My hilarious friend Kerrie bought me a hilarious present. In November. In San Francisco. Amazingly enough, despite the number of times we’ve seen each other since then, the gift never made it into my hands. Until, that is, two weeks ago.
She got me a book. But not just any book, oh no.
This is the BESTEST PRESENT EVER!
“Odd Velvet” was added to the Harper’s Bazaar, Lucky and Elle magazine pile of things I need to read. But it didn’t stay there for long. Brimming over with excitement at the fact that someone finally wrote my biography, I cracked that puppy open and settled in for hours seconds of reading.
Naturally they began by explaining the origin of my name:
That’s funny. That’s nothing like the day of my birth at all. The way my mom tells it, she woke up and got my oldest brother off to first grade, then alerted my dad, who was at work, that she was going into labor. My dad, in a seemingly ridiculous moment to most but completely understandable to my family only, saw fit to stop at the bank first. For some reason he had my older brother with him – a very mischievous three year old with a full head of bushy 70’s Greek hair, red corduroy overalls and a penchant for eating his own poop. As my dad was checking on his fortune and belatedly mentally calculating the cost of yet another child, my brother ran up the spiral staircase of the bank, shredded a few hundred deposit slips and threw them over the balcony, showering my father and the tellers. My father, always excellent in a crisis, said, “Gotta go. Wife’s in labor.”
Unlike Mr. Smith when he goes to Washington, no one has ever been stupid enough to let me speak for two days. Though, they did allow me to say my lines when I was Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz in our standing-backyard-only, much adored, Nursery School Production.
There was nothing old and dark about our house. In fact, when I was in first grade, my parents, expert schedulers of construction projects, decided to pull an entire wall off the back of our house to build a glassed in porch. In January. In Connecticut. During a season of blizzards. I can recall eating that cream of wheat crap every morning with a big sheet separating my polyester pajamaed, seven year old body, from several pedophile construction workers and the elements of a 1980 Connecticut winter.
This is turning out to be nothing like my life story at all. Now I know how Tom Cruise feels about those “unauthorized biographies.” Wait. No I don’t.
HA! My parents never asked anyone politely in the house. In fact, I can recall several confrontations with our white trash neighbors that resulted in “Stay off our property or I’ll have you arrested” declarations. Christ, who wrote this book? And I know what you are thinking. “White Trash” and “Connecticut” is as oxy of a moron as they make ’em. Yup. You’re correct if you are using the 2008 Connecticut as your barometer. But we’re talking 1984 Connecticut. It was a totally different animal back then. It was pre-Stew Leonard’s tax evasion scandal. We were still innocent. And we didn’t have nearly as many New Yorkers.
Ok. Last page. Usually the last page is the foreshadowing of things to come. Ooh. Can’t wait.
Hey. That is NOT a riding crop. It’s my jump rope. Yes. My jump rope.
It’s a cat o’ nine tails.
*pops popcorn and eagerly awaits sequel*
There are so many unanswered questions to part 1! Where did she get the volcanic ash? Why was there no tether ball? Where was the clown? Why are her eyes on the sides of her head?
That isn’t such a positive last line–no one wanted to be different the way Velvet was different, because that meant ___ _____ __. Fill in the blanks!
The pictures also look nothing like you. I smell a photoshop scandal.
Ninja. You were deleted. Seriously. I cannot deal with any more posts being hijacked. There’s no point in posting or leaving comments open if you are going to instantly turn to discussing her sex life even when she’s not the topic. She gets her day a week. Torture her then. The other six are mine.
Amen, this blog is “Velvet in Dupont,” not “Sixes in Pennsyltuckey.”
On the forehead of what I presume to be a partygoer, the blonde… what is that red dot?
I’ve determined that it is either coming from a sniper’s scope, or it is a bindi.
Your “7-year old body” made me take pause. I may require counseling.
Can we turn your room into a castle for your birthday?? I want to put glitter in my hair and jump off the bed.
Uncle Keith – Oh, which part is it? My disproportionately large head and thin frame or my lack of breasts? Thankfully the real life version is different.
I66 – HAD YOU READ ALONG WITH THE STORY…you would see that they painted their faces at MY PARTY!
Chris – You’ll have to tell Kerrie to hustle and find a sequel. She scoped out the first version.
E – I’m not sure what a Sixes in Pennsyltuckey would entail but I suspect it would be blocked from workplaces far and wide, added to the terrorist watch list, and have its domain revoked relatively quickly.
JB – I’m going to sue. How..dare…they…
Ahem. I DID read. When one paints one’s face, one tends to, oh, I don’t know, PAINT MORE THAN JUST A FEW DOTS! What the hell is wrong with your friends?!
…Wait. Forget I asked.
Perhaps you could drop by a school and read that story for the kids, and when I say school I mean a frat house or reform school.
Awesome. I want glitter in my hair and a sniper dot on my face too!
That last page was a typo. Was supposed to say EVERYONE wants to be different like velvet.
Was this some sort of right wing conspiracy book that teaches kids that you can’t be different? All of you must conform…or you can’t have your pudding!
Someone one, I vote for E, should do a post on the sequel: “Aqua Velvet” to be followed up with “OLD VELVET”. The former being about her teen years of hair spray and bangs and the latter to be about her current status.
I may be young but dammit, if I don’t remember the sweet, intoxicating smell of Aqua Net! I’d need pictures for a post on that. I really wanna see Velvet rocking the Jellies and bike shorts.
Fine. Piss all over my very thoughtful gift. Ingrate.
Too bad they didn’t have Ungrateful Velvet in stock, or I would have picked that one up instead.
But you called me hilarious, so you are pretty much forgiven. Too bad you didn’t call me pretty – you could have been completely absolved.
Kerrie – You’re pretty hilarious. How’s that?
E/Anthrope – I thought that was a play off of Aqua Velva. Kinda like the Velveteen rabbit and Velveta cheese.
Oh, quit beggin 66. I’ll do you.
Who told you people I sprayed my bangs? Damn it!!!
Of course E remembers Aqua Net. Jersey!
K – I was just comparing MY life to MY LIFE STORY as novel. Damn. I wasn’t pissing all over anything! I like it!!!
You are getting cranky in your old age. I like it.
Kerrie: I’m surprised you don’t want begging. I would’ve figured a guy on his knees before you is on your lists of wants for 2008.
All this love for aqua net, but sadly no love for jheri curl activator. Gone but not forgotten.
Not gone. Occasionally, when I fall asleep on the bus, my head leans toward the glass and lands on the greasy smudge left by an obvious activator enthusiast.
And I won’t respond to your other comment. That one just screams Sixes and Sevens. Me? I’m pure as the driven snow, I am.
I will not take your bait!
Do you two want us to close our eyes?
Hey, I66, I didn’t delete your link on purpose, I’m having more software issues. Trying to get that worked out…put pink sock in as a test and she’s duplicated! I think that whole issue is still in the background.
That won’t be necessary. She just wants me to pull things out of her cleavage like at Shamrockfest last year.
I’ve noticed that things have been a-changing here, even throughout the day. I won’t take it personally.
WOW! Your very own book. My very own doll debuted on this day in 1959. I will forever despise that Barbie bitch!