Just a random post about my yesterday.
My boss brought his two kids in to work. They spent the day playing a video game online. When I popped my head in to say bye, I asked him if the video game was accessed online or if it was running off a disc. Let’s switch to convo mode.
Boss: It’s online.
Velvet: So they have been playing games all day on the internet? Corporate is going to think we are fucking around up here.
Velvet: Well, they will know one of us is playing video games and another ordered a new toy on Mojo Garden. Well, actually, I just added it to my shopping cart, I didn’t want to actually send the credit card info from here.
Boss: Another one? What happened to the last one you bought?
Velvet: I broke it.
Boss: Isn’t this like the third one? What do you do to those things?
Velvet: I don’t know. It’s good to keep a supply though. Drawer next to one side of the bed – vibes that work. When they break, they move to the other side of the bed and go in the other nightstand. That’s the Vibrator Graveyard.
Boss: Why do you keep them?
Velvet: What am I going to do with them? Toss them in the trash with my junk mail so someone diving in the trash can find out my address AND know that I just broke a vibrator? Besides, they’ve served me well. I don’t want to throw them out.
Boss: It’s fun being you, isn’t it?
Velvet: Well. Yes.
Last night I left some of my toys over at Sherlock’s house. In the act of stockpiling vibrators all over town, I like to think that I’m well prepared in case of nuclear war or terrorist attack. Don’t laugh bitches, when something happens here again, cause it will, I’ll be the one with safe houses all over the neighborhood. So don’t come crying to me.
I am sad to inform you all that I am ill. Very very ill. I have something they call the Stockholm Syndrome. In short, the Stockholm Syndrome is where a kidnap victim starts to identify with their kidnappers. In Sherlock’s stalking of me, I somehow embraced it because I learned to stalk back. Witness:
Sherlock: So I was reading your blog today and I saw the comment where so-and-so said blah-blah. (You know “so-and-so” was one of you commenters, right?)
Velvet: Yeah, I saw you on there a bunch of times. Every time I saw you on I figured I would get a return email from you on our email volley.
Sherlock: Wait, so you are checking up on me to see when I’m online, then you are waiting for me to write back? Are you reverse stalking me?
Stupid tables turning.
In other Sherlock news, cause yanno, that’s all my life has been this week, he had a fanfuckingtastic idea. He said, “I have a way for you to get your anonymity back, though I haven’t quite worked out all the details.” He goes on to explain that I would franchise the blog. At first I thought that we would have “Velvet-in’s” all over the country. Ideas:
Velvet in Phoenix
Velvet in Miami
Velvet in The Big Apple
Velvet in Sing-Sing
But he said that no, he meant we would find a replacement Velvet. Essentially, I would take the show on the road, searching for a replacement in an excrutiating interview process. I’m imagining it like an American Idol tryout, only way less people. I thought this was hilariously hilarious. He had all these ideas for questions too:
Describe your worst date ever.
When was your last boyfriend?
How did you break up with the last boyfriend?
What’s the worst thing you’ve done to a man in the last 6 months?
Oh…..the questions. Can you imagine the stories women across the country could tell about dating? Then the replacement is selected and I bow out.
It’s a funny thought, but, I do realize that my bitter snark toward dating and life in general has been cultivated through years of bad dates, a couple shitty friends, a car that spends more time in the shop than it should, crazy Greek parents, living with a man for six years in the south, snorting sordid snorts and powders, having two dogs capable of doing geometry, being sexually harassed at my last job, owning more porn and vibrators than Jenna Jameson, hating cops, and getting thrown out of a strip bar. I’m not sure there really is a replacement for all that. I am my own train wreck. And I do kind of like that.
But just in case you’re wondering who I think could really date the entire population of D.C. and rip them to shreds a la Velvet, it’s Diet Coke of Evil.
Finally, I slept over Sherlock’s house last night.