Month: July 2008

It’s “What has Velvet learned about dating” week over here and we’ve got our next installment. You might want to grab a snack because we’re going to be here for a few minutes and you’re going to participate in the class discussion. Ready?

This is exponentially more important in D.C. because people are in love with their jobs here for some stupid reason.

A man’s profession is very very important in decoding how he will treat you. Let’s take a look at some various professions and what you can determine from each.

1. Lawyer
   Likes to argue. Will never let you win an argument. Will resort to confusing justifications to trick you into believing he is right. Compromise is not a word he knows well because any sort of compromise means that he lost. Losing is not in his nature.
2. Salesman
   Look, this ain’t no Willy Loman type of salesman to which I’m referring. His title will be something important sounding like “Pharmaceutical Consultant,” “East Coast Account Executive” or “Surgery Specialist.” Sounds important but really isn’t. Basically if his title can be dumbed down to being in his car all day gathering road rage while he “calls on” clients, and his clients are doctors to whom he brings lunches and other goodies, then he’s a salesman. And a salesman, ladies, will tell you anything you want to hear just to get what he wants. For him, it’s all about making the sale. And goodwill won’t last long with him – it’s always going to be “Yeah, well what have you done for me lately?”
3. Entrepreneur
   La Zipcode had an email from a man on match who “owned his own business.” Listen up: This is not necessarily a claim to fame. Do not pursue this man because you think he has endless supplies of money and vacation time to take you to Paris. The man who owns his own business (and works alone) most likely does so because he hates working with, for and beside others. He cannot get along well with people, and thinks he is smarter than everyone else. Thinking you are smarter than everyone else is much different from thinking other people are stupid. Other people are stupid, I agree that that’s true. But most of us are not so arrogant that we actually believe we’re the supreme of the smarts. There is a giant exception to this rule. If he has employees, and he treats them well (i.e., does not refer to them as a “stupid son of a bitch” daily) then you’re okay. Starting your own business isn’t necessarily a sign of antisocial behaviors if you employ and play nice with others. But if he has no employees? Get out of there faster than Britney turned white trash.
4. Cop
   Good lord do I even need to go here? Cops are arrogant assholes on major power trips. Bossy and self-important, you’ll never have any fun in this relationship because it will always be about his job job job. His job will always take precedence over yours because sitting in the cruiser eating a powdered, strawberry filled while watching the Picadilly Cafeteria across the street for any suspicious activity from the Blue Hairs is way more demanding than anything you could possibly spend your day doing. The only upside here is that he has handcuffs, but it’s not enough of an upside when you can buy pretty much anything you might want, here.
5. Military, ex-Military
   Run. Run as fast as you can. These dudes are fucking scary. They like order, routine, and think nothing of waking up at 4 a.m. and expecting you to as well. Something happens to our boys when they enter the military – they get that training to hunt and kill and it makes something in their head snap. Laid-back military refugees are hard to find. Most of them are wound tighter than the rubber bands around Star Jones’ stomach.

What professions did I miss?

Why don’t you take a bathroom break and when we come back I’ll finish it up.

Online Dating:

Men describe themselves as better looking than they usually are. Women describe themselves as worse looking than they usually are. To us, “a few extra pounds” means just that: five extra pounds. If we were 10 extra pounds, we would, in the spirit of honesty, describe ourselves as curvy. Men? Yeah. Anywhere from 5’2 98 lbs to 6’5 550 lbs they think is “average.”

The premise of online dating is that you answer a bunch of questions for both yourself as well as your potential mate, spin the wheel and start bidding. These websites seem to be set up for failure. If I took the people in my life who were great boyfriends, fun to be around and passed my sniff test, most of them would not fit into the little prescribed box of qualities I would select.

My first boyfriend was a smoker. I would “never” date a smoker. But I did. For six years. Mr. X has been married before. While this doesn’t necessarily rule someone out for me, there’s clearly baggage there that I’d rather not deal with. But in both cases, it just worked out to become a wonderful relationship. If I used an online questionnaire to weed people out, I would have never met the loves of my life. So you have to think outside the box, and you have to test and jump out of your comfort zone.

Since these sites continue to include generic profile questions, I would like to make a suggestion to them. The world would be much happier if they included a section on teeth with a picture of his chompers required. I would like for this section to include information about the color of teeth, as well as how straight they are. There are a lot of bad teeth online. Just sayin!

In fact, all online dating questionnaires should be destroyed. In their place, I’d like to suggest the following:

1) Please submit a letter of recommendation from your dentist with full dental impressions.
2) Who is your last ex-girlfriend and what is her phone number so she can be called in as a reference? Yes, I think you’re lying when you say she was crazy.
3) What is your propensity to be psycho, scale of 1-10; 10 being the most psycho? (Add 4 to his answer.)
4) How big is your penis? If you lied about the above and I get far enough with you to find out otherwise, you will live to regret it. So now is your last chance. How big is your penis?
5) Do you have any gifts that keep on giving?
6)Do you now or have you ever lived in a trailer park?

Any others?

Those questions would save a lot of women, a lot of heartache. Myself included. Though, as I said to Mr. X the other night:

“I would take 20 more bad relationships to get to this one again.”

And he said, “Well, lucky for us, you don’t have to.”

Good luck girls!

This post has been sitting in my drafts since December 2006. Considering I’m a “think-it-say-it” kind of girl, I’m not sure why I never posted this. But the advent of several friends suddenly joining match.com encouraged me to dust this off and finish it up. Hopefully you will reap the benefits of the extra 19 months this was aged.

Consider it a farewell to dating post or something like that. It’s about what I have learned from dating.

Oh, make your jokes. I know you will say that I’ve learned nothing. But you’re wrong. I have been taking notes.

What I’ve Learned About Dating:

Disclaimer: It’s very important to stereotype. Stereotyping can save you a lot of grief in the long run because the only thing standing between a dead on, snap-judgment first impression and giving someone a second chance is just two drinks.

Here we go. Pay attention.

1) Men tell you who they are within 5 minutes of meeting them. Don’t talk too much. You might miss it, and you’ll spend the rest of your relationship trying to figure out what he already told you. In the beginning of any contact, the guard is down. As soon as you say a few things to pique his interest, his guard starts slowly going up. The more charming you are, the less he will be his true self. And what he chooses to say in those first few minutes is crucial. Is he talking about his dying cat, ex-girlfriend, porn? Pay attention. It will help and or save you later. Trust me.

What’s tricky here is that this works in the reverse too – before you realize you are interested in him, you might tell him about that clit piercing. I’d recommend you pretend your other lips are pierced (closed) and don’t say a word. Smile and nod.

2) Chemistry is a tricky, elusive, thing. You will have chemistry with people who are good for you and people who are not. It is very very important to make wise decisions here. Otherwise you’ll find yourself ripping off your clothes in the front seat of a Lexus with some guy who looks like Vanilla Ice and only when you are looking for your bra do you realize there’s a babyseat in the back. Um. Not that that ever happened to me or anything.

3) Dating is a numbers game. What did your Grandma say? You have to kiss many frogs to get a prince? Yeah, that. Get out there and meet potential mates as often as you can. Because you just never know from around which corner the next love of your life is going to emerge. I guarantee you that if you went out on 50 dates this year, no less than two of those guys would become something important in your life. Are they good odds? No. They’re not. But is there a guarantee? Yes. Because there is no way you could date 50 men who meet your minimum requirement to even get to date 1, and not find someone worthwhile.

4) The balance of power becomes warped if you accept favors from men. If he’s a man you don’t want to date and he did some work for you or did you a favor, pay him for it. If he won’t give you a dollar amount, figure one out. But don’t let the payment be in the form of a date. Only American dollars work here. I used to fall for this. Some mongoloid would show up and hang a few pictures and then I’d find myself out on the pity-payback date. If he is a man you do want to date, thank him however you see fit, (a little cocksucking never hurt anyone) but if he constantly brings it up or tries to make you feel forever indebted to him, then fork over some cash (or swallow.)

More tomorrow.

I was at the gym this evening, getting reacquainted with my old friend, the treadmill. I was dreading this. A six week break from running is fine. But when you cut that break short   from its original estimated duration of somewhere between ten weeks and two years because of a culinary disaster that included beer, pizza and a Chocolate Dirt Cake – not good. It’s all fun and games until you’re booking two side-by-side seats on an airline. One-way. For yourself.   Because you are the supreme fattest. And I’m so glad I decided to go back to the gym tonight, because I got that extra boost of a workout when I had to kayak home. Where the hell did that rain come from?

There go another pair of $100 running shoes by the way.

Anyway, it was my plan to regale you with more stories of how ridiculously in love I am. Stories of Mr. X and I, doing crosswords, looking at condos, making out by the sweltering kitchen in the basement of a restaurant. Then I thought better of that. I’m sort of even making myself vomit now. I mean, really. You don’t have to be disgusted with me because believe me. I am disgusted with myself.

Instead, I will share with you an email, in which Sixes takes a hit from the King of the Dog Park. This is, by far, my most favoritest of all group emails received in 2008.

King of the Dog Park, begins an email to the following cast of characters:

Sixes
E
Velvet
The Hostess
The Rockstar
The Stoic

King of the Dog Park, housesitting a mere block away from his real home and feeling very left out of the loop for some reason, begins the chain: I was stood up by a 21 year old Mexican last night. Remember “McDonald’s Boy?”   I’m not answering his calls ever again. Well, unless he calls a second time. V, how are the dogs? Are we doing a commando attack this week?

Velvet: Sammy and Thora had solid poop this morning! It seems that perhaps that bag of food I got in Fairfax was bad. That confirms it for me: Everything outside the city sucks. Not sure about the attack but definitely there must be a way to ruin lives. Ruining lives is fun.

Might I pause for an interlude and some clarification ~ The King of the Dog Park is housesitting. And his backyard and a certain ex of mine who decided to move a block away from me face each other. As in, the King literally sleeps under 25 feet from that lunatic.

E: Glad to hear the kids are better. Bumping into you know who is inevitable. Let’s spend our time figuring out how to find fresh meat for the King.

Sixes: Mmm. Meat.

Rockstar: It’s a good thing you left us all of your contact information. Like the other side of the street is in another world!

King: Oh, I was too tired for the 21 year old anyway.   And the 1700 block of this street is way different than the 1600 block, okay?

Velvet: I have to monitor someone’s email at work and the shit I just read burned my brain. Must process. Back in a few.

King: This should be good. It takes a lot to burn your brain. Now, “McDonald’s Boy” just called. He apologized for last night and said time slipped away from him. Well, this is what he would have said if he spoke English.   Now I feel stupid, bragging to the Rockstar about all the ass I was getting….

Sixes: All you people who are getting laid non-stop can kiss my fat ass.

King:   Not everyone is getting laid…..Let me see, E is getting laid, Velvet is getting laid, The Hostess is probably getting laid, The Rockstar is getting laid, I’m getting laid, and yes, I believe The Stoic is getting laid.

Oh, I’m sorry, I guess everyone but you is getting laid…..

Velvet:   I’m printing this and hanging it on my office door.

Okay, well, maybe not famous, but still…

My tolerance for idiots is at an all time low. Could it be the unbelievable amounts of work that land on my desk each day? This crushing grind of work resulted in a most unpleasant middle-of-the-night exchange with my newest “Most Despised Business in Washington D.C.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, pet owners of all ages, I present to you, Friendship Animal Hospital: A Case Study in Complete Incompetence and Price Gouging!

Details details. Thora was sick. Sick as in, crapping blood and vomiting blood. When Mr. X said, “You’re going to have to break down and call the vet,” I decided maybe he was right. I had been trying to not call the vet for every little thing, but Thora was even yacking up water. So I went to Friendship Animal Hospital at 11:00 p.m. one night last week.

They deemed Thora a “serious emergency” and took her in right away for vitals and some other tests. The tech was very communicative and came out to tell me she was definitely sick (duh) and the doctor would call me after he saw Thora.

12:15 a.m.: The doctor comes out. He looks to be about 14 years old. I hate when vets are younger than me. He asks all the same questions I answered at the front desk AND with the tech. Doesn’t anyone talk to anyone else here? I’ve told this story three times already. Then, he starts telling me that she needs to be on blah blah iv fluids, blah blah, has to stay overnight, blah…then a vet tech bursts into the room.

12:17 a.m.:”Doctor. We have a dog that just went under and we need you.”

12:17 6 seconds a.m.: The doctor says he’ll be back in a minute and rushes out. Time passes. Lots of time.

12:20 a.m.: Texting the hostess. “Fuckers left me in the room.”

12:25 a.m.: Texting anyone: “I think Thora’s gonna die.”

12:30 a.m. Thinks to self: Where the fuck is he? Vet tech number 6 comes out and says the doctor is going to be five more minutes. I said, “Well, he told me Thora needs to stay so I should just go home and get some sleep.”

12:33 a.m.: Thinks to self, Why couldn’t E be here this week so that she could have come with me and bitched them out?

12:35 a.m.: Really pissed. I meander out to the desk and ask to leave. She asks for a deposit. I said, “Well, uh, you have my dog, but okay, I’ll give you whatever you want.” She goes to find out exactly how much they will be raping me for and returns.

12:38 44 seconds, a.m.: “He said he needs to speak with you.”

I protested. I said, “It’s coming up on 1:00 a.m., I need to go home. If Thora isn’t coming, let me go home already and get some sleep!”

At this point, my lack of sleep and my irritation combined to form in my mind an incompetence diagnosis for this place. Everyone I know who brought their dogs here ended up having the dog die anyway. They can’t diagnose anything properly, they just charge the hell out of you until the dog can crawl out of there, dead or alive. I know this. I knew this going in. But I was desperate.

12:45 a.m.: The doctor finally comes out. Might I mention here that there were 6 techs who had put this dog under and it somehow went awry, forcing the doctor to stop his schpeel with me when he was 99% of the way done to go fix what the idiots in the back screwed up? I’m all for prioritizing dog emergencies, but why do I have to suffer at the hands of other’s incompetence? Why are they letting techs put dogs under? Why are there 6 techs back there and they all fucked it up somehow? Why won’t the stupid doctor let me go home and just call me on those things they call telephones?

So he apologizes and I turn into a bitch. I couldn’t believe that they had practically just killed a fucking dog right in front of me, I wanted Thora out of there pronto.

I said I wanted to take my dog home. He says he “highly recommends she stay” overnight. Fighting ensues. As much as I have no confidence in their hospital right now, I can’t let Thora die. Then he returns to get me an estimate for her to stay two nights. Yeah. When he came back with that fucking paper I almost punched him in the face. $1300. ONE THOUSAND THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS. Uh, yeah, okay. I could fly to Dubai for that kind of money. Asshole. I laughed in his face and said, “For a stomach virus? Give me a break. What are you planning on doing to her for all that money?”

He said something about IV Fluids and how imperative it is that she get re-hydrated then I almost really punched him in the face. Then I said, “So, how much fluid have you put in her now?”

(Let’s do the time. The time was approximately 12:55 a.m. I tell you this so that you’ll know at exactly what hour you realized you wanted to punch him in the face too.)

“We haven’t given her any fluids, yet. We’ll do that when you leave.”

“She’s been here two hours and you say she’s extremely dehydrated and you have yet to give her fluids? What are you waiting for?”

If I wasn’t so concerned that Thora could have died, I would not have left her there. But I did. I get to the front to pay my deposit. The clerk asks if I was okay. She shouldn’t have asked.

1:07 a.m. “NO AS A MATTER OF FACT, I’M NOT OKAY! You guys are notorious for this. You take the dogs in, you charge a boatload of money and then you can’t even come up with a diagnosis and most of my friend’s dogs all died anyway.”

She says, I kid you not: “We don’t kill that many dogs, well, we don’t kill any, we hardly, well this is a good hospital.”

(In my head I started counting the dogs who came here, got a bullshit diagnosis and either died or got better in spite of their encounter with Friendship.)

Yeah. Okay. I said, “I learned my lesson. I will not be coming back here. It was rude of you to keep me waiting when I already knew my dog needed to stay here. It was wrong of you to not give her fluids when she’s been here 2 hours. It’s crap that this bill is going to be $1300 for a stomach flu and the funniest part is you won’t let me go home and I have a job I have to go to in the morning so I can pay your damned bill!!!!”

She goes, again, kid you not: “Oh, you have a job, so it’s gonna be like that.”

I inform her that I’m coming at 7 a.m. to get Thora and she is to be ready because I can’t screw around for an hour. She tells me it takes an hour to check her out, we argue some more and I make her get the doctor. He comes out and I tell him that Thora is to be ready at 7 a.m. He says okay. I leave and say my only vocal swear of the evening, “This is bullshit” as I’m going out the door.

7 a.m. rolls around pretty damn fast when you think your dog is dying at the hands of high school aged incompetents.

I walk in at 7 on the dot and the same bitch who gave me lip the night before is giving me the stare-down from the back room. Some other girl checks me out, asks if I need the records for my vet, I say yes and she hands me a few papers. I left. Thora seems okay, but maybe just happy to see me and happy to not be in a cage anymore.

8:30 a.m.: When I got to work, I’d planned on faxing those papers to my vet. That is, until I read them. They talk about what a bitch I am, and though it is written in ebonics, I can understand the gist of what she is saying. Her version is that I was a cursing cunt and she was perfect and spouted hospital policy to me. Lies lies lies. Someone’s nose is growing on Brandywine.

8:40 a.m.: I called the hospital and left a message in the Manager’s voicemail.

9:05 a.m.: The manager called back. I told her the entire story. Then I said, “And the front desk actually wrote a bunch of lies about me and printed it and gave it to me. So not only will I never come to your hospital again, but I’m telling everyone I know not to.” She was nice and apologetic, but who cares? They deserve a boycott. Or just to come up in some google searches about what a horrible hospital they are.

I’d like to think I’m helping that along…one post at a time.

Updates I found on Yelp from Michelle’s suggestion:

City Paper Article

“According to DCRA records, Friendship has been quite prolific in racking up complaints. When the newly constituted veterinary board met in November 2003, there were eight complaints waiting for its review. Of the eight complaints, five involved veterinarians at Friendship, which is a high-volume clinic. An investigation in 2001 also found eight people practicing veterinary medicine at Friendship without a license. Glassman is quick to mention that there were “mitigating circumstances,” pointing out that the board concluded that those offenses weren’t actionable ones.”

Article illustrates all the claims against Friendship, then the DCRA review board which was disbanded until 2003, then reconvened with full members. One of their board members, a Jay Merker, was a vet with Collins Animal Hospital and had received several complaints against him as well. All in all, the article says that the district’s animal services are horrible.

“In the seven times that the board has met since 2003, Merker’s name has come up four times. Chris Runde, chair of the Maryland vet board, can’t think of any sitting Maryland board member who has drawn a consumer complaint. Says Runde: “That would be an uncomfortable situation.”

Unfortunately, in D.C., it’s a relatively common one, too. And when Merker is named in a complaint, it forces the board into an interesting bureaucratic dance.”