I’m making it up or exaggerating. It’s because I know that there is something in my manner of relating to a man that brings out that stalkie behavior. I tend to shut down pretty rapidly, and there is something so psychologically innate in people that when they want to talk, they must talk, and when the person they want to talk to doesn’t want to talk back, they get irate. It drives some personality types to stalk.

This isn’t about me and Sherlock though, who Sixes and Sevens is now calling “Shirley.” We’re magically in love and everything is great. Better than great. This is about the fact that there is something comical for me, in watching just how far someone will unravel because of something I did, or didn’t do. It’s an accomplishment for me. Yes yes, I’m a bitch like that. It’s my “notch” weakness. Some people like to collect notches in the way of sex partners, I like to see how crazy I can make people. I admit it. I’m a pot stirrer with men.

Now, that history aside, I can proudly announce that yours truly, Velvet in Dupont, busy woman who was just informed via email (what? you couldn’t call me boys?) that she has more responsibilities which will take her away from precious blogging even further, has added ANOTHER NOTCH TO HER BELT. Yes, I have to say. I love it. What exactly am I talking about?

There is another blog dedicated to someone’s hatred of me. YAY! (Seriously, YAY.) I just cracked up when I realized that my emailing with an old acquaintance yielded his ire to produce this sole post on my very own URL:

Be careful in whom you confide. A Pisces will not keep confidences for long. They are self-centered psychos and do not care who gets hurt when they are on a vendetta. All the informational weapons they possess will be employed.

Of course it’s no match for the Velvet Parody blog or the blog Sherlock wrote about me (yes baby, I know all about it) but, it’s so delightful when someone else adds their hate to the mix.

So, here we have it. When someone is moved to stalking, or hatred, or a hate-blog, it means that you’ve bothered them. You’ve gotten under their skin. And I have gotten under the skin of the North American continent’s largest cyberpath. Smooch!

Have a good weekend. My free time is dwindling. I’ll try to be back soon. I have big news brewing.

P.S. VOTE FOR NINJA!!

It’s Boots and Chaps, It’s Cowboy Hats, It’s Spurs and Latigo

I’ve been in Dallas for Patsy’s Bachelorette Extravaganza. You all know how I love me some cowboys and country music, so I was more than happy to jaunt my ass down for my dose of country. I followed shortly after one Sixes and Sevens, who blew out of town earlier to get a jump start on the party. Needless to say, I breathed a huge sigh of relief when she made it through security. A. Huge. Sigh.

I noticed immediately upon entering the state, that a major mystery of the world has now been solved. In case you live on the east or west coast, and you were curious where the scrunchies had gone, I can tell you. They are in Texas. You can find them on wrists, in hair, on the ground. There are more scrunchies in Dallas than there are rats in D.C.

We decided to hit up a bar named Austin Avenue in Plano for some drinking and people watching. Wow. That’s all I’ve got. Wow. I’m stunned, not for the Kiss cover band, and not for the high hair, but perhaps for the amputees and fake boobs I saw. Sixes and Sevens and Patsy also managed to score a round from some old men sitting in the corner.

Everything is bigger in Texas you know. This is a “medium” sized beer.

Before we moved out of the area where the band was playing, heading to shoot some pool, we were able to watch some serious foreplay in action.

“Mmm, that was a yummy burrito you ate for lunch today!”

We also made it to the world famous Forth Worth Stockyards. This is where one Billy Bob’s is located.

 

We bought some really cheap drinks and watched the bullriding.

We got sprayed with dirt. I was smart enough to be covering my beer, and also wearing a cowboy hat. Yes, a cowboy hat. More on that in a second. Randy Travis was playing so the place was packed.

The highlight of the evening was undoubtedly standing right in front of this:

Patsy and I snapped tons of pictures for them and have emailed them off to this girl who we don’t know and will never see again. She told Patsy she wished she could thank us for being at the right place at the right time and sending her pictures. It was the least we could do, considering we started shrieking like morons and drew all the attention away from Randy singing “Forever and ever Amen” to ourselves. Fucking typical.

Sixes and Sevens was at the bar closing our tab and I walked up there to grab one more drink. When I got up there the bartender said to me, “What about you, are you from here?” I said, “Nope.” He said, “That’s too bad, if the both of you lived around here I’d do it with both of you.” Then he walked down to the other end of the bar.

I asked Sixes and Sevens, “Did he just say what I think he said?” She said she thought so. I didn’t think cowboys were so forward. Though, I guess we were looking pretty hot among the geriatric Randy Travis fan club, more amputees (WTF is with Texas and amputees?) and scrunchies. Here we are, Sixes and Sevens and Velvet, taking on Billy Bob’s.

We’re hot. Who wouldn’t want to have a threesome with us?

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