Month: April 2009

And Then (We’ll) Settle Down, There’s a Quiet Little Town, And Forget About Everything

Monday, April 27, 2009 / Velvet / 10 Comments

The Love of My Life and the two furry loves of my life went to the beach this weekend. (Do I have to clarify that I mean Sammy and Thora? Because I know how your minds might think that two furry loves of my life are, well, something else.) In case you missed it, this weekend was the undoing of the semi-annual season change. Winter. Summer. Winter. Summer. In the fall you may notice it as the ass-fucking weekend where you’re frolicking alone enjoying 70 degree temperatures, when BAM, all the leaves are on the ground and are subsequently covered by 4 feet of snow. This weekend was the fortunate reversal where we go from 30 degrees to July practically overnight. Joy.

X, the dogs and I piled into Speedracer. We have been looking at getting an SUV as a third car between both of us. We need something bigger than the two-seater Speedracer, and Mr. X’s vehicle doesn’t fit the kids and the dogs. (I told you Mr. X has kids, didn’t I? No? Oh. Well he does. Two. And one of them told me Friday that I was soooo cool. I’ve waited 36 years to hear those words. Soooo cool. Don’t you forget it! ) Anyway, while we’re in the car, this conversation took place at exactly 5th and Florida, still in Northwest.

X: So Mike from the car dealer at the beach called me. He said they got a new truck in this week off a lease and it’s gray.
V: OMG! How much is it?
X: I don’t know.
V: What color is the interior?
X: I don’t know.
V: How many miles are on it?
X: I don’t know.
V: Didn’t you talk to him?
X: Yes.
V, officially becoming my mother: And so did you find out anything besides there’s a car and it’s gray?
X: No.
V: (inaudible grumbles)

Occasionally I would pipe up with another question, realizing, I would be better off shutting up and waiting until we got there, since Captain Detail had found out exactly nothing about the truck. I did make sure to open the windows in Speedracer enough times to get dog heads and dog slobber at our ears as they tried to get their little muzzles out the window, just so Mr. X would realize what we’re destined to deal with if we don’t buy a school bus a bigger car.

We arrive at the dealer and I just want to inform you that spending 4 hours inside a car dealer on the first Saturday of the year when it hits 80 degrees is not the ideal place to be. It was worse for Sammy and Thora who were inside Speedracer in the parking lot. And wait, it was worse for Speeedracer, whose engine I left running and A/C on full blast so the dogs wouldn’t die. And wait, it was worse for my wallet as I burned through most of the gas in my tank. Finally I asked if I could bring the dogs inside. Permission granted. I should have asked hours earlier.

Then begin the negotiations. The truck price was $22,800. I have been doing research and that was a very on target price for what we wanted. But Mr. X decided, based on no relevant information, that he wanted to pay $18,000. So we go back and forth and then Mike has to go talk to his manager. A minute passes. Then two minutes. Mr. X says, “No takes only 2 seconds.” I was convinced they were going to eject us from the deal KITT style.

They return with all the paperwork showing all the money they spent on the car. Detailing. Oil changes. Service. Car Fax. Blah. Blah. Blah. Then the manager comes over and explains why the price is already low and they can’t do it at $18 because they would lose money but maybe just maybe we could meet in the middle somewhere? So we say okay, they say okay, everyone says okay and we discuss something around $20.5. Then the manager gets up to go back to his desk and turns around and says, “We’ll just do it at an even $20.” Um. What? Then they run our credit.

Mike: The manager said you two have such good credit you can buy three cars if you want.
X: Oh no! We only need one.
Mike: Hold tight for Elvis.

Did he say Elvis?

Oh. Yes. He. Did.

Out walks an Elvis impersonator who is perhaps the funniest highlight of the entire weekend. He is honest, funny and straightforward. I like him. He reminds me of my dad and most of the old people back home who like to “tell stories.” Well, except he has more sideburn and more pompadour.

Elvis is entertaining us with stories about how he tried to buy a house in the same subdivision where we live and how there were all these problems (no, really? Is it related to the message boards and the people on there?) Then he’s printing some papers and he says, “Let me grab those off the printer out in the hall.”

He gets up to leave to go to the printer and as he’s out in the hall, beyond earshot for the answer and beyond sight for our reaction, he says,

“So when are you two getting married? I’ll sing at your wedding.”

Women Seeking Men; Murderers Need Not Apply

Wednesday, April 22, 2009 / Velvet / 18 Comments

I know several people who found their spouses from Craigslist. I know people who found furniture from Craigslist. I know a lady who found and bought my Harley off the ad I placed on Craigslist. I know people who found apartments, cars, bikes from Craigslist. You see where this is going, right?

It was only a matter of time. Now we know that people have been killed for using Craigslist.

Warning: Using Craigslist may be hazardous to your health.

Generally speaking, anything you find on Craigslist should be tossed back like a hot potato. There are a few exceptions, but very few. I’ve become obsessed with this story. I cannot stop reading the news on it. I’ve dragged Cube, Phil and Hammer down with me.

I love when people say, “Oh it couldn’t have been him, he is such a great guy!” That’s my favorite part of the news whenever some idiot unravels and does something really stupid – all the idiots who come to his defense. Besides, I bet there were warning signs. Think of all the times Sideshow Bob got loose and tried to kill Bart Simpson? About 40% of the people I know right now who could snap and murder someone. And when they came to interview me? I’d be all like, “Yep. I knew that mofo was going to slit someone’s jugular one of these days. I’m just glad it wasn’t me!”

A simple little name search for Philip Markoff on The Wedding Channel turns up their registry. Because Pottery Barn yanked their registry list (I really wanted to see the Ginsu Knife Registry anyway) and because they pulled down their website AND their cache, I don’t have a lot to go on. Which brings me to a digression…how are they smart enough to get their website down and yank the cache which necessitates knowing the html code, yet, the idiot was too stupid to mask his IP address when soliciting hookers?

Anyway, one would have thought his fiancee would have been slightly clued in after what she wrote on their “story.” Right now it’s not rendering well in IE, so if you have Firefox, you’ll need to use that.)

Credits go to Phil for the “Editing!”

*By the way – people kept signing their guestbook last night and then getting deleted.

The Fire in Your Eyes Keeps Me Alive

Sunday, April 19, 2009 / Velvet / 13 Comments

We spent a rare but much needed weekend in town. Being that we’re Greek, Mr. X and I had plans for Sunday which was our Easter. I love that the Orthodox Easter (or as I call it, “Greek Easter”) happens after regular Easter because all the candy at CVS is half price already. Win! Anyway, this was the reason we didn’t go to the beach. He asked what I wanted to do the rest of the weekend.

“It’s time to start cleaning.”

You see, my summer plans include the exodus of myself and dogs from the city to take up residence with the man in the burbs. This means we have to consolidate two households into one. This means I have to figure out what to do with all the furniture I cherish so dearly. Thankfully there’s that mostly empty house at the beach…and the garage…sigh.

I needed to address what’s in every drawer, every closet and every orifice, with enough of a break inbetween to ensure my own orifice is, well, you understand.

Friday night I did my customary evening 3 miler, then came home and began to clean. I started in the bedroom closets. I opened a paper bag in the bottom of one closet and it ripped while I was looking in it. Several things I had long forgotten I owned came spilling out all over the floor.

Five dead and no-longer-in rotation vibrators. All the usual suspects were there. The rabbit. The dolphin. The little plastic one that was my first. The broken bullet. Some of them were malformed, not from use, but from time I suppose. Maybe from neglect. Poor wittle wabbit! I looked at Mr. X and said, “What the fuck am I going to do with these?” He asked if I wanted them. I said no, because let’s be honest. Who needs anything else when you have the Magic Wand? So he said, “I’ll take them. I’ll throw them out in my dumpster.”

Well, that was enough of that. Cleaning was suspended until Saturday morning, we headed off to Larry’s Lounge to enjoy the unbelievable weather and make out with the Megatouch Machine. En route, Mr. X is holding the bag with the five broken vibrators inside a hat box.

V: What are you doing with that? Putting it in your car?
X: I’m just going to throw it out on the way.
V: You mean in a garbage on the street?
X: That’s right.
V: But the homeless people dig through the trash looking for food.
X: Well, I think all they’ll find in this bag is your DNA. Did you ever wash any of these when you were done?

Eauuuuu!

He had absolutely no problem dumping that bag in the first trash can he saw. Well. Make that the second trash can he saw. The first one was in front of my building and before he could even think about it I said, “Don’t you dare!”

Cleaning commenced Saturday morning and after several hours and some Bloody Mary’s, we were ready for dinner. I’ve been following a strict South Beach diet for 6 weeks. I completely revamped my life. Since March 2, I have been all-South-Beach, all day, all night. I’ve run close to 60 miles. My clothes are falling off of me. Mr. X says I look wonderful. Everyone who knows me has said I’m melting away. And you know how much weight I’ve lost? Five pounds. That’s right. All that work for Five. Fucking. Pounds. That’s a major frustration. So I decided that now I’ll be taking weekends off my diet. And so off for pasta we went. Yum fucking yum. We ate at our favorite restaurant and I rolled my fat ass out of there 1000 calories richer, so to speak

We went back home at which point I discovered I’m officially 84 years old and my back was in major pain from being hunched over drawers and closets all day. I had to sleep with an icy hot on it. Hot as in hot, yes. Hot as in sexy? Not so much. Nothing screams, “Buddy are you sure you know what you’re doing with this whorebag like, ‘Baby, can you take off my Icy-Hot?'”

Sunday we went up to Baltimore to spend the day with Greeks. All I’ll say about that is, “There’s one in every family.” You know the one. The asshole? This post is too long as it is, so I’ll just leave you with this: Don’t look in any Dupont Circle garbage pails until after next trash pickup, if you see Icy-Hot’s on sale anywhere in the metro area please let me know, and the Psychiatrist is the person who probably most needs to be hauled off in a straitjacket.

Christos Anesti!

I Have More Than What I Wanted, But I Wish That I Had Started Long Before I Did

Wednesday, April 15, 2009 / Velvet / 14 Comments

I knew Mr. X a long time before we met. In my heart, I always knew that. It’s a spin on the old cliche, “When you know, you just know.”

When I was five I had my first in a series of celebrity crushes. I cycled through all the celebrity crushes the other day and tried to determine what it was about them I liked. Then I realized, “Holy shit. All my celebrity crushes remind me of Mr. X in some way.” At least, in terms of personality, he reminds me of them based on a character they played.

Celebrity Crush #1, 1979 – 1981: Greg Evigan

You probably know him from BJ and the Bear. He’s BJ. Not the bear. Mr. X does NOT remind me of a monkey. Just need to make that clear for you in the back, okay?

There is a picture of Mr. X when he’s about 27 at his mom’s house. They look incredibly similar. Mr. X won’t see this. He’ll text me in five minutes to tell me he looks nothing like BJ NOR the bear. But I will beg to differ. Okay, so we established that this is how I like my men to look. Next!

Celebrity Crush #2, 1980: James Garner

Ohhh the Rockford Files. What a good show. I learned at 7 years old that for a man to be an alpha, he doesn’t have to be a loud, authoritative assmunch who shits on everyone in his sight. He can be that alpha more effectively without all the power bullshit. Because let’s face it, when a man is really truly an alpha, he doesn’t have to go repeating it at every chance he gets.

That’s my man, fo’ sho. Mr. X isn’t aggressive, but he gets shit done. And everyone thinks he’s their god damned best friend which can be mega-annoying because everyone wants to drain his time. Anyway. Pause for hotness.

Damn, Mr. X even dresses like this. Blazer/no-tie. Hmm, maybe there are more similarities than I realized.

Celebrity Crush #3, 1981 – 1984: Tom Selleck

Mmm…Magnum hotness…

I don’t know what it is about him specifically that makes him the epitome of cool. He was still cool (and smoking hot) when he dated Monica on Friends. Mr. X is so freaking “cool” that his kid’s freaking teachers call him for advice. I swear he gets the weirdest live-and-non-facebook “friend requests.”

Are we sensing the theme by the way? Older men, dark hair, drop dead sexy?

Celebrity Crush #4, 1995-1998 Tommy Lee Jones

I know. By the mid 90’s I was too old for celebrity crushes. But yet, when I saw The Fugitive, I was hooked. TLJ is the kind of authority figure a woman needs. The man just has got it going on. He can take control of a situation and command everyone’s attention, loyalty and respect.

Everyone looked to Mr. X to fix things where we worked a long time ago. The ship was sinking and Celine Dion was singing “Nearrrrr, Farrrrrr, Whereverrrrrr you arrrrre…” but damn if everyone didn’t pile in to Mr. X’s office asking for lifejackets and direction.

Celebrity Crush #5, 1991 – Present: Michael Madsen

Swoon! Move over Brad Pitt, who was that hottttttie in Thelma & Louise? Michael Madsen, you can fly to my desert location and bring me money anyday you want. This is my Mr. X. Saves the day. Saves the year. He always has a “way out,” he can always “fix it,” whatever “it” might be. I need that in a man. It is probably one of the most important characteristics for me – the guy has to know how to trouble shoot. He cannot get us lost in the ghetto and then freak out and not know how to get out of it.

MM gets two pictures because he’s just so hot.

Best gunman evah! Mr. Blonde…

Somewhere wrapped up in all my crushes and the love of my life, Mr. X is the composite man I’ve desired for the better part of 30 years. That’s why I tend to believe that despite what I said about not having a type, I really did have one all along. I’m sorry it took me so long to find him, or for him to find me, but now that I have him, I won’t be letting go.

Because what they say is right, when you know, you just know.

I Read the News Today Oh Boy

Thursday, April 9, 2009 / Velvet / 15 Comments

I’m not sure whose stupid idea it was to not get cable (mine) but the beach house of one Velvet and Mr. X hurts for some quality entertainment. Wait. That implies there’s no sex. That’s not true. We don’t hurt for x-rated entertainment of the self-made variety. But once that’s done, we’re relegated to our Amish exile. Since the neighbors are crazy…yeah. Anyway.

You can only watch your man paint the kitchen Caribbean Yellow with one opposing wall in East India Spice while you do crossword puzzles and stay warm by farting under the blankie because the effing heat is broken in your brand new house and no one knows why for so long before you get positively bored. With a half dozen crabs swimming in several bottles of beer in our stomachs, we sloshed out of the Claws Crab House in Rehoboth and on to the sidewalk. Both of us saw it out of the corner of our eyes. Simultaneously reaching into our pockets for change we ran toward that beacon of hope sitting on the street corner, fighting to get there first.

The newspaper machine! It had been at least three hours without contact from the outside world, and almost four hours without television. Unless you count that singing waitress at Claws, Holly what’s-her-name in the Milton Theatre production, we had spoken to exactly no one but each other. We were desperate to know what we missed. Or at least to know what was going on in the Cape May/Lewes/Rehoboth Corridor.

Thank GOD we picked up that paper! You know what they say. One city’s news is another city’s hamster cage bedding. Well, maybe they don’t say that. But at fifty cents, this was wayyyyy cheaper than cable. And much much funnier. Trannie Matchmaker has nothing on this shit!

Mr. X: Did you see this?
Velvet: Who the fuck is Corey?

I read the article. I still don’t know.

Okay. Fuck you. I read it twice. I still don’t get it. Thanks for calling me out.

Velvet: My mom’s Lazy Boy in Connecticut looks like this.
Mr. X: How does she sit in it?
Velvet: It’s not pretty. She flipped it over and tried to fix it and something snapped and went through her hand. She ended up in the E.R.
Mr. X: Are you kidding?
Velvet: Sadly no.

Mr. X: Look! He always answers his phone! Let’s call him now!
Velvet: It’s after midnight…

Velvet: No! Stop getting up to show me shit in the paper!
Mr. X: But I just want you to see her profile picture! Look at her black tooth!
Velvet: And that’s probably her good side.

Mr. X: This is someone’s job? To be a Wii Therapist?

Is it me or does she look happy? And what does “the matter of the disposition (or not)” mean? Do some people leave the body behind? And their tagline is “Honored to Serve All Communities & Denominations.” Really? Even the Jews. Because excuse me, but I think offering a Jew anything resembling a cremation might be a tad insensitive.

Two pedophiles, one butch Mommy Dearest teacher, a kid front and center with a look on his face like he was the last victim of the dork in the tweed blazer, a white kid on the left whose ass still hurts from his turn as the hole, a kid on the right practicing the harmonica for his role in the school production of Deliverance, and a dog. Best Kindergarten class picture ever.