Friday I had big plans (to go to the gym) but narcoleptically (the red line indicates thats a made up word) fell asleep around 7:00. When my mom called at 9:00 from the Palm Beach Mall to ask me something about god knows what, I could barely form my mouth into words. It’s times like these that having those furballs o’ love is a pain in the ass. I put on my sweats and took them on a very short walk.
When I left my building, I had to maneuver around a guy who was snorting coke or meth right out of a piece of folded paper. Right in public. Right in front of my building. I promptly texted all my drug friends: “It’s official. You don’t have to hide in seedy bar bathrooms anymore snorting off the back of the porcelain bus. Coke is OUT OF THE CLOSET! Snort in public!”
Then I crawled back into bed. I can’t recall when I’ve been this lame. Wait. Sure I can. It was last week when I realized I knew all the words to a country song that starts out with the line, I had a one night stand with my best friends baby sister.
Mr. X had made mention earlier in the week of forgotten opera tickets he was in possession of, but I had plans with a friend. I said, “Didn’t you read ‘The Rules,’ bitch? You’re supposed to ask me like months ahead of time.” Then he said, “That doesn’t apply to the easy girls like you.” Oh yeah. Anyway, I sent telepathic messages to my friend to cancel and she did, so I texted Mr. X with the news: “I’m all yours tonight.” He was at Great Falls walking around thinking about how wonderful I am. He won’t admit it, but he was.
He texted back: “This reminds me of something.”
Insert: Gushing Waterfall
He’s speaking of what goes on between my legs when he’s in the same room with me. Hey. That’s not my fault.
So, just because my mom shops at the Palm Beach Mall doesn’t mean I’m part of the opera set. Usually you can find me falling off a barstool at some dive. But we got dressed all fancy and by fancy, I mean I found a place to wear my shoes!
If you have never been to an opera at the Kennedy Center, let me explain what youre missing: It looks like the Upper East Side threw up in there, with a Palm Beach side dish, a Greenwich Connecticut dipping sauce and the Hamptons for dessert. Its as snooty as it gets. Its email address is email@example.com. Its domain name is blueblood.com. Okay. I’m done. Wait. No I’m not. It’s pearls and Chanel suits. It’s standing around in the front rows staring backward at everyone else coming in so that you can call out to someone you might know and so everyone will see you have front row seats. It’s first names like Henderson and Claire. Now I’m done.
I spent the better portion of the second act masturbating Mr. X through his pants. He used his Playbill to disguise this fact from the Countess sitting to his left. Classy.
We made our exit and discussed some dinner. The rain prompted his suggestion that I change my clothes. No sense in ruining a perfectly good silk DVF and hooker shoes.
When it comes to eating out, I go to the same three places over and over. Mr. X says that you have to try something new every time you eat out. I think thats a good theory. So instead of the regular sushi place, we went to another one. At the restaurant, Mr. X was wishing for the owner to come over and talk to us. Thats his thing. He likes to talk to the owners to find out everything there is to know. In this case, there wasn’t a lot to know but it was funny anyway. The owner sat down and started telling us story after story. His first story was about a waiter he fired for talking too long to the customers. Then in an ironic twist, his next 148 stories included how he got his name from I’mmigration, how the Chef sucked so he closed down for a week, how his dad was killed in Pol Pot, how we should drink his special martini, how he dyes his hair with “ladies dye” from CVS and that you can catch it at two for $10 on sale. Our favorite story was by far the one about a customer he kept saying looked like a hairy cretin. We just assumed that this was his way of saying the customer was an ugly monster.
At the end as we were trying to escape, he said, Yeah, that one wook wike hairy cretin. You know. She wun for Pwesident.
Boy. I thought calling her a manipulative bitch was bad. Before he told one of his last stories before we ran out the door, he turned to each of us and said, “You Jew?” The Asians have a whole new take on hate.
When we got back to my place, the following conversation:
Mr. X: What time is it?
Mr. X: Really? The restaurant closed an hour ago.
Me: Yeah, and we were held hostage by that guy’s stories for almost an hour.
Anyway, he’s a funny little man (the restaurant manager, not Mr. X) so you should go to his restaurant. It’s on 18th and Willard, across from Regent Thai and just north of the much-despised-by-the-locals, Lauriol Plaza.
I heart sushi. I wish it were possible to trade sushi for sex. Cuz that’s a win-win scenario for everyone. Well, mainly me.
Is that the Cherry Blossom place. Next on my list when I come down. And how DARE YOU mention LP a the end of the post.
Close. Plum Blossom I think. Tell me when, I think Mr. X wants to go back and get his Eel Rice again. Plus he has to find out what color dye the owner uses.
Johnny you’re Asian. Did this post offend you? If so, can I make it up to you? Hee hee.
P.S. God damn those shoes are hot. Did you give X a little crotch poke in those?
#1: Claire is a fat girl’s name.
#2: I CANNOT believe they opened a sushi place literally .1 mile from my old house. Sure I still would have had them deliver, but still! It would have only taken like 2 minutes! Is it in the old space that used to be a dry cleaners?
That was the funniest thing I’ve imagined all day, Velvet Goes to the Opera. I think you need to take pictures with the camera phone next time.
Would it be weird if next time the two of you go out if me & BMW come? I know we’re toddlers IYO, but I just want to seize the opportunity to [discreetly or indiscreetly] make fun of people in public. If we’re going to do this, we need to make sure Sixes comes down for the weekend, and that BMW can grab one of his single friends from law school for her to take advantage of.
E – I think we can arrange that. Make sure BMW’s friend is under 22 though. She likes them young.
Mama – It’s between Willard and the alley, right on that corner where the alley between T and Willard is. It’s very exciting. But they like to open and close (for days at a time) without warning. Apparently he whose name isn’t his name because immigration fucked it up just likes to do that. I said, “Have you ever thought of advertising?” And he said, “No, I like to keep it to 20 people in here.” I can understand that. He likes to talk to people, it’s easier to do if the place is more cozy and like his living room.
btw, your legs are F—ng amazing!
lawyers, guns and money…sounds good.
“When it comes to eating out…” Man, I had some high hopes for the rest of that paragraph. Not to say that I didn’t like what you wrote, but whoo…I was thinking the conversation was going somewhere else, and I was really liking it!
seriously, amazing legs. damn johnny for beating me to it.
to Mama: it’s a family name.
Seriously, Velv, I need the name of your liposuctioner!
anyone notice tater looking up at his pretty mommy?
I run 10 miles a week. Somethings gotta look good. Cause it ain’t the rest of me.
ViD – that’s not true. I know. Everything you can see is fantastic. Everything you can’t see causes good things (and hopefully “bad” things) to happen.
I feel like Greenwich would make a gummy, unpleasant dipping sauce.
Me too. Join WSC and I’ll go with you. We can make fun of the bitches who get dressed up to work out.
Mr. X I like you when you are dirty.
Jordan Baker – I do agree. It’s scary to go there. Way too many SUV’s.
E – I might if damn Results ups their fees anymore. I’m paying a fortune. Stupid gym. I just hate that WSC is in a basement.
I still don’t know how you and sb walk in those things. It’s amazing, really.
Ma, you know she used to practice in front of the mirror when she was 13–right after she sprayed her bangs down and teased out her hair.
V, I don’t know how you feel about yoga/classes in general, but the ones at WSC are pretty good. And you can’t really tell that it’s in a basement all that much.
PS: proof why dogs are better than cats
I’m sorry, I kept reading over and over you saying that you went to the opera. I’m still not sure I believe it.
Wow, seriously cute shoes!! Make & model, if you’re willing to share?
I got them at DSW, so they are slightly out of date but here’s their twin.
hand job at the opera…. fucking classy… i wish i had thought of it …
ps… schweeeet shoes!!!
Yes, I can see those right by Suicide Blond’s door with all the others.
PS: See you Monday, Velvet.
Serious sexy shoes! Handjob @ the Opera? Isn’t that what Opera is for? (that and Murder)
Opera makes me think of Bugs Bunny.
I’ve been known go to the Kennedy Center for all sorts of things, and the people there are always unnecessarily snooty. I mean, most of the time they’re just seeing regional productions of whatever Broadway musical was in vogue two or three years ago. But the opera is by far the worst. So any subversive act, sexual or otherwise, is okay by me.
And, as something of a shoe expert, I have to concur — the shoes are fab. Love the platform/stiletto combo.