Author: Velvet (Page 10 of 12)

I’m having a very strange feeling. It’s another deep one, so stop reading now if you are going to accuse me of boring you to death.

I feel like the rest of me has arrived. Not “arrived” in the financial or social sense, but arrived at the place in my life that I’m supposed to be. This isn’t related to anything with my career – it’s relationship stuff. I have this feeling like I’m finally at the party, so to speak, that I finally “get it,” am finally in the club. And in feeling this, it seems as if the half of me just got here (uh, Velvet1?) and was greeted by the other half (we’ll call her Velvet2) who has been here all along. Velvet2 says, “Thank goodness you made it. We were all so worried.”

For my entire dating and relationship career, I have found it very easy to fall in love. In the past, I allowed myself to be courted, I participated in the chase, had that feeling of missing him, wondering when he would call, debating on calling him. I played all the games. I’ve had all the games played with me. But with all those broken hearts and near misses on relationships, I’ve lost all of those feelings of excitement. With Date Eight from last Friday night – it seemed like I could like him. It took three full days, until last Monday, to realize that I hadn’t heard from him. Then it took another three minutes to realize that I don’t care.

So this begs the question. Do I not care because I really don’t like him? Or do I not care because again, sigh, the touchy feely emotional part of me is dead?

Through the years, when a guy I liked didn’t call, or didn’t call back, it took a toll on me. I slowly became like an anxious, nervous mess, wondering if I would ever hear back. In my earlier dating years, I would make excuses for him. In my later dating years I would try to put it out of my head until I heard back from him. In any case, I always called friends and pontificated on what he could be thinking, analyzing everything he had said to me at our last encounter. Mostly my friends just backed me up and reinforced that yes, he likes me but must be stuck under a bus. Of course, after “the book,” some of those friends would tell me, “You have to read ‘He’s Just Not That Into You.'” While the heart was breaking, I always wished I could be “more like a guy” and just not care.

Be careful what you wish for. I’m at the party and I’m not so sure this is the party where I want to be. My emotions no longer control me. But the odd realization is that I don’t control them either. They are seemingly absent, and I can’t turn on the excitement and rush that goes with meeting someone new. I wonder if I have the capacity to love, or even the ability to fall into “like” with someone and date for a few months. Is the ability to get excited about someone new, to nervously anticipate a phone call, to care enough to censor what I’m saying now gone? Or am I just oversaturated in the dating and relationship stuff (it has been a busy six months) and temporarily worn down?

For those of you who have emailed me or commented about wishing you could turn off your emotions, I’m on the fence. I really don’t know which way is better. I hated that feeling of the unrequited like or love; but I hate this non-emotion as well. It’s a tough call on which is the preferred method.

Let’s flashback to the Velvet family Thanksgiving of 2003. I was living in Rockville. The family lives in Connecticut. It was my plan to wake up early Thanksgiving morning and drive home. That plan, like any other I could have come up with, was foiled by insane traffic. I spent 7 miserable stop-and-go hours in the car to get “home” for a trip that should have taken no more than 4 and 1/2 hours.

I arrived and started unloading my car, filled mostly with old blankets and such that my mother asked me to bring for the church donation to the homeless. Since I had recently broken up with my ex, I was drowning in extra blankets that he never came to retrieve. I ring the doorbell, there’s no answer. I call the house phone, no answer. I call my parent’s cell phone. I hear, “Oh, Hi honey.” I say, “Mom, where ARE you? I’m standing outside the house.” She says, “We’re at CVS because your father wanted to buy (she diverges into a whole list I care nothing about) and we’ll be home in a few minutes.”

As I sit there, outside, I’m stewing. Every minute that goes by I get more and more pissed off. Sammy (the love of my life) is running wild in the neighborhood and craps on someone’s well-manicured hoity toity front lawn. Now, I am that dog owner who ALWAYS picks it up. I crawl into bushes, use holey bags if I have to, grab it when there’s a blizzard – I ALWAYS pick up. (I hate litterers.) But there I am, steaming like Sammy’s poop, standing in my parent’s driveway, and I have no intention of picking up his crap.

So they finally pull around the corner, go into the driveway, right into the garage and my mom, dad and brother get out, look at me, say hi, and all walk into the house. I seriously thought I must be on Candid Camera. I grab one load of my stuff and walk into the house. My mother is at the kitchen sink washing something, my brother is stuffing a candy bar in his mouth and my father says in passing, “Hey, why didn’t you just use your key?” Then I say what no one has admitted out loud in my house for years: “BECAUSE MY KEY MYSTERIOUSLY STOPPED WORKING WHEN I MOVED IN WITH MY EX-BOYFRIEND AND I CAN ONLY ASSUME YOU CHANGED THE LOCKS IN YOUR PETTY WAY OF GETTING BACK AT ME.” They are all looking at each other, but no one can even bother to answer me.

I ask my brother to help me unload. He says ok, then promptly goes upstairs to his room. (I’m part of a very selfish family.) Finally the princess reappears from his room and helps with the last of the blankets. He grumbles that I have a lot of stuff. I retort, “Most of this is for Mom so she can show up at the church with all these blankets for the homeless donation.”

We sit down to dinner. Mom has scaled back the normal 7-10 various dishes down to four this particular year. The turkey, obviously. Stuffing (which is normally brown rice with apples, raisins and chunks of link sausage,) peas, and cranberry sauce. I am a vegetarian. There is nothing for me to eat. I’m not so psycho that I couldn’t pick around the sausage in the stuffing, but this year, the first in my 30 years of Thanksgiving with this family, the sausage is mysteriously ground and pulverized throughout the stuffing.

When I inquire about this sudden change, as it seems like a lot of work to ground sausage for a woman who barely likes to cook anyway, my mother says, “I put it in the microwave, it must have gotten ground up. Besides, who knows what you’re eating. You always change your mind, I can’t keep track.” Have you ever heard anything so fucking ridiculous? Yes, sausage links that have been cut up in to three or four pieces in years past are now subject to being smashed and ground by spending some time in the microwave. I’m no expert cook, and I don’t cook meat at all, obviously, but even I know this could never, in thousands of years, be possible. And I’ve not eaten meat since I was a little kid and they used to force me to eat it. Granted it was maybe 8 years ago that I gave up chicken and turkey, but I’ve never eaten beef or pork. The fact that my mother acts like this is all new to her is one of her games – I swear that sausage was pulverized in the rice on purpose. They all kept insisting that I just “have some and a little sausage won’t hurt me.” Duh. I know this. But it’s a lifestyle choice and a health choice. (Thank goodness I am not a lesbian. Could you imagine? “Velvet, can you not be a rugmuncher this weekend? It just doesn’t work in my schedule.”)

I ask what else there is to eat. At my parent’s house, it’s always the same: a bunch of unrecognizable things in the freezer that may or may not be older than I am, and chocolate in the pantry. They never have any food there. My brother tells me there might be a frozen pizza in the refrigerator. Great. Seven hours of driving to be locked out of a house I no longer have a key to, to spend time with a family who could care less that I even came home. And with that I said, “I’m never coming home for Thanksgiving again.”

Last year, I went to Italy. This year, I had a plan in the works to go back to Europe. But then I had to go and read my stupid horoscope in Bazaar (arguably the best Fashion Mag on the market,) and it said “Don’t ask for any time off at the holidays or your co-workers will resent it.” Who am I to argue with that? And frankly, it’s true. I’ve really milked the vacation bandwagon this year. It’s time to behave.

So, dear readers. I will be here this Thanksgiving. If anyone wants to go out and get some drinky-poos, I will be happy to oblige. Unless I don’t know you. Then, I don’t want to go out with you.

Online dating is almost over. Well, the Yahoo part. I can’t guarantee that I won’t dive onto another site, but for now, Yahoo is canceled as of 12/2/05 and I’m out baby! I’ll probably just dump my profile into the trash in the next few days anyway.

I’ve grown so bored with it that I have barely made an effort to check my messages or write back to anyone. If I do write back, it’s usually a one liner. Most people get the hint, but not all. So, let’s take a closer look at what you all have missed over the past few weeks since the last commentary.

1) A man whose title is “Can I Pay My Visa Bill With My Mastercard?” Where do I start with this? I pay my Visa bill in full, in cash, every month. There is no such thing as robbing Peter to pay Paul in my world. I no longer live (nor do I want to live) paycheck to paycheck. This is why I won’t date younger men who are not established. If I have to pay all the time, well then, what the hell do I need you for? Because we all know I already own a vibrator. Don’t even get me started on how he has written to me three times in a row despite the fact that I am not answering.

2) An email from someone who lives in Dumfries. Where the hell is that? Here’s what it said, without any editing:

“I promise you won’t have to run away from me unless you want to do it for sport im surprised that you lasted as long as you did its just to bad that some people dont know how to treat people when on a date I can definately improve upon your experiencewith that date. if your interested and want to talk let me know.”

Have you ever heard of Punctuation? I’ll give you a hint, it’s these things: , : ; ! . ? –

3) Someone who substituted something similar to “War and Peace” in their profile sent me an email telling me to check them out. I am so out of energy. Here’s what I wrote: “Whoa. Your profile is way too long. Can you make me a top five list or something? Just the bullet points.” Uh, I haven’t heard back from him. He was sort of cute too. Damn.

4) Here’s a good email from a fake man who doesn’t even have the balls to post a profile. So there’s nothing to write back to.

“In a nutshell, you description of your last date had me crying. Crying in a good way. Laughing/crying. Laughing to the point of tears. Yes, I feel bad for you, but it cracked me up. If there was a prize for originality, you win. Hands down. In fact, you’d be the only winnner and the award would be retired.

More nutshell: I forked over the $20 to rejoin just to tell you that. I guess that’s what you’d call inspiration. Here’s hoping you never have to go through that hell again!”

Great. That man is probably my husband and now I can’t find him.

As I looked through all these messages, I’m hit by the distinct reality that many of these men who contact me are in no way close to what I have specified that I would like. But yet, they try anyway. Why is it that women constantly settle for less and men constantly strive to achieve better? You never really see an incredibly hot man with brains, great job, money, with a piss poor woman who is just average in the looks department. But you will often see the opposite.

There are so many versions of men trying to talk me into dating them, despite the fact that they are not even close to my age, close to D.C., or that they have a bunch of kids with another woman. I think it’s time to retire this profile. Perhaps there will be better men on another site. Does anyone have any suggestions?

Another date tonight. This one was set up by the shitheads at It’s Just Lunch. (8 down, 6 to go.) Except again, it wasn’t lunch. It was drinks. (On a Friday? Come on!) We went to Panache between Connecticut and 17th on Desales. For anyone who doesn’t know where that little street is, it’s between L and M.

I got there and the bar was packed. I’m hoping Date Eight is not mixed in the mess of Eurotrash at the bar, but then I remember the lunch people told me they made reservations for us under both our names. This waiter asks me if I need help as there really isn’t a host. I say, “I’m meeting someone here and I believe we have a reservation.” He goes to look. I can see that they only have a whopping 3 reservations on the screen. I give him my name. He shakes his head. So I give Date Eight’s name. Shakes his head no again. Surprise – no reservation. Like I’m shocked at this point that they’ve slaughtered yet another detail.

The waiter says, “Well is he here?” At this point, ANYONE could have played it cooler than I. On the other occasions I have been asked this question, I always screw it up. Immediately I stick my foot in my mouth up to my knee and start blabbering about how I’m being set up and I don’t know what he looks like. The waiter is laughing and says, “Blind date! Fun!” I said, “For you maybe.” Once this line of questioning starts, they inevitably ask about the “friend” who set us up. It’s too complicated to explain that I’ve entrusted my dating life to a bunch of sorority girls with double digit IQ’s. I decided to just take a table, half to get my foot out of my mouth and half to make sure I didn’t push my foot in any further.

He arrived shortly after I did, and the same waiter (who ends up not even being our waiter) brought him to the table. I felt instantly comfortable. I don’t know exactly what it was or how to put my finger on it. Last night with Steve1, when I saw him I wasn’t attracted to him and knew I would never be attracted to him. He put his hand on my knee or touched my elbow and I almost cringed. But tonight with Date Eight, it was more like, “Ok, I could see myself maybe dating this guy.” I think I’m at the point where I’m now conscious of that first 10 second impression rule. Alas, he didn’t touch my elbow or knee so that I could test my theory.

Again, there aren’t a lot of details. We have a lot of odd similarities. We are both the youngest of three, he grew up two towns away from me, just over the N.Y. border, parents still married. Although, his parents seem relatively sane compared to Jekyl and Hyde over there at the Velvet Family Compound. We drank, ate, had good conversation all the way through and that was that. He was going to meet friends, I was going home so I could go to bed. I’m planning a day of Christmas shopping tomorrow. I must buy all sorts of cute clothes for little baby.

On the way out of the restaurant, the waiter shook both our hands and said, “Bye Velvet!” I was surprised he remembered my name so I said, “Wow, you’re good.” And he said, “So are you.” What? What has he heard?

Dating recommences! I shouldn’t use that exclamation point. It’s not that exciting. I’ll make it quick. Try not to fall into a coma while reading.

I bounced my ass (and seven eighths of my face) back into the middle of the dating scene. Tonight was the first of a few dates I have lined up.

I met Steve1 at Cafe Citron. That place was packed. And it was so ridiculously loud that we ended up leaving after a couple drinks and wandered up to Kramerbooks. (Am I getting old? It was too loud?) We ate at Kramer, did some book shopping, and parted ways on Connecticut Avenue with a hug. There are no details. I tried to imagine myself kissing him and I didn’t feel it.

Do you know that scene in one of my all time favorite Christmas stories, The Grinch, where they show his heart and it’s the size of a pea? That’s me.

I talked to my brother yesterday and I was telling him how I’ve lost my ability to have emotion about anything. He said, “Oh no.” I said, “What, will this go away?” And he said, “You’re ready….you’re ready to meet someone and be serious.” I, of course, don’t think so. I love dating and then recanting the stories – both good and bad. I know that it can’t go on forever because eventually I will just give up entirely and stay home. I’ll be forever destined to blog about my dogs…the only true loves of my life. Well, them and that other guy from my damn dreams.

My dog has officially become as narcissistic as a good majority of the men I have dated.

I wonder what he’s thinking about. Maybe he was about to french kiss the mirror when I walked in.

I had another dream about you last night.

I was walking around parts of England that to me were unknown. You were walking down a side street. You were alone. I was alone. We decided to be alone together. We walked in the rain, but then I abruptly said I had to go. I left you there in the street.

I ran through the wet streets to return to my dark little flat. I began to take off my clothes and get ready for bed. But then I heard my front door open. I walked out into the living room and saw you standing there, holding two suitcases. You wanted to stay. I said that was ok. I went back into the bedroom. You followed.

But, you didn’t stay. You never stayed. The suitcases were a prop, intended to get me to think this was permanent. It wasn’t. A script according to your rules. You were gone by the morning, taking with you, my heart.

No one is a bigger asshole than me. No one.

I was walking the dogs tonight and I bumped into The Bartender. It was awkward for a minute, but only because I made it awkward. We talked about things and he came back to my place and we watched Will & Grace and Sex & The City. It’s very easy to see your life and yourself in a very one sided manner. But the man never got to say his part and I do feel that I owed him that much. I just wasn’t ready for what I was going to see of myself.

I found myself genuinely feeling bad for how I ended things (on a blog – what the hell is wrong with me) and apologizing for it. He said it was fine and there were no hard feelings. He went on just talking about what happened. As I was listening to him tell it, it didn’t seem possible that the “other person” in his scenario was me. Not because he was lying – he wasn’t, but because, well, who am I and how could I behave like that to another human being? He went on to further explain that he wishes he could be like me and just turn feelings on and off, but that he can’t and that’s why his ex is still in his life.

Then I said, “No! Don’t wish that you could be like me! At least when you have feelings about something you know you’re still alive. I’m not even sure that I’m alive and breathing anymore. Very little moves me.”

It’s true. The anticipation of a first date used to make me so excited. Now, it’s just ho hum. An argument with a friend would upset me. Now, I’m unmoved. The meltdowns in my family used to charge me up, wanting to get everyone to work it out. Now, I don’t give a shit. In fact, no one in my family really talks to me anymore about, well, anything important. Fine with me. In fact, in the one conversation my oldest brother and I had last week about our aging and increasingly psychotic parents, he was so pissed at them. When he posed questions or comments that should incite that same emotion from me, all I could say was, “They’ve all made their beds and they can fucking lay in them now. I don’t care. Watching them be the martyrs for the past 20 years has drained me.” You can really only take so much. See the grandbaby, don’t see the grandbaby, be mad at older brother for calling, not calling, forgetting to call, living in Michigan instead of New York, working on Christmas Day in 1998, not wanting to work for ESPN, fuck off. Do whatever you want. Life doesn’t revolve around you anymore, and will actually go on without you. If you aren’t going to see your first and only grandchild then you may as well go get in your coffin because you are missing out on one of the biggest joys you will ever have in your lives. Assholes.

So back to my life at hand. I don’t like being like this. I really don’t. My neighbors just got engaged and they are so in sync and so in love with each other and it’s great. But I look at them and wonder if I would ever find that with someone. Not because there’s no one good enough out there, but because I just can’t wrap my brain around the idea of being “one” with another human being. I can’t imagine having that heart pounding crush on someone that lasts to the point where I could say to myself, “Yup, this is worth packing it all in for and settling down.”

Almost everyone I know is in a relationship. Even my girlfriends who were going to remain steadfastly single have paired up. Some of you have done so more for convenience than for having “found your soulmate.” No, I’ll never own up to which of you I think may be faking it and it shouldn’t matter anyway. So the business of being single is really just down to, well, me. I feel as though I should be mildly bothered that all my girlfriends (with one exception – my college roommate) are now officially living with a significant other. But I don’t care. For some reason, I honestly don’t care. I am emotionally dead. Me getting Bell’s Palsy was really just poetic justice – someone, who devoid of all emotion, loses the ability to form her face into any discernable expression.

I have a date Thursday and a date Friday and in both cases I’m either sadistically hoping it goes wrong so I can stab one of them with my fork and then come back and blog about it or I’m hoping it goes no where. Because when it all comes down to it, I am not convinced that I would make a happy, functioning “other half” in a relationship. I like sleeping in the middle of the bed. I like eating right out of the peanut butter jar. I like that I am the only one to discipline my dogs. I like that my shoes take up three closets. I don’t want to get rid of any of my clothes. I don’t want to move to a bigger place. And I don’t want to compromise. I like my life how it is, and I wonder if I like it so much that I am secretly sabotaging every new relationship on purpose?

The Bartender said he never had a chance. He’s right. I’m afraid that no one else really has either.

Dear Bloggers,

Today, Mommy took us down to the National Mall to take our picture in front of the Capitol. We have no idea why that bitch had to have this picture, but she loaded us up in the car and off we went. We thought the “mall” was the place Mommy goes to for hours, then comes back with thousands of bags and proclaims, “Well fuckers, you can’t eat for a few weeks, Mommy really did it this time.” But the mall is this great place with all this grass and we just wanted to run and run. There were so many tourists and so little time and they loved us! Their kids were taking pictures of us, they were asking Mommy questions about D.C., and she loves it here, so she loves to talk about it. We even overheard her tell some lady from New York that D.C. is the only other place besides New York that she will call “home.”

Mommy kept trying to get the picture of us and we kept wandering off to investigate the new smells and see people who were talking to us. Mommy screamed at us to sit down for the better part of an hour. Do you have any idea what idiots we looked like? And may we add, she is turning into her mother. If we had a Milkbone for every time she said, “Just pose for this picture and try not to ruin Mommy’s day,” well, we’d have a lot of Milkbones.

It’s really no surprise that she doesn’t have, nor can she keep a man.

Love,
SuperDogs

Last night, Sara and I met for dinner at Zaytinya. We had a lot of catching up to do, and damn was that place packed. I don’t go to the Chinatown / MCI Center ‘hood often, so I was sort of surprised to see it teeming with singles. We waited 45 minutes for a table, then proceeded to order a bevy of entrees that were smaller than my pinky nail but more expensive than a haircut. Okay, it wasn’t that bad. But it was close.

We were trying to get a read on what was up at the bar. Usually when I end up at a place downtown, it’s filled with tourists and therefore not a good sampling of who would really be here. But I think in this case, they were D.C. locals. A lot of guys in suits and girls with fake boobs. Now, Sara and I are pretty damn personable, even if I do say so myself, but I could swear there was an air of stuffiness in there. I’m not married to that idea yet, still have to mull it over, but it seemed like the kind of crowd where you could bump into someone by accident and end up getting a bunch of dirty looks.

At one point in the evening, I received a call from my college roommate who said she was in town just for the night. I called her when I dropped Sara off and she said she was at the Hyatt in Bethesda. This isn’t very far from me at all, but it was 11:00 and Sara and I had just finished a bottle of wine and then some, so I wasn’t sure this was the best idea. But my college roommate was only in town for one night, then she unleashed the big guns on me.

“Look. They messed up my reservation and they gave me the Presidential Suite. You have got to come up here just to see it.” And with that, I was in the car.

When I got in the elevator at the hotel, I was making faces in the mirror to see how my Bell’s Palsy was doing. (Coming along, thanks for asking.) Then I realized of course that the elevators were all glass and the whole lobby could see me. Granted there were only three people in the lobby, but still. As the floors clicked away, bringing me higher and higher, I felt like the biggest fraud – like the brakes were going to come on and say, “Get out here, we don’t take your type past the 3rd floor.”

This room of hers was ridiculous. She had her own patio (bigger than my condo) that overlooked downtown Bethesda. The hotel staff told her that “only Presidents stay in the Presidential suite” so we felt pretty important. Truth be told, once you close your eyes, it could just as soon have been a Motel 6, but it was still nice to see.

It was night of phony locations. That’s all I have. Sorry. A little boring today.

Hello friends! I am launching the first of hopefully many installments of the “In Search Of Single Men & Interesting People” Pub Crawl. Yesterday evening, your host boozed it up at two venues across this beautiful city of ours. I plan on reporting my findings, however dull or exciting they may be.*

Last night I started at the much hyped EyeBar. I was there from 8:00 until about 9:30 and except for a few other patrons, it was basically dead. Despite the fact that the bartender said it really gets started around 11, I decided to move on in search of something a little more lively. My compatriot suggested the Hawk & Dove in Capitol Hill, as she said that there are usually some pompous men there in need of an ego-deflate. We were there from about 10:00 until 11:30. While one of the neighborhood drunks tried to join our conversation (unsuccessfully I might add,) the Hawk & Dove was relatively quiet as well.

We are planning on working our way through a list obtained online of 4 star drinking establishments in the city. Stay tuned.

*Velvet is a selfish dating bitch. Any recommendations, positive or otherwise, of certain establishments may be a hoax to divert competition out of the playing field. The preferred dating odds of Velvet are a room full of 98% single, eligible men and 2% women. The women comprised in the 2% must be in Velvet’s party or must be cool enough to hang out with.

I had a dream about you again last night.

I used my spare key to sneak into your house while you slept, and went into the guest room so I wouldn’t wake you. I managed this with ease, slipping in at night after you were asleep and slipping back out before you awoke. I would lay there, bubbling over with excitement, knowing that even though I was not laying next to you, we were breathing the same air.

It was the closest I could get to you.

One night, you were in your bed with your girlfriend. I listened through the wall as you spoke sweet words to her, with you still never knowing I was there. I thought about just creeping back out, but then I exited dreamland and woke up for real. Back in my own bed, the scent of you is so palpable, and the first thought of the day comes to my mind.

I am still in love with you.

Since I haven’t been returning his messages, I haven’t given The Bartender a chance to respond to my post on Saturday. I fully respect everyone’s First Amendment Rights, and it is only fair to let him speak, which he will now do via an email I received. Hopefully he doesn’t mind.

It’s been a few days since I’ve seen the blog but that is by choice. The BLOG was interesting and I enjoyed my time on it but I stopped reading it a week ago. Truth be told, it was a little bad for me cuz it provided fuel for my vanity. I have ALSO spent my 20’s in relationships (your tagline) and from those relationships I HAVE FRIENDS. Throwing out what has PAST is unhealthy and COLD and not MY style. Thanks for the chances we did hang out and give Sammy and Thora a kiss goodbye.

Don’t boycott my bar cuz YOU have a problem with ME. I have NO hostilities and pretty much expected that I would be on my way out before I could settle in. Men seem to have a VERY short shelf life in your life, as they should. I am making NO judgments or allegations so PLEASE do not take it as that.

The Bartender

Hmm. My comments:

First, I wouldn’t ever boycott a bar. That would be a sin. As childish as I can be at times, I don’t feel the need to avoid him.

Second, I appreciate the nod to Sammy and Thora. I do love those dogs more than anything else in this world.

Third, I just don’t agree with maintaining relationships with people from your past if those people can hijack any chance of happiness from your future. This happened in our case.

Finally, I have mixed emotions about the comment I have placed in bold. He expected to be on his way out before he could settle in? Men have a short shelflife with me? I’m stunned. It’s sort of funny at first, but then, it really just makes me sad.

I have no idea what comprises the vortex that steals my day.

I need some different men as I have realized something incredibly moronic:

The three men I have lined up on Yahoo to go out with all have the same name. While this could be highly convenient, I will never be able to keep the details of their lives straight. They are all one and the same to me now. I officially need a personal assistant or an agent or something to ensure these things don’t happen to me anymore.

You know, I’ve had that line on my list as a possible title, and I thought I would never get to use it. Whouda thunk I would end up with a crooked smile?

First, a disclaimer. The “resignation letter” was supposed to be “tongue-in-cheek.” AH HA HA HA! I kill myself. Tongue in cheek. So funny. Well, funny to me. But we all know, I have no intention of resigning from the dating world. It’s just too comical.

Now, let’s zip up some old business. The Bartender is no more. It was foolish of me to shit where I eat, so to speak, however, I was willing to – in the name of fun. But it isn’t fun anymore. The Bartender, for his young age, has baggage. I hate baggage.

I received a text message Friday morning sent by The Bartender but clearly not intended for me. While I care absolutely zero of the content of said message, it basically illustrates that this ex girlfriend drama is a two-way street, as much instigated by him as it is her. So I’m staring at my phone realizing this isn’t meant for my eyes. Here we have come full circle. Finally I get to see something he feels that I’m not supposed to know.

Then he called me, not realizing what had just happened. I read him the text message. We had a conversation about mostly unimportant details but he said things about his ex and how she found my blog by some information he gave her and how she reads it. (When they were handing out “lives” she must have forgotten to get in line.) Now, hold that thought for a minute as I must tell you that hours after all this happened, I got a copy of the Post Express and read, among other things, my horoscope:

• You’ll get a tell tale sign from a friend early in the day that will give you all the information you need to know right now.

I was eating lunch with a friend and spit out my sandwich. Well, okay, that wasn’t hard to do since half my mouth doesn’t work anyway. So I tell my friend about my morning, then read the horoscope out loud. In shock. It’s like it was written for me. Then I said, “I’m done.”

Why am I done? I refuse to be in the middle of some teenage drama. I’m not here to help some girl keep tabs on her old boyfriend. I’m not here to listen to sob stories from The Bartender and how he can’t shake this leech of an ex. I’ve said above, and to so many of you in comments on your own blogs that “When it isn’t fun anymore, it isn’t worth it.” And this, my friends, just passed the last stop of fun, heading to a place I don’t want to go.

I don’t get harassed by my ex-boyfriends because I move, change my number, become invisible, stop returning phone calls – whatever it takes to get them out of my life. I so systematically removed myself from a long-term relationship that it took his entire family months to realize they had no way to get in contact with me. It’s clear that The Bartender thrives on this drama, and I’m just not in 7th Grade anymore. If one of my ex-boyfriends current girlfriends was writing a blog, I would log into it exactly ZERO times. Why? Because I DON’T FUCKING CARE WHAT MY EX-BOYFRIENDS ARE DOING! That’s why they have the “ex” in front of their prior label of “boyfriend.”

To the ex-girlfriends who can’t get over the boy and pine away for him, grasping for what little they can find out about him, get a life.

To the ex-boyfriends who love this attention, pretend they don’t invite it, but still entertain it anyway, grow up.

My “mistake” in all of this is, well, that I have not told The Bartender that we’re through. Maybe his ex-girlfriend can call him and tell him.

Soon, I’ll have to move, because I will have officially dated (and been hated by) every man in Washington D.C. and the suburbs.

Dear Dating World and All Men Who I Will Never Date,

Please accept this as my (hopefully temporary) resignation from the dating world. I apologize for being unable to give notice, but my face is frozen and I am unable to work out the industry standard of two weeks.

This frozen face disease has really got me on edge. I witnessed via the mirror, what I look like while eating. It isn’t pretty – think 10 month old meets Corky from Life Goes On. This rules out all dates with eating or drinking. My eye won’t stay closed either, so I have to wear an eye patch to keep it closed. Unless I could find a date with a pirate theme, I’m really out of luck. Also, on my dates, there is usually an event such as, date farts and blames it on someone else, which require from me, some sort of expression of disgust. I have tested out what sort of expressions I could muster, and they look more inquisitive than appropriate for the scene that is destined to take place. I just don’t think a half smile or single raised eyebrow will serve me well for dating.

After the above consideration, I have realized this is not a huge loss as I am not a good dater anyway. This blog serves as evidence that I clearly have no idea what I’m doing. I know that there are so many wonderful dates that I will never get a chance to experience and subsequently write about – running from potential date rape, having drugs slipped into my drink, possibly being stabbed, killed, cloned, kidnapped or stranded in a ghetto. I feel that I can take my chances on bailing out now.

I will forever be in your gratitude for the experience that you have allowed me dating here. I feel honored to know what it is like to have a date stand me up, stare at me awkwardly without speaking, pack up their food in a doggie bag and run back to the restaurant to obtain that doggie bag, start a political fight with other patrons in a restaurant where we are dining, lie incessantly, turn into an octopus with no warning, steal my Vicodin, talk only about strippers and lap dances, get BBQ sauce smeared all over their face, and actually take money from me that clearly amounts to more than half the bill on a first date. I also feel somewhat selfish for hogging these fine quality men and experiences to myself, so maybe it’s good that my face is frozen. Please – hire some other women and allow them to also learn what I have.

If you need to contact me, I will be residing somewhere between the neighborhoods of La-La Land and Celibacy, balancing several medications, waiting on blood test results, scheduling visits with a neurologist and in general, fine-tuning other skills.

Love and Half-Kisses,
Velvet in Dupont

P.S. When you lose your sense of humor, you may as well be dead.

Only a matter of time. You just cannot be as mean as I am to people and not have some sort of repercussion.

The strep throat was moving along quite nicely. I know that I did get some sort of little cold on top of it all so I was battling the sore throat thing and the chest congestion and the head cold and the fever. Whatever. Give me my bed, a t.v., and my computer, and I can do it. Yesterday I was out of bed and full of beans. Sort of. I made it to Baltimore for a meeting. Thought I was well on the road to recovery. And then, this happens.

I wake up and half my face is frozen. I can’t close my left eye and the left side of my mouth is, well, dead. I’m freaking out. I call the doctor and they were like, “You better come in right away.” So I did. Let’s switch to conversation mode now.

Dr Hot-but-gay: “You have Bell’s Palsy.”
Velvet: (Swearing I Heard Pot Belly.) “Uh, what?”
Dr. HBG: “It’s not bad – it’s going to go away. 98% of all cases disappear. You seem to not have it completely, so we’ll put you on steroids and an anti-viral medicine and go from there.”
Velvet: “Great, but I’m still on antibiotics. Can I take all that together?”
Dr. HBG: “Yes, finish the antibiotics. This is like a virus, and it’s causes are unknown, but stems from a virus that will remind you of having the chicken pox again.”
Velvet: (getting ready to confess Velvet family secret.) “Uh, I never had the pox.”
Dr. HBG (unfazed) “Ok, well, it’s sort of like that. Now, let’s talk about causes. One would be Lyme disease. Two would be HIV.”
Velvet: “Holy shit.”
Dr. HBG: Uh, ok, is there something to worry about?”
Velvet: “Isn’t there always? Anyway, I definitely don’t have Lyme disease, so, by process of elimination I have HIV?”
Dr. HBG: “We should test you. This test is pretty accurate with about a 4 week window. We’ll also send out a more rapid test that basically has zero window.”
Velvet: “Great.”

So, I’m in the waiting room sweating. What if I have HIV? Who would I make my first call to? Who would be the lucky person on the receiving end of “You know how I’ve been so bad all these years???” Well, there you go. I called Holly.

Holly: “Velvet, if I don’t have HIV, then you definitely don’t have it.”
Velvet: “It really doesn’t work that way.”
Holly: “Look, I’m just saying, I don’t know why he told you that – I can’t find any evidence of this online.”
Velvet: “Well they said 15 minutes. I’m sweating over here.”
Holly: “It’s ok. You are going to be fine.

At that point the Lab Tech came in and said the words those of us who live oh so recklessly are ecstatic to hear: “Your test is negative. Definitely negative.”

So I’m waltzing over to CVS in a daze, playing with my face, trying to contort it into some of the expressions you see on the homeless people, and my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I pick it up. Back to convo-mode.

Girl: “Hi, this is Tanya and I found your number in my boyfriend’s phone.”

Ding Ding Ding Ding Ding. What do we have here? I have NEVER received a call like this, although I have heard of them being made.

Velvet: “Uh, what is your boyfriend’s name?”
Tanya: “Mike.”
Velvet: “Okaaaaaay….”
I’m racking my brain, but in all my dating, I don’t know of a Mike. I mean, not a relevant one who would have my number in his phone.
Tanya: “Maybe he dialed a wrong number. You’re not part of a motorcycle group, are you?”
Velvet: “Well, this is interesting, I did just get my license. But no, I don’t know anyone named Mike. What’s his last name?”
Tanya: “Jones.”
Velvet: “What?”
Tanya: (laughing) “Well, he’s not THE Mike Jones.”
(I don’t even know who the REAL MIKE JONES is to whom she is referring.)
Tanya: “Well, I’m sorry I bothered you. Maybe he called a wrong number.”
Velvet: “Look, I appreciate what you are doing, and I would probably do the same thing if I was trying to catch someone in a big fat lie.” (No I wouldn’t. Who am I kidding? I could not care less.)
Tanya: “Thank you for understanding.”
Velvet: “Good luck.”

How odd was that? She also gave me his phone number and I don’t have a number like that in my phone. Has my dating finally come full circle and someone’s girlfriend is now after me? Okay, but I can’t fight with the left side of my face though!!

Every night for the past week, I fall asleep, hoping that tomorrow is the day I shall get healthy. But, every night in the middle of the night, I wake up sweating, shaking, and coughing. These antibiotics are not working fast enough. As if I don’t have enough to deal with, I have to wake up (around 11 or noon) and deal with this crap in my infamous inbox.

Gee,
I would like to explore more of DC on my frequent visits, would you be interested in being my guide to the capitol city, at least for one evening? I’m a pilot and flight test engineer, work in SoCal, and appreciate the great things DC has to offer.

John

Ok, when did my name become Gee? Anyway, I wrote back. Keep in mind that there is a continuum of sorts between how sick I feel and how mean I am in the emailed reply.

I’ll tell you the same thing I tell all the out of town people who want a D.C. girlfriend for the times they blow through town: No.

I should feel satisfied with my above answer, but, feel compelled to somehow say more.

1) You are not even divorced yet.
2) You are clearly out of my “within 10 miles of D.C.” range.
3) Do you find it at all sleazy that you are looking for a companion for an evening or a few days a month.
4) Is there some service that writes the emails for the out of towners? Because everyone wants to “explore D.C. with a tourguide.”
5) It’s always the out of town emailers who NEVER post their picture.

I cannot help you, my Yahoo compatriot. But, you can call “A Sure Thing” at (202) 887-4849. They are in the business of providing dates for the evening.

The Sure thing people should give me a fucking referral fee. I’m going back to bed now.

I am about all things pumpkin. I love pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin bread. If you can throw a can of pumpkin in there, I’ll eat it. I also love the shape of the pumpkin. So damn cute. Why I have this sincere adoration for all things pumpkin and Halloween can only be decoded by some shrink. Perhaps it’s because my family has the ability to ruin all the other holidays, therefore, I have to have something to call my own. So, Halloween it has been, and will always be.

Happy Halloween, from the true loves of my life…

First, a complaint. I saw an old woman throw her gum on the street today. That gum will end up on someone’s shoe, virtually impossible to remove. Just because you are old, doesn’t mean you can litter. I wish I could tie that gum a la Crazy Girl City’s post about six degrees, as it moves through the streets of D.C., and somehow ultimately ends up clogging old woman’s pacemaker and kills her. Now that would be funny. Extreme, yes, but there’s nothing I hate more than a litterer.

Next, a movie review. It’s fast, but there’s a lesson to be learned. Maybe.

Tonight I watched Runaway Bride. (Any movie with Joan Cusack and Hector Elizondo has got to be good.) Richard Gere trails Julia Roberts as she makes her fourth attempt at that ubiquitous thing on the wish list of “all women” – the altar. Except that in this case, Julia Roberts doesn’t want to marry any of the men to whom she ends up engaged. Along comes Richard Gere the reporter to do a story where she insists she will actually get married (to the hottie on Law & Order: SVU.) If you haven’t seen it and want to, skip the next paragraph.

Of course she gets to the rehearsal and “runs.” (Well, she makes out with Richard Gere.) And surprise, she and Richard Gere fall in love and blah blah blah. They have a wedding, but she runs from that too. Ultimately what happens? You guessed it. They end up together. Now, why is it that men will become intrigued with a woman for one of her quirks, then think that they will magically drop the quirk, in this case, fear of commitment. In this case, that happens and she eventually succumbs and marries him. What-evah.

That’s all. I’m done with that.

Now. There is a problem. By the comments, everyone is just so pleased with The Bartender. But, how can someone you are dating know about the blog? I can’t possibly write censored and edited, because that’s not being true to me, or to you all as my readers. But then I run the risk of him changing his behaviors based on what I say or don’t say in the blog. There’s an added dimension with the presence of the blog that means now that I no longer have the ultimate control (of my half) over how things play out. Part of how I do things in relationships is playing my cards close. Well, that’s how I operate in all relationships. It comes from having to negotiate as part of my job – and watching my boss: master of all that is negotiable. So, the men I date not knowing about the blog has been my rule, because it just makes blog-sense.

So, The Bartender says he will accompany me tomorrow to go get my car at the shop in Rockville and ride back down here to D.C. with me. But, he says he has to be back at 5 p.m. I said, “You have to be in to work at 5?” He said, “No, I just have to be somewhere. I don’t have to be at work until 7.” I wasn’t born yesterday, clearly he has a date. But, here’s where I went wrong. I sent a text message about half an hour after we hung up saying “Somewhere at 5? How positively mysterious of you.” It begins a back and forth texting conversation.

He says: “Is that good or bad? Am I being too coy?”
I say: “That wasn’t coy…”
He says: “Damn, I must be the worst English major ever. I don’t like hiding stuff, certainly not from you. Maybe it’s the way you open your life on the blog. It’s very refreshing to meet a woman like that. So if you must know…”
I say: “Nah, don’t need to know.”
He says: “I was gonna tell you anyway. I got set up to go to dinner by B’s girlfriend at her birthday party last night. I think it’s a ‘group’ or ‘double’ date. As you know, I am against any date not involving the zoo.”
I say: “All good reasons why it is bad for anyone to know about the blog.”
He says: “There is no bad, is there? Please do tell, I am all ears, I mean eyes.”
I say: “Because I will want to write about all of this and I don’t know, I can’t. I want to be able to say what I want in the blog without you reacting or changing your behavior because of it.”

I can’t explain this very well, but I’m going to try. I want to be able to date men and I want to be able to share the details of those dates on the blog with friends and strangers alike. And I want to know that man-of-the-week will still do the same things, without changing it because of something he read in the blog. Let’s just say that The Bartender didn’t know about the blog, then he wouldn’t have read in the post the other day that I still plan to date other people. Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt it necessary to tell me he was dating someone else tomorrow. And he would have moved on in secret, as would I have, and that would be that. One of these little flings somewhere would develop into more (him & me; him & other girl; me & other boy) and then we would adjust our lives accordingly. That is the normal workings of relationship-ville. But now, all that’s out the window.

So, he called me. And I tried to explain what I wrote above, not very well. He said he would stop reading the blog. I said that would create more problems because I know I wouldn’t be able to stop reading someone’s blog if they were writing about me. Also, no matter what, I wouldn’t believe it, and eventually he would say something, coincidence or not, and I would think, “Hey…I wrote something like that in the blog.” He said it would be an all new thing for him to lose someone to a blog. But, I’m not comfortable with any of this.

Now what the hell do I do?

First and most important, I’m honored for the mention of this blog. Blushing, I thank you, KOB, from the bottom of my heart.

http://www.dcblogs.com/2005/10/dc-blogs-noted_27.html

On to business. Darren wrote back.

Well, sorry to have offended you, but you obviously need to get your mind out of the gutter and re-read what I said. The “or more” part referred to maybe going out more than once if we had fun, not suggesting anything MORE than dinner or drinks. Please don’t assume all men are pigs who only want to get in your precious pants.

I was suggesting something a bit more innocent, like actually going out for a drink and maybe having someone to talk to over dinner and sharing some company while I’m 3000 miles from home. But apparently you can’t get beyond your assumption that everyone with a penis must want to have sex with you!! Get over yourself sweetie. I actually thought you had a sense of humor and might be NICE and fun to talk to from your profile…..what the heck was I thinking??

Good luck and do try to have a happy life….of course that would require you to lighten up about a thousand percent. I’m beginning to think the “bad” date you describe in your profile was NOT totally the guys fault!! You might want to extend your exile a bit longer……since it seems you’re still a little bitter!! LOL.

And by the way, when you ARE ready to date, you just never know where you’re going to find that special person. Maybe even someone who’s just “blowing through town for a week”. Personally, I’d hate to miss that person even if I bumped into them only once in my life for a few minutes. Just a thought…but you might consider not ruling out eveyone who doesn’t live with 10 minutes of your house. 🙂

And PS…if I though you were a call-girl I would have offered you money!! Hahahahaha.

Very sorry to have offended you. Gee, I’ve heard you East Coast folks aren’t easily offended and it’s us California types who are wimpy and overly sensitive??? Guess not.

Cheers,
Darren

Here are my thoughts on this:
1) Yes, my pants ARE precious.
2) Again, what loser tries to get a date while he’s in town for a few days? What is this? “Pretty Woman?”
3) The bad date he refers to was with GreekWonder. Yes, it was MY fault he drank half a bottle of vodka before he left his apartment.
4) The more one writes, the more emotionally charged they are, thereby acting like they are “defending” themselves. Nice Darren! And you insist you didn’t want to have sex…

Ok, enough thoughts. I present to you, my response:

Your extra long emotional outburst is a joke. Perhaps you shouldn’t tell me to lighten up and instead look at your long tirade of crap. Good luck finding your one night stand. Your manners indicate you need it.

I’mportant rule here: The less you say in an argument, the more the other person says. And with that, I blocked him. If he tried to respond, and I’m sure he did, it said, “We’re sorry, this person has blocked you.” HA HA.

No response from the other nitwit, Heather.

Tonight I got a phone call from MotorcycleInstructor. Ah HA HA HA HA HA. I didn’t answer it. It’s a pure joke at this point. It was another desperate sounding voicemail that I should call him. So ridiculous. No room for master of all liars in my life. But, then he called again around 9:30. I started to wonder why he was on my case, so I called back. He said he’s been thinking about me and asked if I have been thinking about him. I said no. He called me an ass. Then he asked if he could see me. I said, “Well, you’re going to laugh, but I’m seeing someone.” He said, “Why would I laugh?” I said, “Because the day I decided I was totally done with you was the day before I met someone else. How true, how true. He said that he had just wanted to call me and tell me what happened. I said, “All of that was too little, too late.”

And my “friends” at the lunch place called. It seems I have a lunch date on Monday. I really cannot wait to get out of that. I think it’s over in May. Fourteen dates or May – whichever comes later. So I guess this is date #8. Hopefully, it goes horrifingly wrong. I love bad dates.Now, regarding the Bartender. I have been sort of mum about this, and I’m not really sure why. I really like to tell all. But, the bottom line is that he is incredibly sweet and attentive. I’m currently knocking on Death’s Door, as I have Strep Throat (faaaabulous) and he’s been very kind to check in with me every few hours to see if I need anything. Hopefully I haven’t gotten him sick, and the doctor said I am “highly contagious” for the next few days. My fever is 103. Who gets a 103 fever? Do I have Malaria? The last time I was this sick was in February when I thought I was going to die, and Derek stole my Vicodin.

Anyway, the sweetness of his text messages blows me away. My favorite is “Thanks for dinner and the excellent company last night. I hope you enjoyed my company as well. I look forward to whatever.” As quick as it is moving along, I still, as always, keep one part of my heart (the big part) out of it. There is a lingering ex-girlfriend on his end, and some lingering men who I have tentative dates planned with on my end. Slow and steady is a fine pace for me right now. It’s nice to date someone who missed out on majoring in “How to Play Games With Her” with a double minor in “Get in Her Pants on the First Date” and “Don’t Call When You Say You Will.” Aww, hell, it’s just nice to meet someone, well, nice.

Despite my sore throat, I did make it out of my house for the drag race. Lucky for me, I didn’t have very far to go. My actual location will remain nameless due to some craziness I’ve encountered as the author of this blog.

We had a fab spot by the finish line, but then some whore jumped in front of us and brought all her stupid bridge and tunnel friends with her and we no longer had a great view. (Steve Rubell may be dead, but he was damn good at what he did.) At that point I snarled to Brent, “People are assholes” and yes, she heard me. I think I was hoping for a fight. But she had nothing to say in response. I then of course wondered out loud, what would happen if I called 911 right now? Would any of these cops show up? (I have a growing hatred of the lazy D.C. police force, due to a number of incidents in which they could have easily done their job but chose instead to look the other way.)

Ok, everyone else has made their commentary on the drag race, I really don’t need to. I did see I-66 there and while I was dying to say hi, I didn’t want to scare him into thinking I was a stalker.

Last year it was better because 1) there were less assholes there and 2) the weather was acceptable enough for Velvet to wear her Halloween costume.

And speaking of freaks and Halloween, I have some more delights trying to contact me on Yahoo. Only….five….more….days….thank….goodness…..

Here’s my first gem:

Hey There,
Hilarious profile…you sound delightful, and I can do way better than that. I’m visiting DC from California for a week starting Friday and I’d love the company of a lovely young lady for dinner or drinks one evening, or more if we have fun! Email if you’d be interested or like to chat!
Cheers,
Darren

Well, it’s time to start having fun with these little peckers. Here we go:

Darren,
Thanks for your truly offensive email but despite what you may think, I am not a call girl. I do not “do dinner or drinks or more” with men who are blowing through town for the week.

How about this one? What should I do with this slut?

Hi =)
I know a man named Russell and he is a delightful and attractive man who lives in Washington, DC and your profile matches his nicely – You would be a great match. Would you be willing to get in touch with him? Please let me know and I will send you more information if you are interested along with some pictures.

My name is Heather by the way. What’s yours?

Have a nice day,
Heather

P.S. Do you have a personal e-mail address to which I could send you his profile? It’s impossible to send pictures through yahoo.

Ok. I can’t even wait for your comments. I’m going in….

Heather,
Yes yes, what a fabulous idea. I think it’s great to be set up by a woman-pimp in Oregon with a man here in D.C. I would LOVE to give you my personal email address. Here, while I’m at it, I would also like to provide you with my credit card numbers and home address, and spare keys to my car and house.

I love me right now. How funny is that? I am also wondering why these two weirdos both used the word “delightful.” Who uses that word? Come on.

It’s very exciting that the drag race is tonight. It would be more exciting if I wasn’t sick.

Ok, let’s get to it. What the hell does this mean and why has it landed in MY personals inbox?

How are you doing,i want you to know this babe, Love is not about finding the right person, but creating a right relationship. It’s not about how much love you have in the beginning but how much love you build till the end..I’m talking about fate here – when feelings are so powerful it’s as if some force beyond your control is guiding you to someone who can make you happy beyond your wildest dreams.am John my nick is Kan

It is the rule of Velvet to write back to one and all. Even though they so carelessly send obvious cut and pastes to thousands of women, I feel that a personal email deserves a personal answer – even if I really have nothing to say. So I wrote “Thanks for your email.” I know that in this blog I am a woman of words, but, I really had nothing else to say to that rambling. Still, it didn’t deter him. Here we go:

I’ve fallen in love with you and I’ll never let you go. I love you more than anyone, I just had to let you know. And if you ever wonder why, I don’t know what I’ll say, but I’ll never stop loving you, each and every day…If a hug represented how much I loved you, I would hold you in my arms forever..If the days won’t allow us to see each other, memories will, and if my eyes can’t see you, my heart will never forget you

I must tell him to consult this post on stalking. I would like to think he just copied something from a poem or a song. I’m not even sure what I’m reading. And his picture! Oy Vey. It’s like he lifted it from some modeling catalog. (Cough cough, who would EVER do something like that…flashback…BoyFace…fake profile.) Fine, I admit it, I’m an expert at picking out a fake picture. Fuck it, let’s do the picture:

I know it’s not cool, but listen, this is FAKE. We all know it.

I have got to dump that account. It’s proven to be nothing except a magnet for losers, psychotics, neurotics, non-English speaking foreigners, and old men seeking sex slaves.

What ever happened to the good old days of picking up a man in a bar. Oh, wait…

It wasn’t much, but it was very telling. Read into it, or not, as you wish.

“If I messed this up, it would have to be a masterpiece, because the blog is like the blueprint. It’s like saying ‘put that wall here, put this window there.'”

Is the blog really a Velvet instruction manual? Can just anyone read what is here, make sense of it, and change their behaviors accordingly? Is that possible? And if it is possible, could I just print what’s here, post it in various places online and in the newspaper and invite one and all to come date me?

Now that you are reading, are you planning out your play-by-play of what you are doing with me?

I had a fantasy that it was me playing with everyone else. But now, is this your way to play with me?

If you haven’t read Saturday’s post with my confession, please do that before reading this one – it will make more sense.

My favorite, and most delicious of all bartenders has been trying to comment on this blog. For whatever the reason (drunkeness?) he is unable to get a comment to post. How’s that for irony? You, my friend, shall remain without your voice! HA! It’s fine. Good looking men should be seen and not heard anyway. Ok, kidding.

I’m notorious for having conclusions and realizations after the event has occured. Often I lay in bed at night and think of things that happened that day and find clarity, or solve problems in some way. It’s my nature. Today, I have had a few of those thoughts regarding Saturday’s date. Here we go.

I find it absolutely endearing that The Bartender found my blog online without any clues from me about it’s site name or address, and that he read through the past few months.

I find it absolutely endearing that he slowly let the cat out of the bag that he had actually read as much as he did. Most men would be afraid to admit that they have any tiny miniscule interest in your life. Apparently not my Bartender.

I find it absolutely endearing that when we met at 14th & U yesterday and I asked him where he wanted to eat, he immediately knew. I’m a sucker for a man with a plan. (The wishy-washy ones need to be slapped, very hard.)

I find it absolutely endearing that he sat across from me at lunch and said, “Damn, I just told you two of the three stories I had planned for today.” I asked him to clarify. He said, “On my walk here, I planned out three stories that I wanted to tell you. I already told you two and we haven’t even gotten to the zoo yet.” How cute is that? I wanted to jump on him from my side of the table.

I also find it absolutely endearing that he sent me this text message last night at 3:13 a.m.: “I’m right outside your door if you want more.”

I don’t find this next text message about his posting a comment to the blog as much endearing as I do positively titillating: “You don’t want to know what I have to say cause you drive me wild and I’ll have too many lewd innuendos.” Excuse me for a second…..ok. I’m back.

Normally I’m incredibly passive in a budding “relationship” of any sort. I sit back and try to take it all in and figure out where I stand and such. There is none of that here. I feel like I’m just throwing myself in, blogging like an ass, and it’s a damn lot of fun. It’s got a youthful, playful feeling to it. Similar to that feeling of “neighbor knocking” as we called it, in the college dorms.

Finally, I’m not sure what the dating life brings in the next few weeks, as I have been having email exchanges with a few different people for a while now, all generated from this past foray into the online world. I feel that I owe it to myself and the blog to go on those dates when they present themself. This puts me in the supremely awkward position of my favorite bartender reading about other dates. Is that bad? Should I be concentrating on one thing at a time?

I have never overtly discussed sex on this blog. I just don’t think it has a place here. Time for a disclaimer. Velvet has never in her entire life maintained sexual relationships with more than one man at a time. This has been and will always be my rule. It’s not really even a rule – it’s just something I can’t do. It’s where I draw the moral line. I know, I know, make your jokes. It’s only four years difference but I already feel like it’s a Stiffler’s Mom & Finch scenario of sorts.

Soon, I will be ready to answer the question he asked in a 3:37 a.m. text message which was, “When will I ever get to have you?”

Soon.

Ok. Rewind to blogger meeting last Wednesday. It wasn’t just a kiss. Well, it was, but now we had a date today. There have been phone calls and some really hilarious text messages. Past performance in dating does not guarantee future results in dating. I shouldn’t have been so quick to say “I swapped spit with someone” so casually because this is gaining some momentum. The kiss was good. But, I want more. I want to do very bad things to him as he is incredibly good looking, free-spirited and funny. So funny. I look at him and instantly have dirty thoughts. Now would be a good time to remind one and all of my secret wish to be a stripper. In the spirit of revealing myself, I toss to you, symbolically of course, my bra and panties.

It was the bartender.

I foresee bad things as blogger meetings progress. Why am I crapping where I eat again? This is the stupidity equivalent to my dating the motorcycle instructor before the test, to my dating my R.A. in college and having to pass his door when I was sneaking home with someone else, to my dating the construction manager at a job in Maryland and putting myself in a massively awkward position in many capacities. I am dating the bartender at a venue that I will not be able to avoid in the future. I’m an idiot.

But, these are things I wasn’t thinking about when we were walking around the zoo today, eating on U street, or rolling around on my couch.

Obviously, he knows about and already read the blog, because well, he’s the bartender at a place that hosts the blogger meetings. I will continue to follow my tradition of not censoring myself. It just means that he can read everything that is written about him – or anyone else for that fact. And I’m okay with that right now.

Since the big drive out to Michigan and back, I’ve had a lot of “deep thoughts” that occured to me both on my drive and while at my brother’s house. These thoughts are related to, of course, dating and relationships and why I am still single.

First and foremost, while I understand that relationships and ultimately marriage are about compromise, I don’t feel that I’m ready to make basic compromises in what I want or to lower my standards in any way. What I mean is that, I know who “he” is. I know everything about him. I just haven’t met him yet. But when I do, I will know after an hour. Similarly, I will know if he’s not right after a few minutes. As I stated earlier, my benchmark and the man who came closest to perfection brought my dating and to a new level and set a whole new standard for men who I want in my life. The only issue with him was that while he set a new standard, he didn’t really see inside my soul.

I reconsidered for a couple minutes what happened with MotorcycleInstructor. I initially said to a friend, “Had he just told me that he had a kid, I would have been fine with it. It wasn’t like he had a dozen kids with a bunch of different mothers.” But now in rethinking that, I say no. NO. I will not lower my standards. I do not want someone else’s kids in my life, and dating a man whether he has one or more children ensures me one thing – I will never be number one in his life. And I deserve that, if only for a fleeting time.

Expanding on “knowing who he is,” I would like to make one point. In none of these “perfect men” scenarios I play out in my head do I foresee wanting to stay with someone forever. In the beginning of any flirtation/dating, the man is always interesting to me. But he usually loses that interesting quality, sometimes in minutes, sometimes in months, and then I lose interest myself. And how could I possibly know that I would want to be with the same person in 30 years? People who want to be married and have kids, who view that as the “ultimate goal” are an anomaly to me. I cannot understand how anyone could want something they have never had and have no first hand knowledge of. Put another, simplier way, imagine you never ate a piece of chocolate. Could you then crave chocolate, seeking it as the be-all-end-all sweet? Could you really even know what you are missing? That’s how I feel about marriage. But many women still say dreamily that all they want is the “fairy tale.” How can they really know that? Are people just wanting something because they have created the fairy tale version in their head – a version that mirrors reality only a little.

At times, it might seem like I’m tearing through the men at an unreasonably quick pace. But, dating is a numbers game and don’t let anyone tell you anything different. The more men I meet and date, the better my chances at finding someone worthy. My boss, with another of his Land Acquisition mottos says, “Make it a goal to find one new deal a week. Some work, some don’t. But this way you ensure an overall, long term success.” This applies to dating as well. If I met/dated one new man a week, after a year I would have had mostly insignificant encounters. But, I would also have had some pretty significant men enter (and possibly stay in) my life. It’s something to think about, and it’s my reasoning for this madness with the internet, going out, and generally being open to any sort of encounter no matter how irrelevant it seems.

All right. D.C. MUST have missed me because it’s been 24 hours that I’ve been back and I’ve had some seriously funny shit happen to me.

On my way home from a meeting in Baltimore, I was checking voicemail. The car dealership called me to schedule my service since the parts were in. I committed the number to memory and went to dial right away. Apparently it was wrong because I hear “This is Eric.” I said, “Oh, this isn’t what I thought it was.” He said, “What?” I said, “Sorry, wrong number, I thought I was calling my car service shop.” Then it plays out like this:

Eric: “Well, you want me to look up their number?”
Velvet: “No, I couldn’t possibly ask that of you. Sorry for bothering you Eric.”
Eric: “How did you know my name?”
Velvet: “Because you said ‘This is Eric’ when you answered. Try to keep up, okay?”
Eric: “You are too funny. What kind of car do you have?”
Velvet: “A (we don’t need to go here, do we, Velvet likes to be anon.)”
Eric: “Ooh, I’ll take that.”
Velvet: “It’s a piece of crap Eric, you know I was trying to call the dealer to get it fixed but you answered the phone instead of them.”
Eric: “Right, let me get that number for you.”
(Eric gives me the number.)
Velvet: “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”
Eric: “So what are you doing?”
Velvet: “Driving home from a meeting in Baltimore.”
Eric: “What kind of work do you do?”
Velvet: “I work for a builder.”
Eric: “I’m a developer. Wow. I don’t believe in coincidences. This is weird.”
Velvet: “Neither do I! Is your favorite book the Celestine Prophecy too?”
Eric: “Nope, It used to be. Now I like the Bible.”
Velvet: “Oh Christ, we can never date Eric. I’m an atheist.”
Eric: “Oh. Well, want to get a cup of coffee anyway?”
Velvet: “What? Is this really happening? Am I getting a date out of a wrong number?”
Eric: “Not a date per se, but I’m curious. This sort of thing doesn’t happen.”

Ok, I was on the phone with Eric for 18 minutes. Why is my life this crazy? It is so funny that I’ve really concentrated on opening myself up to all sorts of things and instead of saying “Wrong number” and hanging up, I’ve now met someone who wants to meet for coffee.

Even funnier is that tonight was the Blogger meetup in Adam’s Morgan. I cringe to tell you all this since most of you will know EXACTLY who I am talking about as I tell this story. I got there at 7:00, but no one was there. (Damn you Kristin!) I decided to go home and walk my dogs. I went back up there at 8:30 and sat at the bar talking with non-bloggers. I didn’t know any of the bloggers who arrived, and I was feeling lazy so I just stayed at the bar. The bloggers were outside on the patio. I don’t really know that this story needs details. Let’s just say that I swapped spit with someone there. So, HA HA! That will teach all of you to not show up again.

Laughing my ASS off over here…

Oh, my precious blog. It’s been WAY too long. Blast that dial up connection at my brother’s. Well, I’m BAAAACK. Where shall I start?

Early this morning when I left the mitten state of Michigan, I decided, very consciously, that I wanted to get back to D.C. very quickly and it was worth the chance to drive 90 to get home, even if I got a ticket. I had a vision that no cop could give me a ticket with two cute dogs in the car. So, 90 it was – all the way through Michigan into Ohio and right on to the Ohio Turnpike. Lucky for me I was really only doing 85 when I flew over the hill right by the cop.

Now, before I unfold this drama for you, let me say that Velvet has “never” gotten a ticket after being pulled over. Somehow, it just never happens that I get the dreaded ticket, except for that one time I didn’t try very hard up near Niagara Falls. And I have to give that dude credit, it was cold and I would have been pissed too if I had to get out of my toasty cruiser for some stupid girl speeding in the snow. So, I probably would have given me a ticket too.

I got pulled over in Baltimore about four years ago and played “stupid girl new to town” and got out of it. Nevermind that “new to town” came from that fact that I drove around with Connecticut plates for 7 years after I actually left that state. Then last year I was pulled over with Penny when we were driving to go get Thora from Georgia. Actually, Penny was driving and we were falling asleep. Cop says, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” Penny said, “No sir.” Cop says, (classic line coming:) “Because you almost hit me.” Hey man, we drove all night. We were tired. Anyway, he asked what we were doing driving to Georgia with (again) Connecticut plates and Maryland Driver’s Licenses and I went into some tantrum about my ex and our dog running away and me having to rescue her and he figured that was such a ridiculous story that who the hell could have made it up. He let us go.

Ok, so back to this morning on the Ohio Turnpike. I get pulled over. He comes over to the passenger side, and who else but SuperDogs (loves of my life) jump to the window to greet him. It goes like this:

Cop: “Will they bite?”
Velvet: “Only if I get a really expensive ticket.”
Cop: (laughs as he pets Sammy’s head.) “Have you ever been pulled over on the Ohio Turnpike before?”
Velvet: “No. Is this where you tell me I get hauled downtown?”
Cop: (laughing again) “No no. Heading back to D.C. tonight?”
Velvet: “Yes.”
Cop: “Where were you?”
Velvet: “Michigan. My brother and his wife had a baby so I went to visit.”
Cop: “That’s nice. Why didn’t you fly?”
Velvet: “Because the doggies don’t have any grass to run on in D.C. and I felt guilty for that, so I brought them so they could have some fun.”
Cop: “That’s great. Well, as long as you check out that you haven’t been pulled over in Ohio before, I will let you off with a warning.”

And there you have it ladies and gents. I don’t know my secrets, it’s like when I go somewhere and I get Doris Day/superstar/rockstar parking right in front. I can’t explain it. I probably shouldn’t talk about it, but I’ve been lucky. I owe it today to SuperDogs though.

It’s my feeling that if you at least try to talk to the cop and somehow bring something personal into it, they will give you a break. Of course it depends on the cop and how cute he may think I am, but I still think that giving up a little personal information can’t hurt. Sometimes just saying, “I’m sorry, I know I messed up, but I was daydreaming” is all it takes.

On to the closure of old news: MotorcycleInstructor. This is the last of him you will hear, because it’s the end, the finale, the closure.

I had this vision while driving to Michigan that he was going to call and want to “talk.” And I was going to let him come over to talk, even buzz him into my building, but then when he was banging on my door and calling my cell asking why I wasn’t answering, I was going to say, “Huh. I don’t hear you. Could that be because I’M IN MICHIGAN??” It was funny in my head. Would have been funnier in person. But that was not to be. Instead, he left me a somewhat desperate sounding voicemail that he needed to “explain.” Fine. I’m willing to hear it.

Willing. But not ready. He’s got a 13 year old son he’s been freaking harboring like Osama Bin Ladin at his house because he didn’t know how I would react. I told him he could have at least given me the benefit of the doubt. He said that he didn’t know what to do, and realized that I was on to something being not quite right. Duh, you think? Is this not the MOST ridiculous ending to this story? I can’t even believe how lame this was. I was hoping for something better. I really wish I could make a soundcard of his voicemail and post it on here. You would have thought someone died.

I’ve spent the last week lining up some men from Yahoo. I’m going to start sinking my teeth into these guys and see where it takes me. I shall be back daily, with news.

It’s so strange – I’m sitting here in the guest bedroom at my brother and sister-in-law’s house in Grand Rapids, wondering how they ended up here with a life in the ‘burbs and a baby. It’s just strange to me to think that my two brothers and I grew up in the same house for so many years, now we have such incredibly different lives. My older brother’s life is filled with mowing the grass and tending to a baby that never stops crying; mine is about drinking, dating, going to the gym and reading fashion magazines. It just makes me question how we end up like this. But, it makes me miss the noisy, rat infested neighborhood that I left behind.

Well, it’s not all bad. I’ve been somewhat rewarded. I logged into my personals account to see what has been going on and there are a handful of extremely good-looking men who have been writing to me over the past few days. I’m shocked that Jim-Bob Yeehaw and Dominant Dave Seeking Sex Slave have finally fallen by the wayside.

Ok, off to play with the baby.

What is wrong with these online daters? I have yet another man who is looking for a submissive sex slave. Here’s what he has to say:

• It all begins with trust and trus needs to be developed – it doesn’t come instantly. Once there is a connection, a bond, we can explore. I seek a certain type – tell Me if this is indeed you: you lose your grip on the world around you… as it loses focus, you only are aware of My Aura… I become your universe and your anticipation grows… your desire – your need to submit to One, to be owned and taken by Another, to surrender to His power and the ecstasy that it brings – this consumes you… contact Me and we will begin the journey… I have had a fair range of comments since posting this. If you wish to explore a Dominant – submissive relationship, we may be compatible. Should we connect, the possibilities are endless…

This is the third message like this that I’ve received. Of course, they NEVER post a picture so you can’t even see what freak boy looks like.

I’m on my way to Michigan to see the cutest baby in the world, so I’m not sure what the posting activity will be like. I have a few very potential dates on Yahoo, but since I’m out of town again, well, it seems like all that will have to go on to the back burner. Yes, it’s an important lesson we need to establish here: Family comes first.

Besides, after the one/two punch on bumping into an old flame I just can’t risk that the Old Celestine Prophecy theory will manifest itself in my life: When you keep bumping into someone who you haven’t seen in a while, it is because they have some sort of “message” for you, something that you need to know and if you don’t fully explore the reason why the chance encounter occured, you are playing with fate. I can’t believe that I read that book 10 years ago and it still affects my life. I was going to link to their website but it looks like a bunch of cult crap.

Well, I’m off. I’ll try to pick up a truck driver or some other boy so that I have something to write about tomorrow. Don’t worry, I will do my best to not let you down.

It was a good run. It was really only a matter of time. I just didn’t expect it to happen twice in one weekend.

Friday night I went to the gym before I was to pick up my friend from the airport for her weekend visit. So I walk in to the gym and who do I see but the one that got away. Or something like that. I adored this man so much that I was practically tongue tied when he called or when we dated. How annoying and how unlike me. And he never knew…at least I don’t think he was suspicious. I never called him, I never initiated any dates, never seemed more than “casually cool.” Last winter, our dating and such seemed to pick up speed and intensity (he wanted me to join him in Miami for a weekend, was the first to email me when I was in Italy, came to get my drunken ass at BestGuyFriend-M’s New Year’s Party) but it died off in January. I suspect he got back with an old girlfriend, but we never had a final conversation about it. Let me make it perfectly clear how I felt (and still feel) about him. This is the first and only man who I have ever felt I could marry and never ever look back and wonder if there is anything better out there.

So there he is, on the elliptical across from me and facing the other way. And there I am, sneaking peeks at how much time he has left in the workout so I can dodge him until he leaves. Yes everyone, yours truly, Velvet the superdater, was hiding behind weight stacks and cardio machines to avoid him. Success! He left the gym and I watched from the window as he walked across the street, back to his condo. I am really psycho.

It was great to see my friend and have a weekend alone with her to shop and drink and talk about the old days when, well, I was a dedicated girlfriend to AtlantaBoy and she was a not-so-dedicated girlfriend to her bevy of boyfriends. Sunday, we were in Georgetown shopping, and we had parked right on M Street. We got in the car around 5:00 to leave and I’m trying to make a right on Wisconsin and this guy jumps off the sidewalk and right in front of my car to get around the mass of people. It’s the dude from the gym. Christ. What have I done to deserve this? Of course he sees me, I drive a one-of-a-kind-color type of car. So I wave and he comes up to the car. My friend got to meet him which was so funny for her to actually meet him after all that time of hearing the stories. We had an awkward conversation for a couple of minutes where he asked me about my new place and that was all. Then we said goodbye and I drove off. Damn. Damn Damn Damn.

BestGuyFriend-M met us for dinner and he said that it was fate. If I had just dealt with seeing him at the gym, it would have been fine. But noooooooo, I had to tempt fate and end up practically running him over. For the record, that would have been fine by me. Then I could stop comparing every man I meet to him.

First, a plea for your help. Does anyone know anything about animals and secondhand drug use? It sounds ridiculous, I know, but my poor Thora is a mess. “Friends” told me that my ex used to do drugs with her in the room with the door closed and to me now, she is a different dog. These “Friends” told me that she never had any food or water and this went on for almost a year until I got her back. I’m having numerous behavioral issues with her that were not present when she was a puppy or when I was in her life the first time. Something has happened to this dog and I don’t know how to help her. I’ve literally gone to the ends of the earth for her – the ends of the earth being a middle of the night rescue from Macon, Georgia. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Now, ladies, try to contain yourselves as Bachelor Number 2 loads onto your screen. Try not to make any audible noises or everyone will know you aren’t doing any work.

I’m not sure how much more of this I am supposed to endure.

Has anyone ever used Yahoo Personals? Have you seen the things they call “word verification?” I know word verification is for “my” protection and what not, but half the time you get it bounced back to you that you guessed wrong. They are virtually impossible to figure out. And every decent man who is emailing me is complaining about them too. I didn’t realize I needed a CIA Code Breaker to help me date, but, this is D.C. and, well, I guess it was only a matter of time.

Le Sigh. In lieu of any real comfort in my life, I did what most women do when they are in peril. I shopped. I shopped my little arse off, and then some. You all should thank me, however, because I singlehandedly propped up our economy for another day. When the housing bubble busts and gas hits $7 a gallon, don’t come crying to Velvet because it was VELVET who cleaned the racks at TJ Maxx, Filene’s Basement, Marshalls, Kramer Books, Barnes & Noble, Petco, and Saks Fifth Avenue.

Now, hit that comment button and tell me what to do about sad, depressed Thora, who is now sleeping in the bathtub. Thanks.

Online dating contines to be a fruitful way to meet quality men.

I know I said I wouldn’t post anyone’s pictures, but, well, that one just takes the cake. He is wearing the colors of my college, orange and green, maybe that counts for something.

An old boyfriend of mine is now reading the blog and thinks it’s uncool that I’m posting things about these men up here. However, my response was that if these men are going to be jerks, and treat me poorly, then they deserve to be up here, for all the world to see. Well, maybe not all the world.

You all may have been wondering in the past few days (in which I seem to have disbanded my normally quasi-classy PG-rated posts to pontificate about porn, masturbation, brazilian waxes and such,) exactly what happened to that asshole we all know and hate known as MotorcycleInstructor. Well, it isn’t pretty. And, it’s over, again.

All last week he was in boyfriend mode, calling every hour, checking in, finding out what I was up to. The last I heard from him was Friday at 3. I didn’t realize this until Saturday night around 9, and then I found myself thinking “Where’s that little gnat I couldn’t get off my back this week?” So I sent a text message that says, “See how you call all week and disappear on the weekend?” He writes back, “No.” What a way with words. So I try to call, it goes to voicemail. I write back, “What no? Pick up your damn phone.” And he says, “I’m in Virginia, on my way back now.” And that’s all folks. There has been no contact since then.

He probably can’t understand why I would want something called consistency, and I can’t understand how he can continue to be so flaky. So, here it is. The uneventful, boring end to another “relationship.” See, I told you all that if I allowed myself to get annoyed enough that it would be easy when the end got here. And it has.

Today we are going to discuss internet dating. I have received quite a few responses to my profile. If you don’t want to read the comedy that follows, scroll to the bottom for my final conclusions.

Let me put the disclaimer on here that I assure you I am making none of these up. They are directly copied and pasted from my inbox. Let’s take a closer look, a la David Letterman format, the top 10 list. Gotta save the best for last.

10) Received a nice message from some giant man who lives in Columbia, about an hour from here. The title of his profile? “Prince of Coitus.” What is wrong with these people?

9) The next guy seems very nice, and the rest of his email is somewhat well written with no spelling errors. But, he’s 52. Here’s how he addresses that.

• I am a few years past the age indicated in your profile. But I still like to meet you…please,.just a coffee, may be a drink, and may be, and just may be, a short trip to Paris..!!!!

“a few years past??” I’m 32. I’ll date up to 42. Since when is 10 years past my age range only “a few.” Christ. Is my title “Looking to fill role of Child Bride?”

8) This guy looks normal in his pictures. Ugly, but normal. (At this point, Ugly Is The New Normal.) But in his message to me, he wrote this:

• I’m singing in a choir that’s become a lot of fun…it lets me make music on a regular basis & has become a weekly excuse for socialization with a few friends of mine and I (dinner before rehearsal, then the carpool back again).

Choir? CHOIR??? Carpool? I’m imagining one of those church vans taking a bunch of ugly men back to sing and do whatever it is those church-folk do.

7) Here’s yet another winner from profile entitled “HUH HMMM R U GONNA BE MY GIRL :)” That stupid title matches the stupid look on his face. I want so badly to post his picture.

• HI GIRLS,WELL LOOKING FORWARD TO CRUZZING AROUND HERE A BIT LOOKING FOR MY SMART ,BEAUTIFUL,CURVY,SEXY,SENSUAL,GOD FEARING LIFE TIME PARTNER IN LOVE.PLEASE KEEP YOUR EYE,S OPEN FOR ME ,I,D HATE TO THINK WE PASSED EACH OTHER LIKE SHIP,S IN THE NIGHT.WOW I CAN,T BELEIVE I JUST SAID THAT ? OK, ABOUT ME I,M A REAL GOOD LOVING ,UNDERSTANDING, COMPASSIATE, GENTILE, GIVING WHERE NEEDED WHEN I CAN KIND A MAN. I AM A TRUE ROMANIC IN EVERY SINCE OF THE WORD. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A 1 WOMAN MAN. I,M NOT NOW NOR WAS I EVER A PLAYER, MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME MUCH BETTER THAN THAT. A PLAYER IS JUST ANOTHER FORM OF SIDISTIC BEHAVIOR IN MY OPION. I AM VERY GOOD WITH MY WOMAN AND WE JUST ADORE EACH OTHER COMPLETLY 🙂 HMMMMMMM…………… THE THINGS WE DO TOGETHER,OH SO SWEET 🙂 WELL I’M CERTAINLY HOPING 1 OF YOU UPSTANDING BEAUTIFUL FINE WOMEN WILL LOOK ME UP 🙂 :)SINCERELY YOUR,S JIMMY, 🙂 PLEASE GO IN PEACE 🙂

Note spelling errors and use of comma instead of apostrophe. How about “I am very good with my woman and we just adore each other completely” ??? Does that mean you have a woman? Because you imply that you have one who adores you already. She must be blind. And stupid. And the ships in the night comment, where did that come from? As The World Turns?

6) An “Icebreaker” as they call them, from this guy. All he said to me was “Hey how are you?” But, let’s look at his profile.

• ask me………..this is only on a one to one basis. ok ok……..they want more. i dont like this. you are going to have to take a chance. this is not like anything either one of us can imagine. not an exageration. think of your independent thinker, a chance taker, a traveler of the stars and mountains and the rippled sidewalk waves; chance meeting in a bookstore or out of the way yak trail. haha. def a sense of humor. totally irreverent. you? mmmmm……..i had a dream about you last nite. immediate clicking and tete a tete in a cafe, coffeehouse and that closness of spirits. oh its rare…both a platonic and non-platonic realm. I had another dream. NO its none of those kind. These are positive. But more about that later. Have you ever had that perfect friendship? Is your first instinct to when you meet someone, to learn more about them, or to talk about yourself? Many cosmic aspects. This is more of a living document here, doesnt it seem? (of course, successful, professional, artistic, patient and compassionate, but human and positively vulnerable, yet insatiable for your soul, one has to be) We all seek the standard answers but yet disdain the common, the everyday. Are we a victim of too many constraints. You are the person who always makes one think of unlimited possibilities, of a thrill in the heart..a secret daliance..a cant wait to sin. You do not let anything limit you. You trust and embrace, arm in arm, a glow always in your eyes. Even ……….how do i tell you more. Offer me a clue or 2. Part of my charm is what you cant put your finger on. You def must be creative in this universe and never be caught. Me? Haha…..I always ramble for a reason. I believe in a positive universe, hard work, edgery, where might you find me if you were to look?…………..stay tuned.

Be me good woman. What. The. Fuck. Can anyone make sense of that jibberish???

5) Received this from a guy in Pennsylvania who couldn’t be bothered to crop his ex-wife out of the picture. Also has kids. (In the background I hear the wrong answer buzz from Family Feud.)

• You really interest me.. I’m like 5 min. from MD and could easily take a road trip.. Don’t worry, I’m just looking for a friend first, then, we’ll see if we think it’s worth our mutual time….

Ok. I don’t even like to leave Dupont Circle. I am pissed off when I have to take the dogs to the groomer on 14th Street, a mere three blocks away. Why the fuck would I want to make a “friend” in PA? “5 minutes from Maryland” is still hours from no where. Come on!

4) Next dude just sent the form icebreaker as well. He describes himself as “a few extra pounds.” I think he needs a new mirror. I would say it’s 50-75 extra lbs by the looks of his pictures, which, by the way, I want so badly to post up here along with some of these other freaks. But, instead, I shall post a picture of his dog, and you will get the point. Dogs always end up being just like their owners. (My dogs are assholes.)

That is the fattest fucking dog I’ve ever seen in my life.

3) This one is from some nerdy guy.

• You are very cute and I dig the pics 🙂 I’m kind of trying to see where a current situation of mine is going. My friend lives in Indonesia; however, that doesn’t keep me from trying to establish friends, in a non-sexual way. I am a person of integrety, honesty and compassion. At this point my friend over there is having a hard time getting a US visa. I can tell you more about it if you ask 🙂 My bottom line: If you want to chat or email, or even have coffee sometime. please drop me a line.

Why would anyone bother to contact someone to tell them they have a girlfriend in another country? He cares about her enough to mention her but not enough to marry her and get her a green card? Christ, I’ll marry her at this point.

2) This guy scared me so much I didn’t even know what to do. There is no picture, but his message speaks for itself. He has since deleted his profile, but the message remains in my inbox. I’m afraid to hover my mouse over it to delete it. It’s the same apprehension I would feel at having to poke a dead body with a stick.

• The first thing you would have to do on our first date is dress down to your panties and head straight to the kitchen and whip up our meal for the night. Then we can discuss whose washing the dishes…… you make me smile when I look at you.

1) And, the piece de la resistance. Received a generic “I like your profile. Tell me more,” from someone with the following profile text. There is, of course, no picture.

• I’m looking for a Mature, Young woman (not a girl). A Woman that prefers the company and experience of an older man. She wants a Loving, Caring, and Loyal Relationship. Not looking to just play games, though Intimate Games will be very important in the Realtionship. She wants an Honest, Trusting, Loving Man that will keep her safe and secure. She knows how, and wants to please her Man in all ways. She must love Affection and Intimacy. She must love to get out and enjoy life with her Man, knowing that her Man is with Her…. I do like to RolePlay, hence the name Daddy. I do not believe in any Abuse, physical or mental…. Life is an Adventure, meant to be shared. Are you ready to Explore Life, and share the Adventures????? Write me or send me a Wink. I can write you back from my paid profile….. Now smile for me. That is very important to me……. Daddy Charlie.

Does he really think in his 54 years and “separated” status that I would write back to him? It was only yesterday to me that I was dating frat boys. I certainly don’t want to jump from that to dating men about to file for social security. And let’s not even discuss the obvious undertones in his profile that he participates in some disgusting unmentionables in the bedroom? His screen name is Daddy Charlie and the title of his profile is “daddy4lilgurl4fun.” Daddy? Please, bitch.

*******************************************************************************

Prior to the internet, all these freaks were walking around out there and we unsuspecting women had no clue that they were illiterate rednecks, saddled with countless ex-wives and kids, harboring sexual fetishes unexplored with said ex-wives that they now want to live out with women half their age. I used to think dating in general was getting worse. I think now that the quality of people are the same, but the internet brings out the worst in people and those people are more than willing to show us.

Yes, I know this is a two way street and that I may be no prize either. In fact, I’m a bitch. But, this is my blog and I can write what I want. If you want to make your own blog and bitch about me then be my guest. Now for my conclusions:

Men Don’t Read

• This is the way a lot of men are re-entering the dating scene after a divorce. For me, a single woman with no baggage, these men are not viable options to me. First and foremost, I hate other people’s kids with a passion. I said “no kids” in my profile. But yet, I keep getting replies with some sort of explanation that they already have a nanny/don’t need another mother/kids are already grown.
• I have a 5 mile radius on distance in my profile. This doesn’t stop 50% of my replies coming from the hinterlands of Maryland, Virginia and Pennsyltucky.
• Many men think they are studly enough to get women half their age. Again, this is why I put an age range on my profile. I don’t care that you are 60 but “everyone tells you you look and act 45 and that’s just three years past my age range.” Your body is still 60, no matter how much you think otherwise. At best, we would only have a few years together before you retire to a trailerpark in Florida, taking your handicap parking sticker with you thereby leaving me to fend for mall parking on my own and having to relearn how to eat dinner in the non-early-bird hours of 7 p.m.

Men Are Delusional

• Women consistently describe themselves as worse looking than they are and men consistently describe themselves as much better looking than they are. I don’t know where men learn the art of self-promotion, but I am always amazed when I meet someone in person that they are shorter and much less attractive then they said they were. Brad Pitt is a 10. George Clooney is a 10. If you don’t look like that, you, my friend, are not a 10. Don’t pretend that you are.

Just so we’re clear. You know who you are and today you get your own entry. It is the first and last time I shall dedicate an entry to one person:

I don’t know that you fully understand this situation with the blog. It is serious to me, and the reason that long ago when I gave BoyFace the address of the blog I seriously regretted it and ended up changing the address.

The blog stops being honest if someone I’m dating is also reading it. {Or, if someone who is reading the blog wants to date me.} The rule has been and will always be, “any man I’m dating or sleeping with, or have plans to date or sleep with will never know about the blog.”

I spend so many hours in my day giving thoughful consideration to what I’m going to write. The irony in all of this is that people who are so seemingly “significant” in my life, i.e. MotorcycleInstructor, {for right now} don’t know that the blog exists. And never will. Since you know of its existence and read it daily, I’m afraid I can’t ever possibly date you.

Love,
Velvet in Dupont

Sigh. I’ve really refrained from making any aspect of this blog X-rated since my family reads. I lightly edit my life, and probably end up sounding a little more “together” than I really am. That being said, today’s entry builds on yesterday’s porn post, and there’s just no way around this. If the family is reading, please stop now and go watch the Disney Channel or something. For everyone else, I’ll try to be classy.

What I left out of yesterday’s blog is probably what some of you already read between the lines. After I watched all the porn, and got blocked out of the site for 24 hours, I was, well, in the mood. It was only 9 a.m., but MotorcycleInstructor called and asked what I was doing and I told him. He said, “Ok, well, I will come over there in a bit.” But I already knew that his “bit” would really end up being hours, or possibly days, and a girl just can’t walk around with her panties in a knot for an interminable amount of time. After a thorough examination of the contents of one battery operated item in my nightstand drawer, I was ready to begin my day.

I was right. His “hour” turned into three hours and I had to run out to Rockville for an appointment. He called around noon and I said “Let’s try for 2:00.” He said ok. But at 2:00, he was waiting on a call from a student who wanted to practice. It was nice to not get all huffy because at this point I didn’t care anymore. I was over the whole thing. He said around 4:00 and that went to 5:00, 6:00, 7:00 and as I was watching Seinfeld (it doesn’t take any visual stimulation at this point in my life) I leaned over to the drawer and conducted another “inspection.” AS SOON as I put it away and called the game over, he calls. WTF???

It’s quite close to 8:00 at this point. He says he’s running a few errands and then is on his way over. I tell him he doesn’t need to hurry as I want to go to the gym. He says, “What? I thought you were all bothered today?” I said, “Well, I WAS, but I took care of it already.” He was so pissed off. He said, “Velvet, you take ALL the fun out of this.” I said, “What the hell are you talking about? I fucking knew your few minutes would be hours, days even. Why wait?” He said, “You knew I was busy today, I promised you I was coming over and you just couldn’t wait. I suppose you don’t need me to come over now.” I said, “You can still come over. Who says I’m done? And for the record, you have proven yourself highly unreliable when it comes to estimations of your arrival time. You were supposed to be here at 11:00 this morning!” He said, “Fine, call me when you leave the gym.”

I called at 9:45 and it went to voicemail. I walked the dogs, went dumpster diving in someone’s recycling bin for the daily crossword, and resigned myself to an evening in bed with the dogs and today’s puzzle. He called back at 11, said he had fallen asleep and was on his way. I told him he didn’t have to come over. He said, “What do you not want me to come?” I said, “No, you’re in bed, if you’re tired, then stay at your house.” He said, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He literally came over, and we went to sleep. It was so strange. But, my boss and I were talking this morning and I told him “I have one of my famous funny stories for you.” (I share these things with him all the time…)

After I told him he said, “Am I to understand that you are dating a man who is jealous of your vibrator and love of porn?”

Yup, that sounds about accurate.

Then he said, “Where do you find these guys?”

We ALL want to know the answer to that, don’t we?

Have any of you ever seen these words appear on your computer?

Dear Customer:
We are sorry, but you have maxed out your time allotted for viewing movie trailers. Please come back and visit Excalibur Films again tomorrow.

Uh, in case you were wondering, yes, I saw those words today. I slept only from 2 a.m. until 5 a.m. again last night. No idea why. When I realized that I wasn’t going to fall back asleep, that the T.V. channels I like to watch are still in infomercial mode, that none of your blogs had possibly been updated yet, that the news hadn’t changed in three hours, and that there was no one awake to possibly talk to, I hopped online and started ordering porn. Eighty dollars later, I’m anxiously waiting for the UPS truck to stop by my door. Yes, yes, yes, I’m a woman and I love porn. It’s really amazing that no one has snatched me up yet, I know. But it’s interesting that the things men love about you in the beginning are the things that they end up hating about you most when you start having problems.

Once you place your order, your customer number allows you to view trailers for up to 30 days. Apparently there’s a daily time limit on that. I’ve never maxed it out in one sitting before though.

Christ. I’m pathetic. I have GOT to find a real man.

Enjoy.

I know I’ve gotten away from the “dating” theme of the blog the past few days, but things have been slow. The hits I’m getting online are such losers and the stupid asses at “It’s Just Lunch” have yet to get their act together to set me up with the next moron.

But, as I was walking the dogs this morning, I saw this truck outside my building. Does anyone see ANY conflict of interest between what this woman does for a living and the sexual innuendo that is her license plate?

Maybe the secret of how she “unfrazzles” parents and reduces anxiety is by simultaneously whispering and conducting the activity mentioned on her plate? Sheesh, I could have told you that.

UPDATE: Leave it to my boss to utilize google to keep him entertained throughout the wee hours of the morning. It seems that their website has a picture of Debi. If she was born in 1969 that would make her 4 years older than me. No way. She looks much older than that. And, then you could check this website out that specifically says, “Debi is dead.” So, what the hell?

I really had the most disturbing experience today. I’m trying to forget it, but I really need to discuss. Please be forewarned, you all will see me in a different light after today.

I am, as I have been for almost 8 years, a fan of the Brazilian Bikini Wax. Eight years ago, yes, they were virtually impossible to find and I had to do it myself. Then I discovered my treasure in Rockville and started “seeing” her, if you will. But the price kept going up and the drive to Rockville has become a pain since I am not working up there anymore so I started looking in town. The salon attached to my gym does Brazilians for half the price. I had to call to verify that they do “the whole thing” because some places won’t, and they leave the landing strip. I want no landing strip, I want it all off.

My appointment was today at 5. I’m used to going into a cozy room, being given disposable undies and a robe. The sargeant at this salon told me to drop my drawers. And I did. But then my legs were in all sorts of sexual positions and frankly, it was a little embarrassing, even for me, who fantasizes about a career as a stripper.

She’s all done in record time, and she says, “See? Smooth.” At this point she grabs my hand and puts it down there and starts RUBBING. And I’m trying to pull my hand away, and she takes it back and goes lower. I’m really scratching things off my Life-To-Do list. Now I’ve been masturbated by a Thai woman with my own hand.

Now, I know that I shouldn’t corrupt my new beautiful niece by posting her picture in the same blog as the masturbation entry, but, it’s too late. It’s a little blurry, mostly because those present at the birth admittedly don’t know a lot about cameras.

I don’t know what that title means, but I’ve been waiting until it was late September to use it, so THERE!

Moving with BestGuyFriend-M was hilariously hilarious. We went to his old condo to “pick up the last few things.” I should have brought something like, oh, a U-Haul, because his “last few things” were equivalent to what I would term “enough stuff to send to a homeless Katrina Hurricane Family.”

When we were cleaning out the refrigerator, there were like 3 dozen old eggs. We threw them into the trash and once the car was filled, we decided to take what we had to his new place, stopping to drop the trash. We illegally dumped the trash somewhere that shall remain undisclosed due to the sign that said “No public dumping, fines of $500.”

As we unloaded the boxes and other half-assed packed things at his new place, we realized that one of those eggs made a great eggscape – all over the back seat of his convertible Saab. It smashed right next to the latest pile of bird shit from his last foray parking under a tree. This is why I don’t drive a convertible.

We clean the egg the best we can and it becomes obvious that we would have to make several trips to the car to get all the stuff. This is inconvenient based on the placement of his parking space and the elevator, so I insist on taking it all at once. This results in me piling all the boxes on top of each other and getting on my knees and pushing it down the hall. But the boxes must have been heavier than I was (impossible) because every time I pushed, I only ended up pushing myself in the backward direction across the marble tile in the hall. M was hysterically laughing at me as he wheeled his ONE suitcase down the hall to his front door. I was a madwoman, but I got on my ass and pushed the boxes with my legs. That worked much better. Just as I pushed them over the threshold of the front door, he said “Thanks for your help” and slammed the door. When he opened it, I was laying on my back in the hall mumbling about what a good friend I was. Then he suggested we go get some food – at this point it’s about midnight. He asked me what I wanted to eat. My answer was priceless.

“I’ll have a backseat omelette with a side of birdshit.”

We could not stop laughing. M is a friend who I will still do favors for.

I have been VERRRRY lazy today. It’s definitely a Sunday. I woke up at noon and finally got out of bed by 1:00. The one block walk with the dogs wore me down so much that I was seriously considering a nap by 2:30. The nap never happened, but I did lay on the bed for most of the day. I still lay on that bed as I write, having not moved very much at all in the past few hours. I can feel my muscles atrophying.

MotorcycleInstructor came over last night, ever so briefly. Yes, we resolved the Friday turkey sandwich incident. He called me, of course, because I certainly would not have called him again. I DO NOT chase men. We each explained our side of what happened, he didn’t understand that I thought he was condescending and I didn’t understand his assessment that I went “psycho.” We’ve really got the makings of a beautiful, committed, communicative relationship in the works. Uh, ok, maybe not.

Don’t judge yet. These infuriating events help me care less and less for the day when he exits my life. I agree with all of you who have commented, both in person and on the blog, that it shouldn’t be this hard. I’m letting it die a slow painful death and in the spirit of getting back to the basics of what I do worst, I’m officially in the dating game again. I posted profiles on Yahoo and Match, and so far I’ve attracted most of the current residents and several alumni from the We-be-missing-some-teeth-Trailer Park. I might have to date some of them just for fun. And the fuckers at “It’s Just Lunch” have called again. So, we’ll see what shitpile they are going to dump me into later this week. Can’t wait.

Tonight I agreed to help BestGuyFriend-M move some things to his new place. I know, I know, I had that whole diatribe on Friday’s post that I’m no longer operating the favor train. But, M hasn’t burned me yet so I’ll still give him a shot.

Today, for the first time ever, I am an Auntie. Madison Kay (last name of Velvet gets inserted here) was born at 5:25 p.m.; 8 lbs 9 ounces. She’s the biggest baby ever on both our side and my sister-in-law’s side of the family.

YAY! I’m an Auntie! I’m going out to have a drink for Maddie. Nothing can bring me down today.

I can officially cross “Throw a sandwich in someone’s face” off the list of things I must accomplish in my lifetime. Keep reading.

The Favor Train is over. O-V-E-R. I am one of those people who is just a little too nice. I try to help people out, do good things and you know what? Being nice to people ALWAYS backfires like a 1979 TransAm with Jersey plates. Those of you calling in your favors to me, hire the appropriate professional to handle your woe. I ain’t doing it anymore.

I was supposed to watch Sara’s dog this weekend, but that ended up not happening. This is a favor that went so wrong in the beginning that it didn’t get its chance to play out to the end. My dog and Sara’s dog had a fight and my dog, Thora (not Sammy) bit Ginger. The whole scene was ugly. I have to say that while Sara told me I was her only option, and that I genuinely felt bad about that, there was nothing I could do. She wanted me to try it anyway. I just couldn’t. And I’m having a hard time understanding how she could selfishly want to leave her dog here in “dangerous territory” just so she could go out of town for the weekend. When man tries to control an animal, the animal in the end, has a way of showing who’s boss. The animals had spoken. Being nice gets your dog in a fight.

I went with Penny this morning to get her new car in Baltimore. I took the metro to Greenbelt and she was to pick me up and we would drive to Baltimore from there. She said she would leave when I was getting on the metro at U Street/Cardozo and we hung up as I took my seat. But, she didn’t leave and I called her when I was two stops away and she said, “Oh, I better leave the house now.” Now, I’m late everywhere too, but I try a little harder when someone is doing me a favor. And I should make a disclaimer that Penny is truly one of those friends who routinely goes out of her way for you. But, I still need this one for my story. Sorry Pen! I only ended up waiting a few minutes, Being nice leaves you waiting at the metro station.

We went directly to the DMV in Gaithersburg after leaving Baltimore. I was hungrier than Sally Struthers and damn Penny wouldn’t let me eat first. MotorcycleInstructor was there testing people with the bikes. We got to see each other for the first time since the big chill of two weeks. The DMV said Penny had to notarize her bill of sale so we left. But then I remembered that my notary stuff was in my car, not at my apartment in D.C. Since part of today’s plan was to get the car back from Helen, we left to get food and go pick up my car. MotorcycleInstructor asked me to bring him a sandwich, since we had to come back anyway, and I pleasantly obliged.

Despite the fact that we had an entire conversation last night about me picking up the car at her apartment at noon today, it turns out that Helen drove it to work instead of driving her own which she now has back in her possession. So we had to wait at the restaurant (PotBelly, yum, the highlight of my otherwise shitty day) for her to come up to Gaithersburg from Bethesda with my car. Being nice leaves you killing time at PotBelly.

Back at the DMV I give the big baby his food. Then he asks if I could drive him from one lot to another while he’s consolidating bikes etc. so he doesn’t have to walk. I agree, and he tells me to go get my car and wait at “that stop sign.” I do as told, and he wasn’t there when I got there. I wait and wait, Penny is in the car with me, and he comes up in someone’s Jeep, gets out and he’s shaking his head like I fucked up and he couldn’t wait for me. But, I did as told! Penny goes back into the DMV and he rode the motorcycle back to his truck. I find him down the street and he’s shaking his head and walking by me, and won’t stop long enough to hear me ask what the hell I did wrong. I follow him to his truck and he goes “Babe, I’m not mad, you just didn’t listen.” I said, “Fuck you, don’t you ever walk away from me when I’m talking to you.” And with that, I threw that fucking turkey sandwich at him. Being nice ends up making you throw a turkey sandwich in someones face.

Now, I’m taking MY dogs to the dog park and then I’m taking a nap and then I’m going to the gym. My first responsibility is to my job and to my dogs. I am not putting either of those two in a compromised position or in jeopardy to accommodate someone else ever again.

And with that, I’m out.

Well, MotorcycleInstructor called me back last night and again today. We talked a little more about what went wrong. I said, “Look, I just felt like if any woman told me the same details of what went on with me and you, I would tell her that the guy she is dating clearly has a girlfriend.” He laughed. But then he said, “I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m talking to my girlfriend now.” Typical of me, instead of addressing that, I change the subject to something stupid like, “Sammy’s eating a rawhide.” I’m a moron.

As I was thinking about what I was going to write for this blog, he called me. He’s on his way home from a bike night at some bar. I asked if he was drunk, and he said he wasn’t, and that being drunk was my department. Yes it is. Now that we have our roles somewhat straightened out, I again begin giving him a hard time about the whole thing. He said he had these plans to wash my car, wash the dog, take me to dinner, all to make up for it, but that I wouldn’t return his calls. For the record, I don’t believe all that nonsense. The rest of the conversation goes like this:

Me: “Fine, let’s go to dinner.” (It would be like, gasp, a real date.)
Him: “Ok, but you know you have some making up to do too.”
Me: “What?”
He repeats.
Me: “Ok, let’s get our cards on the table. What do you want?”
Him: “You mean with you and me?”
Me: “Yes.”
Him: “Um, what do you want?”
Me: “Oh no way, I asked you first.”
Him: “I’m thinking about that baby.”
Me: “Ok, I’m waiting.”
Him: “I’m at 7/11. Can I order my hot dog and call you back?”
Me: (giggling) “Of course.”

It’s a big decision that he has to make. He knows that when he calls back, whatever he says will be the determining factor of what happens with us. And, gasp, should he not call me back at all tonight, which of course wouldn’t be totally out of the realm of possibilities for him, well, then he’s officially done in my life. And that would be with good reason. Shit, I almost want to DARE him to not call back. The wrath of a Greek Woman is not one many want to face.

Ok. It’s later. He called back. We’re on the phone now. We’re discussing what each of us wants. He said he likes me, wants to get to know me better and develop it into a relationship. He asked me how I felt and if I could see myself with him. I said “Yes.” And he was like, “Really? Why?” So I went through some of my reasons, which made him question the quality of man I’ve dated in the past. I KNOW, I KNOW, THEY ARE ALL ASSHOLES.

He said that he’s happy about the fact that my brother and sister-in-law were in his corner and rooting for him, and that they count the most because they are family. Then he said about my brother, “He sounds pretty cool. I would like having him for a brother in law one day.” Again. I. Was. Speechless. These statements shock me so much that I’m like, stuck and I can’t talk or say the 754 things running through my head.

All in all it was a good conversation, obviously.

Still in a hellaciously bad mood. It would help if my partner in crime, Sara, was feeling up and happy, but, alas, she’s at the intersection of Shit Street and Fuck it All Boulevard like me.

So, a few random things to note before I dwell back in my self-imposed misery. None of these items are really related to each other.

First, I almost got run over by a bitch in her piece of shit car today. She ran the stop sign at the infamous New Hampshire and S intersection, almost ran over me and the dogs, had the nerve to scream at me as if I didn’t have the right of way, and was on her cell phone without an ear piece. Where were the cops when you needed them? At the opposing stop sign with their windows open, and other pedestrians screaming for them to do something about what happened. You know what they did? What D.C. cops usually do. If you guessed nothing, you are correct. Your prize is that I’ll share some of my Prozac with you that I found in my medicine cabinet from my days of living with the ex. Which brings me to my next item.

Second, AtlantaBoy begged me to send copies of pictures of us from our relationship together to him. So I did. I went out of my way to collect all these duplicates, pack them up and priority mail them. And you know what? Saturday morning I fucking woke up to find that package on my door, marked “Return to Sender, recipient moved and left no forwarding address.” So I sent that bastard an instant message saying that he either gave me the wrong address, or, if he’s not on the lease then there’s no way they would sign for it because they don’t know he lives there. That was Saturday afternoon. He hasn’t written back, despite the fact that he’s been online uninterrupted since that point in time.

Third, I repeat my mantra, “It doesn’t pay to be nice.” Some of you who were with me may remember the hit and run incident in Adams Morgan where we left the note but not our phone number. We had a conversation at that time about how that would backfire if I was actually nice enough to leave my own phone number to be a witness for the poor schmuck whose car was belted. Well, today at Safeway, I am second in line behind a lady who was nice enough to scoot her groceries down the conveyor so I could dump my armful of food down. Then she offers the guy behind me a chance to go in front of all of us because he only had one item. He gladly agrees. Well, the cashier was briefly talking to another customer while he was getting out his money, then he started screaming “HELLO!!!” to get her attention. After all the screaming, he fucking forgot his damn ice cream or whatever and had to come all the way back to get it. What an ass, he’d still be in that damn line if it wasn’t for the nice lady in front of me. I told the cashier it doesn’t pay to be nice. And you know what she said? “I witnessed a hit and run one day on Corcoran here from my register and I left them a note and they had the nerve to accuse me of being the one to hit them.” Christ almighty, point taken and proven time and time again. People suck.

Finally, I got a bug up my ass, thought about this for exactly 4 seconds before I picked up the phone and called MotorcycleInstructor, if only to make my peace. Here it goes:

MI: Well hello.
Me: Hi. I’m calling to make peace.
MI: I called and called. I sent text messages. I was thinking about you yesterday and I was wondering why we couldn’t still be friends.
Me: I don’t know. I just got tired of the shit.
MI: I was busy and I couldn’t see you and you got mad.
Me: That’s not exactly how I remember it.
MI: Really?
Me: Yes, you promised to spend last Friday with me, and then you bailed. Then you promised to hang out with me last Saturday and you bailed on that too. I got tired of it.
MI: No. That’s not how it happened.
Me: Ok, sure. Well, look, I’m just calling to be nice.
MI: This is nice?
Me: It’s the best I can do.
MI: All right, let me call you back in one minute when I get back to my house.
Me: Ok.

Let me tell you that my sister in law and brother like MotorcycleInstructor for some reason and when I told them I called, my sister-in-law yelled, YAY. I don’t know why. Ok. I know why. I think it’s a selfish reason. There is a very specific reason my parents wouldn’t like him. Very specific. Read: Racist Greek Parents. There. ‘Nuff said.

Well, MotorcycleInstructor did call back and we talked for a few minutes. But, I think that there’s no going back. And I’m still in my anti-dating mode right now. I thought about going online again to see what’s out there. (Notice I say “what’s” instead of “who’s” out there?) But, I’m not sure how I even feel about that. I’m so disgusted with this whole ridiculous situation. Where the FUCK is that Prozac???

Very bored. Bored, bored, BORED. I think I need an anti-depressant. I’ve grown disenchanted with all that used to keep me entertained.

Ok. The situation with my family is still sort of the same. My father instantly printed out the email I wrote to him and delivered it to the hands of my mother, who was either in the garden bitching about how the neighbors trees are killing her plants, or she was in front of the television developing yet another conspiracy theory about Hurricane Katrina and how it is really an evil plot hatched by republicans. (Past parental conspiracy theories include my sister-in-law who is a nurse drugging my brother and brainwashing him into not wanting to move out of Michigan and my father’s sister single-handedly preventing them from buying any real estate in New York.) In any case, she replied some nonsense that the conversation didn’t happen like I said, and that if I don’t want her advice to tell her to butt out. Um, what? I’ve been trying to do that for 32 years, but, to no avail.

My sister-in-law told me that she and my brother think the thing with MotorcycleInstructor was a huge misunderstanding, and that I should answer when he calls the next time. I’m unmoved by that idea. Usually I end up getting a softness in my heart and in the name of “closure” I would do something like this. But I can honestly say that I don’t care. I don’t know what has gotten into me. This dating and juggling has just lost its fun for the time being. That’s why the posts have been fewer and farther between.

Regarding DamascusBoy – who has perennially been on my back burner – he asked me flat out this morning when we are going to get together. I said, “I am not in the mood to date right now.” He said that he understood, and to let him know when I was. Well, that was nice enough.

So here I am, working away, (believe it or not,) and working on stuff for the condo board that I’m on. That’s it. Boring, right? Snooooooooore. Try not to fall into a coma. I’ll try to recover soon. I had one of these bouts of depression when I lived with AtlantaBoy, and I got through…hmm… You know, DAMN IT! He and I have been talking via IM again! Christ. WHY DIDN’T I MAKE THIS CONNECTION BEFORE??? Holy shit. What the hell is wrong with me? His mere presence in my life depresses me. Why? Could it be because we were supposed to be “together forever” and that didn’t happen?

Men suck. Yes, that goes for all of you. Yes, you in the back too.

There’s really no new news to report. MotorcycleInstructor called me again on Monday and left a message that was like, “Woman, if you don’t call me back…” and then hung up. And I haven’t called. I’m still pretty irritated, and not really in the mood to get back into that swing again. I don’t really have a game plan, I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it – if anything at all. I think I was also using him as a crutch, to validate what I did with buying the motorcycle and to help me get out there on the road. But, Sunday night I rode around the neighborhood. Yesterday I rode up to Van Ness, so I’m doing quite well. I’m not ambitious enough to ride out to Gaithersburg, but I’m getting there.

So, I don’t need him. I’m in one of my moods where I feel like I don’t need or want anyone. Here it comes: I’m going to take a break from dating for a bit. Knowing me, it will probably only be a week, but I’m just so tired of the game. Much to my mother’s dismay, I would rather be alone than with someone who isn’t right for me. She got on my case the other night about how I’m never going to meet anyone at the rate I’m going. What does that mean? I’ve done everything possible to “meet someone” and it’s worked out so well that I now have this blog illustrating my collection of losers. I don’t know what she’s talking about, she’s the worlds biggest black cloud. Her ideas are laughable – go to a museum at lunch, or join a group that works with the museums. Yeah, so I can meet HER kind of artsy-fartsy guy. Or she likes the old, “go to church” solution. The guy for me is not at a museum looking at paintings and he’s definitely not at church. Since I’m basically an Atheist, what good does church do me? My perfect guy is hungover on Sundays, just like me.

Not a lot to report in the past few days. Had the party Saturday. I think it went off quite well. I spent all day Saturday cleaning for the party, and all day Sunday cleaning up after the party, but it was an eventful and fun weekend nonetheless.

Thursday night I heard empty promises from MotorcycleInstructor about us spending the day together Friday. Then it unraveled in much the same manner it always does…”Oh, I have one thing to do, then I’ll call you.” One thing turns into two and next thing you know, it’s the end of the day and I haven’t heard a thing. More of the same promises Friday night and I finally said that I was having a “get-together” on Saturday and asked if he was going to come by. He said yes. Then I don’t hear from him all day Saturday except for a few text messages that I initiated. Saturday evening I asked if he was coming and he said “maybe” and that’s all I heard. So at 4:30 a.m., drunk on many Blue Hawaiians, I sent him a text message that said, “I get it. You don’t even try to spend any time with me despite your promises. I’m done with this shit.” And at 6:30 a.m. he wrote back, “You’ve been drinking?” I didn’t answer. Nor did I answer his phone call and voicemail at 2:00 this afternoon. Do we all remember the advice of my boss with respect to land deals? “If they’re not talking to you, they are making a deal with someone else.”

I think I’m done. I figure if I’m going to spend any time with a man, then he better try, all the time, consistently. Not up and down. Not only when he senses me inching away. Not only when he thinks I don’t need him anymore. Not only when he thinks he’s needed. It goes without saying that each person in any relationship, whether it’s a friendship, family member, or significant other, has to derive something from the union. Now, (Sara, pay attention) only when you stop getting what you need or want from it, and only when it stops being a two way street can you call the game over. For me, there’s no one who is immune to this simple equation, family included. I’ve been through so much with my family and we repaired the relationship despite the fact that it looked like we may never speak again. They only got a second chance with me because they are my parents. But, if they ever treat me again the way they have in the past, I can say goodbye and never look back.

Back to the situation at hand, ladies and gentlemen, I think this game with MotorcycleInstructor is over. At the very least, I’m certainly done playing. It’s just not fun anymore.