An artist never really finishes his work; He merely abandons it. ~ Paul Valery
I love everything about you. You have been here for me for the last 18 months. They haven’t all been good times, but I’ve learned a lot and I have you to thank for that…I guess. I mean, I could thank myself too I suppose. I’m the one who over the last year and a half dated about 40 men. Very, very poorly I might add.
But the nature of our relationship, dear sweet blog, has changed. In writing about my dating escapades, I have somehow become…hunted. Allow me to explain. I have had the following happen to me since I started this blog in June, 2005:
- I’ve endured a horrible, threatening parody blog that likes to come back to life to spew the incoherent ramblings of its psychopathic author. What kind of 40 year old man with a wife and kids threatens a woman’s dogs who live on the other side of the country? Such a good example you are setting for your daughter there, crackpot. I can only hope your Amanda is the victim of harrassment like you enact on me. That would be schweet.
- I’ve had readers contact me to tell me that someone was searching for me on technorati, looking for bloggers who link to me. Am I really that interesting? Shit, just email me. I’ll tell you what you want to know.
- I’ve had a “reader” unravel* in my comments, then contact my commenters and strike up a conversation about me. *Unraveling = great fun and entertainment for the rest of us, by the way.
- I’ve also discovered from several people that another certain someone (who has repeatedly attempted to forge a dating scenario with me) has been contacting various “suspected insiders” and asking them to divulge the password. The “insiders” didn’t make up a very long list, and it didn’t take very long for that information to make its way back to me. Who does this? I mean, when you are striking up a conversation with someone you barely know and have rarely spoken to, then you ask for a password, doesn’t it like, click in your peasize, webnovel writing brain that what you are doing is INSANE?
- I’ve had many solicitations from readers for dates – readers I’ve never heard of, who have never commented and became irate when told, “no.”
- I’ve found references to me on other sites calling me a “trainwreck skank.” Really? I’m a trainwreck skank? Huh. Who knew that someone could use such vicious words about a woman they DON’T FUCKING KNOW. And I’m sorry that your life is so, snore, boring, yawn, that what you perceive as a “trainwreck” is a boatload of fun for me. It’s what they call “living.” But really, stay on your couch watching Oprah get fat, get thin, then get fat again.
- I’ve also seen people bitching online about why they can’t read Velvet anymore because of the password, and why doesn’t she just “close the blinds all the way?” I own the domain and the content and I can do whatever I want. I can grant a password. I can tell you no. Stop being such a baby.
Why does all this bother me so much? Initially I was disturbed by these people and their evident psychoses. My first instinct was that there are some definite personality traits that seem common to a lot of bloggers. Seriously, I know many bloggers with self-admitted mental illnesses. It makes them act out in ways that are, well, not understandable to me. But of course, part of my growth as a person involves the act of constantly looking at my own behavior as well. What have I done to drive some of the above people to this behavior?
I’m stumped. I’m not sure what it is that I’m writing about that’s making some people crazy. I don’t think what I write about is very controversial. It’s always about me. There’s no deep level commentary. There are no statements intended to stir people. DCPD excluded. (Aussie Em – that’s the D.C. Police Department, not to be confused with the other acronym I use here, “CVS.” Love you Em!) I have a simple formula here at Velvet in Dupont: I date, and I write about it. So what? But obviously, it isn’t as easy as a “so what” for some people. I don’t want to be responsible for driving any more people to the levels of insanity I’ve seen from them, all because they want to read this blog and/or get to the writer – me.
That said, I’m returning my dating, sexcapades and other personal romantic information to the nightstand drawer. This, ladies and gentlemen, is no longer a personal dating journal. You will now find mundane stories here about Sammy and Thora, Dupont Circle, me getting more tattoos, as well as generic dating and relationship posts that may draw on past personal experience, may be about friends, but will not be current with my life right now. Perhaps one day I’ll get saucy and toss in a post about a coatroom blowjob just to see if everyone left is still awake. Don’t count on it any time soon though.
“Art has to do more than look good. It has to disturb the inner spirit.” – Luelan Boddan, with many others stating a similar observation.
Is writing art? I have no idea. I don’t think so because it comes so easy to me. But I’m obviously disturbing a few (already unbalanced) people. I don’t want to be responsible for any more of this insanity. It puts all of us in danger, as we have to share the streets with these psychopaths. I’m sorry about that. I won’t do it again. I can’t guarantee there won’t be any future password protected posts, because sometime’s a girl’s just gotta have secrets. But I’ll try to keep that to a limit. It’s not my intention to exclude people who have been so nice and supportive, but, it’s hard to understand how some of the strangers feel entitled to have my life broadcast to them. This isn’t a book. Y’all aren’t paying you know. In life, there are no guarantees.
To the rest of you, the majority, who sent emails to check in and who expressed concern, you all are awesome. Thanks for your well wishes. It didn’t go unnoticed.
French kisses to all, except the 40 I’ve dated and the
five six seven of you who belong in an asylum. You know who you are.