More on worlds colliding in a bit.
But first, let me entertain you with a story about Saturday night, when Marci, Buggie and I met at a country bar in Alexandria. (Careful, if you click that link it plays music even too redneck for ME!) We tried to make it to the 8:00 line dancing lessons, but the torrential rain threw a wrench in that plan. So, the girls arrive, and thereby begins 4 straight hours of PhotoHunt on the Megatouch machine. Shortly after I realized my butt cheeks were asleep, I suggested we make our way over to the yee hawing over on the dance floor. And we did.
It wasn’t long before Buggie had herself a little boyfriend, who we will call Flip Flop boy. Marci and I jetted around the dance floor together, then with some other men in cowboy hats, then together again. Did you know that you can take an ordinary man, slap a cowboy hat on him, and he becomes instantly hot? Instantly. It’s a formula guaranteed to work on even the homeliest of men. I promise. Some cowboy took a fancy to me and we danced for several songs. He talked about moving to California and told me how he didn’t think he would mesh with the culture and their political values. Yeah, um, so where’s that Megatouch machine again? He gave me his phone number, but you know I won’t call him because that just ain’t my style, and because while I’m not a bleeding heart either, I find that this makes me ill suited to date an extremist:
|You are a
You are best described as a:
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test
Two a.m. came really fast, and as Marci and I loaded up the MegaTouch again, we had no idea that the bouncer would literally have to kick us out. It was a conversation that went like this: “Girls, you really have to leave.” And Buggie saying, “Okay, but we’ll be BACK!” In the parking lot, I heard, “We’re coming here EVERY WEEKEND.” Yeah, see? Cowboys are way nicer than normal D.C. folk. Way nicer. And you girls made fun of me! So that was Saturday. Okay. Sunday. I cringe for this entire story, from beginning to end. I’m going to shorten it significantly because, well, ugh. Okay. Here we go.
I’ve been giving something a lot of thought, and frankly, I just need opinions on it, so fire away on this. A few situations have come up that I can’t write about for one reason or another, and it makes me question my entire loss of anonymity and the integrity of this blog. It’s never happened before that I can’t write about something, but now that day is here and I feel trapped. Of course we all know there is nothing I can do to go back and fix it, but I’m not sure what to do from here. I’d just sort of been mulling it over for the past couple weeks. Then I turned an old old old online profile back on. I know, I know, I said I would never do it again. But, I had a good reason. Or so I thought.
I had my zip code in as Phoenix. I was trying to plan ahead. Okay, not really, I just wanted to fish around in my city of choice and see what was in the pond. It didn’t last very long because I got slapped around by the therapist who told me to just change it back to D.C. and give it another chance. So I did. And got emails. And never changed my user name…Velvet. Nothing else, nothing about Dupont, nothing about anything else identifying, just Velvet.
So I get an email with the title saying, “Have I read your blog.” Um. Yeah. I am BAD at this game. Bad. Anyway, the emails ensue, and he asks me to have dinner Sunday night. I agree, mainly because his profile says he’s too busy to get involved with someone. Fucking awesome. There’s a non-committal situation I can get behind. Okay, so I go, intent on asking about the blog comment, and prepared to tell the truth, because lying is just too hard. Put on your seatbelts.
Me: So, what was that subject line all about.
Him: Yeah, I read some Velvet in Dupont this morning.
Him: It’s no big deal, I liked it actually.
Me: Yeah, I’ve heard that before, and it didn’t work out so well. How on earth did you connect that?
Him: A friend was at my house and said, ‘Oh, I wonder if that’s Velvet in Dupont.’
I long for the days when I had 4 readers. Okay, no I don’t. But here goes the age old question – how do I date someone who reads what you write about them, and how would I date others (provided there are any) when one of the people knows about the others because they read about it. While you’re thinking about that for me, let’s discuss the walk home.
Straight past the dog park at 1:15 a.m. (yeah, dinner was that good,) and there are two people in there. Sort of weird for a Sunday night, but anyway, I didn’t think much of it until we got closer. I see it’s my dog park friend, and The Bartender. What. The. Fuck.
Do I need to move? Is it possible that I know and/or have dated so many people that this was bound to happen? Help. Seriously. I’m considering shutting down again and resurfacing as a new identity. Though, my writing style and constant swearing would probably give me away.