Month: December 2007

Ten years ago tonight I made one of those seemingly insignificant decisions that changed my entire life.

I had gone out to dinner with my parents and godparents in New York City. When we returned to our house, I stood at the foot of the stairs, trying to decide if I should go to bed or get on the computer. Back then, there was only dial up, which tied up the phone lines. I liked to use the internet at off peak times. 11 p.m. seemed like off peak enough.

The internet was so painfully young then. I can remember searching for some basic words and coming up with nothing at all. I tried “sex club new york city” and got zip. Today? Over 23 million.

Chatting was somewhere between infancy and toddlerhood, having already gained a bad rap when some girl was lured to a guys house and he raped her. But there was only one of those cases that I had heard of at that time.

I hopped into a chat room as Velvet (ha!) and off I went. Mostly it was people who were new and thought it was so cool you could talk in real time. Some guy started talking to me. We moved around to a couple rooms and tortured some people. We went off to a private chat. We went back to torture some more unsuspecting souls. I found myself with a pretty perfect “chat buddy.” A trouble-making derelict like myself who enjoyed a bit of humor.

When the sun came up I realized I had to go to work. Where had the last seven hours gone? Anyway, we made plans to meet in the room again, not that evening as it was New Years Eve, but the following evening.

Three weeks later I was on a plane to Atlanta to meet him.

Nine months later he was in a truck to New York to help me move down to Atlanta.

At our second and fourth anniversaries, we faltered a bit. On our sixth anniversary, we had grown so far apart it seemed there would be no mending. On our seventh anniversary, no longer together, we weren’t even speaking. Nor would we speak for the eighth or ninth. But shortly after our ninth anniversary of the day we met, we got in contact again and remain, to this day, in communication.

While we are on different paths and there will not be another opportunity for us in a romantic capacity, that man was my first love. We went through hell and back together. He was such an amazing and powerful first love that three years after our breakup, a series of dreams starring the two of us forced me to admit that my then-relationship, which was headed toward marriage, was seriously wrong. Even when he wasn’t in my life, he was still saving my ass from disaster. We remain friends and to this day don’t hang up the phone without saying, “I love you.”

For K… ten years. You set the bar high. I will always love you.

I always knew that the Ross Elementary School here in Dupont Circle had very low test scores. I wonder though, if the Ross “Elemtary” School is faring any better.

How on earth did that sign make it through all those hands and not one person spell checked it? Jesus. Someone wrote in the missing letters. For those of you who know me, the answer is no. It was not me wielding that Sharpie. (If it was, mine would have been in blue.)

Anyway, Sammy pissed on it for you all. Merry Christmas!

It’s been about a month or more since an update on the Cookie Dough. We were cruising along quite nicely. As a matter of fact, we were on track to see the bottom of this container by spring thaw as originally estimated. However, there have been a few setbacks.

1) Tired of just the dough, I decided to cook a half dozen cookies, gasp, in the oven. I felt that my promise of eating the dough was compromised because cooking the dough is not what I said I was going to do. I was going to run it by you all to see if this was cheating. While I was composing that post…

2) I had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner with a bunch of lovely friends. I decided to be ambitious and eat the Turkey Gravy. I know, it is made from the Turkey and I’m a vegetarian. But, I wanted to branch out. Half way during the night after Thanksgiving dinner, I got sick. Wayyyy sick. I was quickly reminded why I gave up meat all those years ago. It was 11 days before my stomach recovered. But just in time for the recovery, I went to another Holiday Party where I discussed my ailments with the Vegan host, who then promptly steered me in the direction of her chips and dips and sauces – all vegan. My stomach blew up like an Ethiopian and again, I had another few days of intestinal drama. Oh, suck it. You know you all keep coming back for my discussions of all things intestines.

Those are my excuses for the cookie dough campaign being at a halt. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see this one through. I curse that day at Costco. Curse it!

In other news, Sixes and Sevens is leaving this week for a three week trip around Italy. I am very jealous, as Italy is really the only European Country I’ve seen that I would ever visit again. I thought about meeting her in Rome, but the day she’s there is the day I’m watching her dog. So there goes that plan. Anyway, I’m on pins and needles in anticipation of her trip, not for all the fun she’s going to have but because of the text messages she’s been receiving from my hot neighbor, indicating activities to come, hopefully before her trip. From a recent email exchange:

Sixes & Sevens: I just got a dirty text that Hot Neighbor shaved his balls for me.
Velvet: My dirty text of the day was about licking me after I pee.
Sixes & Sevens: You win.
Sixes & Sevens (10 minutes later:) No, you lose. I just got one that he wants me to fuck him with a strap on.
Velvet: You can’t see me, but I’m bowing down to you right now. You are THE WOMAN!
Sixes & Sevens: I’m gonna fuck him so hard he’s gonna cry to his mommy.

Finally, I spent a couple days in NYC last week and something bad happened:

December 8th, 1980: “One Night”

The man I would write an Economic Theory paper on in grad school, 23 years later, was shot dead. Proof he was smarter than most and that this loss was utterly a waste? “Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try. No hell below us, above us only sky. Imagine all the people, living for today. Imagine there’s no countries, it isn’t hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too. Imagine all the people, living life in peace.” If we all lived in John Lennon’s world, without religion, without things to segregate us from others, we would have nothing to fight over.

December 8th, 2006: “That Night”

That night there was a blogger Happy Hour – the last Blogger Happy Hour I would ever attend. The theatrics, the drama, the immaturity, the crap. It got old, fast.

That night I set Sixes&Sevens up to meet another blogger she fancied. She promptly gave him several more reasons to hate D.C.

That night I met a new friend through Sixes&Sevens who I then saw four more times over the next year – bachelorette party, wedding and two stopovers in Texas on my trek cross country and back, this summer. Despite her being happily married to a wonderful man, Ninja still refers to her as “his cutie,” and denounces her pregnancy by saying, “That should be MY baby.” You may have had a chance if you weren’t wearing such a gay turtleneck and if G-man wasn’t such a fun World of Warcraft playing mo-fo!

(That night was the birth of the gay turtleneck, by the way.)

That night I broke up with (rhymes with “fur lock,” nod to I66, because I can’t even say the fake blog name) for like the 130th time. This particular breakup parade was spurred by a record-breaking, even for him, 18 consecutive phone calls (no lie.) Because my phone was in my coat pocket, he had the nerve to declare me, over voicemail, me!, a “shitty girlfriend.”

December 8, 2007: “The Other Night”

The other night was thankfully much more peaceful than December 8th of last year. I went to a tree trimming party with 25 gay men. I was the only female there, but I did bring my own heterosexual male companion.

The other night was the first time said “male companion” and I made it out in public, in months.

The other night, we didn’t stay out in public for very long, scrambling back across town to my apartment where we promptly ripped each other’s clothes off.

The other night was one of those nights where I couldn’t stop. I never wanted it to end. It was perfect. It was the best I’ve had. A surprising first for us, in one particular capacity. Could not have been better…truly.

The other night I left my sliding glass door open and it was cold outside. The wind blew through the living room, around the corner, and into the bedroom where I slept while he watched, keeping me incredibly warm in his arms.

The other night was one of those kind of nights where I didn’t mind walking the dogs at 5 a.m., in the pouring rain.

The other night I was more comfortable in my own bed and in my own skin and in my own mind than I have ever been.

It started several months ago. The King of the Dog Park and I were leaving my building and I exchanged a few pleasantries with my painfully Hot Neighbor in the lobby. The King’s jaw was agape, and when the neighbor was out of earshot:

King: Who was that?
Velvet: My neighbor. I know, I know.
King: Ohmygod the things I would do to him.
Velvet: Yeah. I was thinking that I really need to set him up with Sixes&Sevens so she can ruin his life.
King: He’s straight? DAMN!

A likeness of Hot Neighbor:

Later when we saw Sixes&Sevens, she screamed, “Well? SET IT UP!” So we did.

And for months, we watched the painful dance of awkward hellos, texts gone awry, each out of town every time the other wanted to get together. It seemed these two would never be on the same page.

Until the other night. Sixes&Sevens came over and we cracked through a bottle of wine before grabbing the King and heading off to a holiday soiree. At the elevator, we simultaneously heard the door of one Hot-Neighbor’s close and Sixes&Seven’s audible gasp/moan. The King shouted, “Well hello Hot-Neighbor! This time you’ve caught Sixes&Sevens after her shower!” We dragged Hot-Neighbor to our party, but he bailed in favor of some “play” he was supposed to see. It didn’t stop those naughty kids from sending juicy texts to each other. From play to party, party to play, the texts a veritable foreplay for the long overdue tryst.

I walked into the kitchen to grab a drink at one point. I saw Sixes and Sevens standing there, striking a pose for no one in particular but looking massively sexy in her skin tight black sweater and tweed 40’s style skirt, tapered to the knee then flared out, ending at the calf, her eyes buried behind little librarian black rimmed specs and her mischievous little brain working overtime, while the evidence of her plot formed into a smirk on her face.

Sort of like this:

The host’s boyfriend walked in and said, “What are you two doing? You look like you are plotting something really bad, only you are communicating without words. I can’t figure out what you two are up to. This is scary. I’m leaving.”

Sixes and Sevens: Do you have a key for his place?
Velvet: Actually, I have access to the lockbox, so yes, technically I have a key.
Sixes and Sevens: How awesome would it be for him to come home and find me in his bed?
Velvet: I’ll get our coats.

We bid our farewells and ran through Dupont giggling like two schoolgirls on a mission of sexual terrorism. He beat us home though, so there was no reason for breaking into his house, sooooo, all was finally right with the world. I retreated to my cave to watch Forensic Files. (I made up for it the next night…)

At one a.m. I got this text:

“I’m 3/4 naked, half baked, and he just came on my face.”

Well done, my girl. Very well done.

I love those Bush twins. Since the attempted passing off of a fake ID with Secret Service in tow, I’ve been smitten. Now, I don’t often mention the following, well, because, I just don’t. Cue soap opera style flashback to the year 2000.

Mom: So honey, who are you voting for?
Me: I dunno. I’ll never forgive Tipper Gore for that whole PMRC label on Hair Bands in the late 80’s. So, I guess I’m voting for Bush because his redeeming quality is that he looks like Daddy.
Mom: Jesus Christ, he does. I was just telling your father that the other day.

(Of course this resemblance wasn’t as funny by the 2004 election. We all voted for Kerry because drunken Boston Irishmen with bad hair and exaggerated hand gestures are something we Connecticutters can relate to, more than a family resemblance at least.)

To this day, I find it hard to malign GW because he reminds me of my dad. My younger, longer-grudge-bearing, Iraqi-hating, misplaced-war-declaring, dad. The GW similarities to my Dad don’t stop at physical.

I love when Jenna says bye to her mom, and GW tries to hang up on her too, not understanding that he’s supposed to stay on the phone. (No no dude, you’re the President. They want to talk to you!) Or at the end where Ellen says, “Do you want to say Merry Christmas to the audience?” to which he says, “Of course I do! Tell my little girl that I love her!” Um, what? Technically that wasn’t a Merry Christmas to the audience. Totally my dad. Certifiably “out of it” 24/7. (Cue Will Ferrell as GW: That’s 24 hours a week, 7 months a year…)

Let’s recap a recent conversation. Sadly, this reveals our family weakness and makes me look stupid in the process, but I’m not sure what you expected from someone who admittedly votes for Presidents based on their patriarchal likeness. My family has a thing for coupons and rebates. We enjoy them. We love coming up with hundreds of addresses to maximize returns on the mail-in rebate. See, the mail-in-rebate is designed as a “perceived” savings to the consumer, but in the long run (hello Econ 101) really only benefits the seller because most people wouldn’t take the time to fill it out and jump through the hoops required to satisfy the condition for that extra dollar to be mailed in 12-97 weeks. But we’re not “most people.” We like a challenge. And free money! I can practically smell the cash!

Me: Hey, Mom? Is Dad there?
Mom (to the house:) PICK UP THE PHONE IT’S THE BABY!!!!!
(Shut up. I’ll always be the baby.)
Dad (picking up the phone:) Yeah?
Me: Hey, I got this coupon you sent for $10. But those were cash rebates we filled out. Did you run out of addresses or something? Why are they sending a coupon?
Dad: I’ll check.
Me: No, there’s nothing to check. You sent this to me. I got the coupon from you. It came from you with all these newspaper clippings, which, by the way, please stop sending me. I know what herpes looks like.
Dad: That’s not me, that’s your mother.
Me: Dad! The coupon. Where did it come from?
Dad: I deposited the rebate. Your brother told me to.
(This comment accurately implies a massive family plot. I can’t deny this. We all have roles in rebate-gate.)
Me: No. I’m talking about the one you just sent me. I just got it in the mail. From you. They should have sent a check, but if you used your address twice, they might not. They might send a coupon instead.
Dad: Yes.
Me: It wasn’t a yes or no question Dad.
Dad: I don’t know.
Me: Are you talking to me or someone else? Is Mom still on?
Mom: I’m here.
Me: Is he okay? What the hell is he saying?
Mom: He’s like this all day honey. No one ever knows what he’s saying.
Me: Dad, is someone toying with your medicine?
Dad: Who?
Mom: The train is coming honey. We’re going into the city. We’ll call you back.
Me: No. Please don’t.
Mom: I can’t hear you. We’ll call you back.

I wanted to let it go to voicemail when they called back. But my mother will sit there talking to the voicemail going, “Hello? Are you there? Pick up if you are,” not realizing of course, that it’s all inside that itty bitty computer and there’s no answering machine connected to my cell phone that I just carry around with me. Perhaps that’s better than Jenna and her dad though, I think I heard her tell Ellen that her parents don’t have an answering machine.

Excellent. Mine have one, though they don’t believe in call waiting. Maybe if it came with a rebate…

“T’is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” ~ Alfred Tennyson

Is it? I’m not so sure. I feel for people who fall in love, then fall out and never find it again. I think it’s much worse to know what you’re missing, than it is to never know. Those who have been in love seem like they are on the eternal quest to find something they lost. Someone who can equal or emulate that feeling…like an addict chasing their first high.

I know people in both camps, and those who have never been in love seem so much happier, generally speaking, than those who have. The ones I know of share a startlingly similar quality – they are the Jerry Seinfeld’s of the world – the jokesters, the ones who make you laugh, the ones always cracking jokes. The only redeeming quality to finding, and losing love, that I can see, is that once you have it in your life, you can so easily see it when it hits you again.

I’ve always felt that falling in love is a way of being reminded that we’re not really in control of our lives, and falling out of love, or worse, experiencing a broken heart, is a way of reminding us that we’re alive and that things can touch us. Of course, I’m open to debate on all of my middle of the night ramblings.