*I am still trying to get the lady who was accosted at the dog park to come out of her house and give me the names of D.C.’s worst cops. I have not forgotten.*
So, I had a typical “old-school” Velvet kind of week and weekend. But in the spirit of not venturing down the personal lane ever again, I’ll leave it at this handy recap:
Punches thrown: 2
Vacations Planned: 3
Vacations Booked: 1
Number of dogs in my condo: 6
People who told me I was their soulmate: 1
Times 911 was called: 1
Times 911 asked me to repeat my story: 2
Times 911 called back and asked me to repeat story again: 1
Number of colors the witnesses reported the perp’s shirt as being: 4
Number of times my stuff has been demanded back from the hostage taker: 3
Number of times hostage taker has refused, using the same excuse used in all other situations where stuff is being held hostage: 3
Times I thought about putting hostage taker’s balls in a vice grip: 114
Time in the sun: 6 hours
Time at the bar: 5 hours
Possible gunshots fired: 2
Times jaw dropped to floor: 2. Once when I learned I was the subject of a rumor so delicious that even I don’t care to deny it and once I bumped into someone who I thought I might never see again.
Hours spent embroiled in newest brewing scandal: 6
Obnoxious strangers who disrespected me and then felt my wrath: 2. One picked up her dog and completely left the dog beach, the other took his strollers and multiple children and hopefully went back to the suburbs. There is a third if you count the bitch from the week before who I called a “dumb cunt” when she accosted me in front of 20 people to accuse me of abusing my dogs. I didn’t know that tying them outside the post office while I went in to mail a package qualified for abuse. Thankfully she invaded both my space and didn’t mind her business to tell me.
Times my life came 359 degrees, shocking me so much I landed in a cab, flying across town to complete the final degree: 1. And it was worth every minute.