Sorry For Partyin'

Greetings! Updates! Excuses!

2011-12-02T14:00:00.000-06:00

Hi Readers.

I'm writing to apologize for my lack of posts lately. I haven't really been inspired to write anything that would be appropriate for SFP. Also, I've been extremely busy with regular people work, my transition to New Orleans, and even some acting jobs. See, the great thing about living in New Orleans is that there is a huge film scene here. It's been relatively simple for me to get an agent and paying acting jobs. To date I've had small parts in two television shows, and I was recently cast in a bit part in a feature film. I played a "waitress" on the TV shows and I get to play a "reporter" in the film. I'll let you know when and where you may see my work when the time comes.

In terms of stand up shows, I've been trying my best to pull something together. I have a whole new, untested act that I've been dying to share with all of my "fans". The issue here is that I'm planning a tour (of sorts) with one of my homies from The Second City and we have had scheduling conflict after conflict. It doesn't help that she lives 1000 or so miles from me in Chicago. In due time we might perform in a city or super small town near you.

I'll try to get some posts on here in the near future. Until then, keep partyin' for me and have a most lovely holiday season. If you'd like to purchase a gift for me, please send precious monies instead. My paypal is workgirlfriend@hotmail.com.

Much Love,
Blue Velvet

Gold Dust Woman

2011-09-18T19:09:00.001-05:00

I still haven't heard back from Seydou , so I sent him? her? another email.

Dear Seydou Sissoko,

I am writing to apologize for the ignorant rant I sent to you earlier. I believe it might be the reason you haven't written me with details of the next steps I need to take to purchase the gold dust farm in Mali. Mali is a FOR REAL place. If I took a moment to perform a quick Google search prior to sending my last email, I would have known that Mali is a third world country in Western Africa whose natural resources are uranium, salt and GOLD. Also, most of the citizens of Mali make a mere $1.25 per day, yet your country hosted it's first ever fall fashion show this year. Priorities! Also, when I read about the high illiteracy rate problem in Mali, it made me feel guilty for pointing out your grammatical and spelling errors.

So now that we've cleared up all of that, can you please contact me about the gold dust farm? Does this farm have housing....nothing spectacular....maybe a hut or something with lots of windows so I can watch my gold grow for the entirety of my retirement? Is it near a local hipster hangout/dive bar with a good jukebox? Is it within walking distance of a Whole Foods? I don't really drive, so I need to sort of be in an cultural and commercial epicenter if I'm going to live there most of the year.

Anyway, I am eagerly anticipating your response, so please contact me post haste!

I love you!

Love,

I'm going to be RICH!!!!!

2011-09-18T07:46:00.000-05:00

Imagine my delight when I opened my inbox to be greeted with this!! I'm going to be so rich!

Hello my friend

We are seya gold miners in Mali, we have gold dust for sell in our company,

We need serious buyer to contact us for the trasanction,

We have peace of land full of gold we need money to develop the Land,

This is the reason we are Looking for a serious buyer for the Trasanction,

PURITY ………… 96.6%

CARATS…………...22.6 CARATS. PRICE .$24, 000,

Naturally, I replied immediately!

Dear Seydou Sissoko,

Thank you so very much for informing me of this lucrative offer to purchase gold dust! I happen to have $24,000 and then some in my bank account. I considered using these funds for a month-long stay at drug/alcohol rehab, but I've decided to continue to pollute my body and mind. I believe that investing my precious monies with you, a stranger who randomly sent me an email laden with spelling and grammatical errors, is clearly the better option. Before I send you a cashier's check, I have a few questions:

1--Can I snort the gold dust?

2--I've heard of Bali, but not Mali. Where the fuck is Mali and how are you certain there is gold there? Is it located at the end of a rainbow or something?

3--Did you get my email address from my blog? If so, many thanks for your readership!

I look forward to hearing from you very soon. I'm so excited!

Kind Regards,

The Dog Pound

2011-09-17T22:36:00.000-05:00

Someone wrangled all of the fugliest species of dogs and snapped a photo of them!

The Little People

2011-08-30T00:11:00.001-05:00

Hello Readers. Long time, no see. I've been so very busy lately. I moved and it was a total hassle. Like, I still don't have all of my things in my new place, which is a source of worry and woe for me. I haven't the slightest as to how I'm going to retrieve the remaining items I have in Nashville. Does anyone on here have a truck that they'd let me borrow for a few days? The validity of my driver's license is in question.

My sister has way too many children (three--Lana, Myla, Hank) and asked me to come for a visit recently. Not to keep her company, of course, but so that I could be her free nanny. Again, due to the cumbersome move, I haven't seen these little beauties in months. My, how they grow, physically and intellectually, in a short amount of time.

Lana is headed back to pre-school, so I took her shopping on Friday. The items we purchased had nothing to do with school and everything to do with toys, so we had to go shopping again on Saturday. I'm deviating from my point, however. On Friday afternoon, we visited the local Target. As most people know, Target has a section, strategically placed in the front of the store, where everything is $1. Lana instantly ran to it and started placing worthless junk into our cart at lightning speed: sparkly pencils, tiny books, anything with glitter, junk, junk, junk. "You're going to use all of your budget on junk!" I warned her. She didn't give a fuck. Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks.

A dwarf woman passed us in the aisle. I could tell by the way Lana stared and stared and stared some more that she had never seen a dwarf. I attempted to distract her. "Miss Lana, would you like to look at the princess stuff? Let's see all the new princess stuff." Thankfully, the dwarf moved quickly, picked up her $1 party invitations and moved along to the clothing section.

"Aunt Kelli," she whispered, "why was that lady so small?"

"Some people grow up tall and some people stay small. Like some people have dark skin and some people have light skin," was the best I could muster. She seemed to understand. We headed for the toy section. Along the way, however, I spotted another dwarf. I assumed it was the dwarf woman's husband. Then a few dwarf kids. I hoped that Lana did not see them, for I knew a line of questioning would follow.

We perused the princess stuff. We perused the Barbie stuff. We perused what was apparently an aisle dedicated to faux jewels and glitter. Soon, our cart spilled over with overpriced items that she will likely enjoy either never or once. As we headed to the check-out lane, she confessed, "Aunt Kelli, I saw a man who was like that lady. What are they?" Shit.

"They are called little people, honey."

She loudly exclaimed, "Then why are their butts so big?" I turned my head to laugh when I saw the entire dwarf family to my immediate right.

As the weekend progressed, she told varying tales to anyone who would listen about her encounter with the dwarfs. The story became increasingly dramatic with each rehash. Her ultimate conclusion as to why their butts are so big is that little people's brains are located in their butts, as opposed to their heads. I wholeheartedly agreed.

Lonely in Las Vegas

2011-07-07T09:37:00.000-05:00

Dear Blue Velvet,

I am an attractive girl in her mid-20s who just moved to a new city. How do you suggest I meet people, namely hot guys?

Signed,
Lonely in Las Vegas

Dear Lonely in Las Vegas,

I, too, have recently moved to a new city, so I feel your pain. I know exactly three dudes here: One of them is gay, one of them is the boyfriend of a close friend, and the third is madly in love with me to the point of stalkerish obsession. In fact, when he reads the preceding statement, he will call and text me a million times. Then he'll likely show up at my house in a drunken stupor at 3am and scream into the streets that his unrequited love for me has ruined his life. Thankfully, I have a security door.

The only other time I moved to a place where I didn't really know anyone was when I moved to Nashville. I made friends quick and easily. I have a strong suspicion that the friendliness of most of those people was a direct result of my then friendship with Jack White, and not because they wanted to be for reals friends. I say this because 97% of them stopped talking to me once I was no longer affiliated with Mr. White. Do you know any famous people? If so, you will have little difficulty in meeting people. Out of the hundreds of faux friends, you might get one real one. In the instance that you don't have any famous friends, I strongly suggest that you lie and say you do.

In terms of finding hot guys, or a potential boyfriend, you are basically fucked unless you kick up performing hoodrat shit a notch. Men absolutely love bitches. I met my ex-boyfriend Jack by selling him and his mallrat friends overpriced shake weed and bad acid. We used to tell people we met through a mutual friend, but never let on that the mutual friend was drugs. Don't judge me! I was young! I needed the money! I didn't have parents!

Whatever you do, do not go out on the town with a male friend unless he is super fugly and there is no way that anyone will think he is your boyfriend. My ex fell into this category and dudes would blatantly hit on me in front of him. No one ever believed he was my boyfriend. However, once a dude thought Jack was my sister, despite the lack of familial resemblance. It must have been because we both had luxurious hair. Who knows. Just steer clear of Cockblock City. Oh, and don't hang out with fugly girls, either. It doesn't make you look prettier by comparison. According to social psychologists, the only one who benefits is the fugly girl because when men view a gaggle of girls in a bar, they automatically gravitate their gaze to the most attractive girl and mentally compensate that the other girl or girls are similarly attractive. Or something like that.

Lastly, instead of "Lonely in Las Vegas", I wish you were "Leaving Las Vegas" because then I'd tell you to become a prostitute and sit around in a dirty hotel room all day and watch some balding dude drink himself to death. Then bang his lifeless body until rigor mortis sets in. That is what happens at the end of that movie, right? I stopped watching when I realized it was about all the bad effects of partyin' and none of the good stuff.

Good Luck!
Love,
BV

Advice to A Lazy, Insecure Girl

2011-06-28T04:22:00.000-05:00

Dear Blue Velvet,

I recently gained ten pounds and my boyfriend of three years has suggested that I am too chubby. I still wear the same size and I'm comfortable at this weight. That said, I am scared he will break up with me if I don't lose the weight I gained. I hate dieting and exercise! What should I do?

Signed,
Lazy and Loving It

Dear Lazy,

I am so over getting these stupid fucking emails from insecure girls who are afraid their boyfriends will break up with them. If your boyfriend breaks up with you, it is not because you gained ten pounds. It is because he doesn't love you. When my boyfriend broke up with me he told me he never loved me and that he used me for free housing. When he no longer required a free place to live, over ten years later, he left me for a plump and homely groupie.

I was completely baffled at his choice in a partner. I've chronicled his obsession with being thin and his obsession with me being thin on this blog in the past. He forced me to diet for almost the entirety of our relationship. He would make negative comments about my stomach and suggest wear longer skirts to cover up my supposedly fat thighs. I thought about food and eating and not eating all the time. I was a size 2 or 4, but it was never good enough, never small enough for him. I was in perpetual fear that he would leave me for someone thinner. (After we broke up, I stopped dieting and fasting and haven't been above a size 2.)

The first time I saw his hag in the ample flesh, I'm certain I couldn't hide my astonishment. I heard from others that she was overweight, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Her ass was as wide as she is tall, which is about four feet. I made note that she was wearing a long, ugly, granny skirt. I was certain he put her on a (clearly unsuccessful) diet. I wondered what sort of diet? I'm no longer privy to the latest dieting trends because I am never required to be on one again.

Then I had an epiphany. He was never concerned with my weight or size at all. He used a minor insecurity that most girls have in their early 20s as a tool to mind fuck me for years and years. All so he would not have to get a real job and pay his own bills. He was instrumental in destroying my once healthy self-esteem. He morphed me from a girl who was significantly out of his league in terms of physical attractiveness, intelligence and station in life, to one who felt she couldn't do any better than a penniless, alcoholic bass player.

Lazy, BREAK UP WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND IMMEDIATELY and never look back. Try not to gain any more weight because no one likes fat people.

Love,
BV

New Blog

2011-05-31T02:17:00.002-05:00

I plan to continue blogging on Sorry For Partyin', but I've started another blog. It has a more serious tone. It's called Et tu, Brute? Et tu, Brute. http://kellicraig.wordpress.com/ Read it!!!!

XO,
Blue Velvet

Advice to Ship Storm

2011-04-15T15:34:00.000-05:00

Dearest Dear Blue Velvet,

I am writing to request a dose of that sage advice you're always bragging about having. I blame my recent addiction to scrambled eggs with cheese and sage for this desire. That and Heath Ledger, whose woulda been restaurant in Greenpoint fed me said eggs. RIP, dude. [Editor's note: Did I ever tell you people my Heath Ledger joke that I told for a week after he became dead? No? OMG! Did you hear about what happened to the accounting department at work!? They lost a ledger last week!!!]

More so, though, I'm writing because my one true love left me this week and I don't know what to do about it. We were two lost ships without navigation lights (or docking lights, depending on the boat. Amiright?!?), floating down the river, away from one another, for thirteen years. Then one miraculous day (a year ago in three weeks, actually), our boats bumped into one another (in the biblical sense) in the romance capital of New England: Attleboro, MA. Since then, I moved to New York to be with him, and to my dismay, even though things were going beautifully, he decided to up and move to Los Angeles: City of Bikini Sluts, for the summer. That's okay, right?

But then "summer" turned to "September" and we now stand to either be apart for six months or forever (if he "gets a job on something amazing") and I'm not sure what to do. My friends all say he's not the type of guy who'll fall victim to the wiles of the orange whores in their two-pieces - but what if he does?! Or, what if he finds someone who isn't in a bikini at all, and instead, is smart and funny and wears real clothes???

Do I trust him, even though we've been sexing for nearly a year and yet don't call each other B- and G-words? Nor have we said the L-word? All these questions seem too stupid to even ask, but I'm hoping some of your infinite relationship wisdom can help guide me in the right direction.

Forever in middle school,

Ship Storm

Dearest Ship Storm,

Your situation reminds me of the time when I worked at the MAC counter with a black, ghetto-chick-done-well, Annette, (or as her other, non-white friends would call her, but she would never let me call her: 'Net). Anyway, 'Net and I worked together for about four years and we became quite close. We were both Virgos! She confessed to me that she banged Mike Tyson in the ' 80s--with photographic evidence to prove it! She told me that I was the only white girl she ever met who could do black girls' makeup the right way. You know, without making them look all ashy and shit. I admitted to her that she was the black, ghetto-ass, older sister I never had. BFF!

Let's face it, you can take a girl out of the projects, but you can never take the projects out of the girl. She took too many "bafroom" breaks, "aks'ed" a lot of questions, and sipped on too much grape drank in our years together for me to ever forget from which side of the train tracks she called home.

'Net and I got along famously for most of our friendship. Sadly, as with most relationships, we had a disagreement. Let me preface this with the fact that 'Net, with the exception of me, was highly suspect of white folk in general.  One day I aksed (!) her if she would ever bang a white dude. She was all, "Oh hell no! White people smell like wet dogs to me!"

Seriously? I wondered. After about five minutes of chuckling, I said, "What the fuck! I always thought that black people were the ones who smelled like wet dogs!"

"Oh no, girl. It's white people!"

"Oh no you didn't! Black people smell like wet dogs, not white people!"

The vacillating went on and on and on until our shift ended and we drifted towards our respective cars parked in the Macy's parking lot. The next time we worked together we decided that we would never agree on which race reeked of wet dogs, so we agreed to disagree. I think the whole debacle brought us closer as two friends of different races. Since I have a blog and she doesn't, I am going to go on record to say that white people do not smell like wet dogs, the end, no backs, infinity.

Wow. Just Wow. Apparently I wrote all of the preceding stuff last night after I drank an entire bottle of $4.49 "Merlot" that I bought at Seven Eleven. One would suppose that drinking such an elixir would incite a few hallucinations or drunk dials. All I did was post a lowbrow Facebook status update, wrote most of this response and murdered a homeless person.

So, you want to know what you should do about a dude you love who moved a couple thousand miles away from you or something like that? I would say, break up with him, but since he's not your "B" and you aren't his "G" and you've never said "L", then I guess you really can't break up with someone you weren't ever dating. My advice is that you get some of this wine I had last night and see where the night takes you.  Also, since you are free for the summer, you should be my merch girl on my comedy tour taking place in June.

Love,
Blue Velvet

Race Relations: A One Act Play

2011-04-12T20:45:00.000-05:00

Race Relations: A One Act Play

Written by: Timotea

Starring:
Boy - a 30s white male

Sassy - an early 20s black female

Opening Scene:

Lights open on interior of interview room. Boy is interviewing Sassy for a low income job in the American South.

Boy: How do you spell your name Jalisa?

Sassy: J-A-L-I-S-comma up top-A.

Boy: Comma up...? Oh, you mean an apostrophe?

Sassy: Who anna trophy?

Boy: I think I got it Jalisa.

Sassy: It don't sound like dat. It go "jah-lee-ZAY".

Boy: Oh, yes. Because of the comma up top?

Sassy: Mmmmm-hmmm.

--Fade to Black--

Sage Advice

2011-04-11T23:25:00.000-05:00

Hi Readers!
I'm bringing back the advice column! If you have a tough dilemma that only I can solve, please email me at bluevelvetsfp@gmail.com.

Also, expect a very funny One Act Play by Timotea to be posted soon!

Love,
BV

NSFW: A One Act Play

2011-03-21T20:33:00.001-05:00

NSFW

A One Act Play

By: Blue Velvet

Starring:

White Cat

Black Cat

Captain America

Opening Scene:

It is a tedious evening in a dull town. White Cat arrives at The Black Lodge, after a long night of drinking and taking pharmies. Black Cat, sipping whiskies and smoking cigarettes, welcomes White Cat to The Lodge.

White Cat: I am soooo drunk! I want some more whiskies!

Black Cat: Let me pour you a glass! Let's celebrate!

WC: (sipping on fresh whiskies) I have an idea. Let's have a sex party!

BC: That's a great idea! I'm so glad we can have sex parties again now that we've been tested for feline AIDS. We are FIV negative! Getting tested was the best suggestion Calico Kitten has ever given us. Who should we invite?

WC: Here, here! Let the sex partyin' commence! Well, Motorhead is out of town. (checks Facebook) Oh, look, Captain America is online. Maybe he wants to sex party?!

BC: Yes! Invite Captain America. He's cute!

(White Cat messages Captain America re: potential sex party. Captain America responds to White Cat via text message.)

Captain America: Sexxx party!

WC: Yes. Come over.

CA: I'm pretty hammered....don't imagine I'm going anywhere that isn't here.

WC: Lamesies!

CA: Perhaps, but I've got a super comfortable California King sized bed that I prefer sleeping in. And intend to sleep in it. What are you two up to right now, anyways?

WC: Partyin' in our king sized bed. We are pretty.

CA: I know you are, but my bed is bigger and more comfortable.

WC: Well, this coke isn't going to snort itself.

CA: Is it going to bring itself to me? 'Cause that'd be very helpful coke. Is this sexxx party at this point just two hot women and some coke?

WC: What more do you need?

CA: Not a thing, just curious. Where do you live, anyway? You should live [closer to me] and make this sorta thing easier.

WC: We live at The Black Lodge.

CA: Google says you could be here in nine minutes.

WC: See you in nine minutes. Safe travels.

CA: Yeah, except I'm staying here. I'm not putting on pants or driving anywhere right now.

WC: Lame.

CA: Bring the party here or forever hold your peace.

WC: We are too sexxx partyin' for that.

CA: Well, it sounds like your sexxx party just involves texting invites at this point. Bring the travelling road show this way, or hit me up sooner next time.

WC: It could have been YOUR sexxx party! Next time!

CA: Can I see any visual examples of what I might be missing?

(White Cat consults with Black Cat. Black Cat disrobes and a sexy, but tasteful photo shoot begins.)

WC (to BC): I think this is the money shot! Push your boobs closer together. Captain America is going to love this one. (WC sends a high quality, NSFW photo to CA.)

---Fade to Black---

End Scene

Epilogue:
The next day.

CA: (referring to the photo) I just woke up to this. It's a shame I didn't take you up on the offer. I missed out. I hope I can still get invites to future sexxx parties. I'll be there with bells on.

WC: Ha! I don't remember any of this, but those are definitely Black Cat's tits.

And So It Begins: A One Act Play

2011-03-05T03:44:00.000-06:00

And So It Begins

A One Act Play

Written by: Timotea
Edited by: Blue Velvet

Starring:
Young Man, as himself
Female Friend, as herself

Featuring:
The City of New Orleans

Opening Scene:
Morning light slowly rises on bed. A young man in underwear is on cell phone chatting with a female friend.

Young Man: I don't remember much after we got back to Wells' apartment.

Female Friend: That's when you started drinking tequila, but after you smoked enough weed to blow up the sun.

YM: Tequila? That's what that taste is in my mouth.

FF: Or the champagne from Delachaise

YM: Who went to the Delachaise?

FF: WE DID! You ate, like, fifty Johnny cakes, fries and guzzled champagne before you passed out when I was in the bathroom.

YM: Jesus Christ. (lights cigarette) At least I finished on champagne. Gawd, I fucking hate Mardi Gras.

--Fade to Black--

**To Be Continued**

Dare Accepted: A One Act Play

2011-03-01T03:15:00.000-06:00

Dare Accepted

A One Act Play

Written by: Black Cat
(Heavily) Edited by:   Blue Velvet

Starring:
Black Cat:   As herself
Seven:         As Black Cat's friend
Leonardo:   As some Italian guy

Opening Scene:
It was a cold, dark night in a known hipster bar nestled in known hipster neighborhood in Brooklyn. (Editor's note: Yes, I realize that's an oxymoron.) Black Cat and Seven sit at the bar, enjoying whiskies, theme shots, and some pharmies provided by a NYC taxi driver. Black Cat goes and and on about how it was she who scored the pharmies. Seven rolls her eyes and secretly adds yet another drink to Black Cat's ample tab.

The close of the night is fast approaching.  Black Cat and Seven soon find themselves seated next to an empty chair, followed by two attractive (enough) potential gentlemen callers.

Black Cat [to Seven]: Hey. See that guy over there?

Seven: Yeah?

Black Cat: Think I could get him to buy me a drink?

Seven: I dare you.

Black Cat: When it's on motherfucker, then it's on, G.

Black Cat pretends to use the ladies' room. When she returns, she sits in the empty chair next to the attractive-ish (for 3am) stranger. En route to the empty chair, she stops to play some R. Kelly on the jukebox and gives all of the black person in the bar a high five. He seems to enjoy this.

Seven: Never mind. Dare's off. Those dudes are... not American. They're not speaking English.

Black Cat: It's OK. I got this.

Black Cat [to Leonardo]: Hey! Where are you guys from??

Leonardo: We are on holiday from Italy.

Black Cat [because she is a genius]: Oh, Italy! Hablas Español?

As fate would have it, Leonardo speaks more Spanish than English, and the rest of the conversation proceeds in Spanish.

(Editor's note: The following has been translated in English for the dumb dumbs.)

Black Cat: What are you drinking?

Leonardo: Rum & Coke. Would you like to try it?

Black Cat: Sure! Although I prefer Whiskey & Coke... [bats her never ending eyelashes]

Leonardo: Oh

Black Cat: :(

Leonardo: Do you have a boyfriend?

Black Cat: Je suis celibataire! Je parle français, btw! j/k! No. I do not have a boyfriend! However, I think I broke a rib.

Black Cat and Leonardo make their way to the men's room to fuck.

Black Cat: You stay in here for a minute. I don't want to walk out together and look like a slut.

Leonardo: OK.

Black Cat runs to the bar and drinks the rest of Leonardo's almost full drink.

Black Cat [to Seven]: WE HAVE TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW! [Holds up empty glass.] Dare completed.

Black Cat and Seven run out of the bar.

-Fade to black.-

(Repost) To Kyle

2011-02-22T11:00:00.000-06:00

Last Call. Penniless. Two sisters looking for some "to go" beers, a ride home after a night of debauchery. Oh, Kyle, you shouldn't have pulled that $20 out of your wallet, but you did and regret soon followed.

I truly appreciate you buying us that six pack so that my sister and I could continue drinking after the bar closed. I also appreciate the fact that when you told us that you would give us a ride home in your truck, sans extended cab, that you didn't object to dropping off the cook, Bones, on the way. (Who my sister and I promised a ride home earlier in the night even though we didn't have a ride home ourselves.) Many thanks for the White Castle cheesesticks and fries. It's unfortunate that you ran out of money and were not able to get anything at White Castle for yourself, as french fries at 4am are quite delicious.

Did you find it as exhilarating as we did when we were cruising down MLK, jamming to your cassette single of Anthrax/Public Enemy's "Bring The Noise", and, despite you asking us not to smoke in the truck, we did anyway and I dropped a lit cigarette under the seat? You had to pull over in a shady part of town to look for it, tres exciting. We could have been killed or, at the least carjacked. Danger. Intrigue. That would have never happened if you hadn't met us minutes before the bar closed and flashed some cash.

When we finally made it to my apartment, you seemed, especially by the way you parked, that you were expecting and even entitled to an invitation to come upstairs and drink the beers you bought. Alas, this would not happen. My sister and I quickly grabbed the beers and skipped off into the night, pulling a locked security door behind us.

I'm sort of sorry, but Kyle, at the end of the day....you can't cheat an honest man and rap is not afraid of you.

Planned Parenthood

2011-02-19T10:33:00.005-06:00

These are sad times, people. Did you hear that Planned Parenthood may lose federal funding? Although they are known for their abortions, which are not funded by the federal government, they also offer STD testing, birth control and, rumor has it, bikini waxing--which are funded by the government.

I travel a lot. One of my favorite things to do when I visit a new city is to check out the local Planned Parenthood. (I know, totally touristy!) Anyway, I would hate for them to lose precious monies! What else is there to do on a Tuesday in Duluth, Minnesota? If you care anything about abortion rights, ensuring the producers of "Teen Mom" have a smaller applicant pool, tourism, or getting tested, I implore you to sign this online petition:

Planned Parenthood has The Sads :(

In the event funding is lost, I have proactively sent the good people at Planned Parenthood some ideas on how to cut costs and increase revenue. First, they need to start charging for the post D&C cookies and juice, or at least do a cross-promotion with The Girl Scouts during cookie season. I also suggested they borrow from the Holocaust museums' (yes, plural, the fucking Holocaust museum is a chain!) business model and open up a gift shop in each branch. After all, I've often wondered: Where do I go to purchase a gift for the guy who has everything, including herpes? Lastly, they could install an interactive exhibit that allows the patients and their guests to shoot real guns with real bullets at the protesters out front!

White Cat: A Diary

2011-02-17T17:26:00.001-06:00

Dearest Diary,

Yesterday I was bored. Yes, even beautiful princesses get the doldrums from time to time. I decided to rifle through the pockets of my jeans (size 26) that are strewn about my bedroom floor. I was hoping to find some dollah billz, but I ended up discovering some cocaine that I forgot about!! I snorted a line and decided to save the rest for later.

Unfortch the only thing I ingested all day (besides the cocaine) was a Dr. Pepper in a can. I quickly found myself vomiting, and eventually dry heaving, in my bathroom sink. At least I didn't have to burn off those 140 calories from the Dr. Pepper!

Later in the evening I went to a bar. I drank heavily and took a couple of pain pillz. Afterwards, I went to my friend's house. We were sitting in his living room when I remembered that I still had about a gram of coke in a baggie inside my coat pocket! I needed to sober up, so I pulled the coke out of my pocket and set about to line up a rail. Due to my over-intoxication, however, I spilled the coke on the rug beneath my feet.

I frantically began to sift through the carpet fibers in an attempt to collect the white powder. The effort was fruitless, so I took a rolled up single and placed one end on my nostril and the other in the carpet. I inhaled. Then I told my friend I was going to use his bathroom. I took a shower where I made use of his sister's bath products. When I finally emerged, fresh and clean, my friend informed me that his dog might have snorted the rest of my coke. For good measure, I quickly grabbed my rolled up dollar and, again, placed one end on my nostril---but this time I placed the other end in his dog's fur. I inhaled.

I am fairly confident that I am no longer welcome in his home. Sorry for partyin'!

Regards,
White Cat

White Cat: The Diary

2011-02-13T07:06:00.001-06:00

Hello Readers!

White Cat *really* wants me to post some of her secret diary entries. Is this something you'd be interested in reading? She's a classy kitten and a beautiful princess.

Provide your feedback in the "comments" section.

Kisses,
Blue Velvet

Trivial Pursuit: Ghetto Edition

2011-02-10T20:43:00.001-06:00

I love board games. I love card games. I fucking love games and am a fierce competitor. I must always win, or be on a winning team, or there will be hell to pay. Most people who know me are aware of this, so oftentimes I have difficulty finding people to participate in game night. Once I had to go all of the way to the housing projects of COV to remedy a Trivial Pursuit withdrawal.

My friend Tony, who lived with his family in the housing project*, was hosting game night. Soon, Tony, my sister and our friend Ashante were circled around the board, choosing teams. I glanced around at my potential teammates: My sister (no), Tony (hell no) and Ashante (no fucking way) and decided that I couldn't take the risk of any of these yahoos bringing me down. I was undefeated at Trivial Pursuit and tonight there would be no exception. It was Team Me against Team Everyone Else.

As predicted, I had all of my pie pieces before Team Everyone Else (TEE) received one of theirs. My next step would be to make it to the center where TEE would choose a category for my winning question. I made it to the center over and over again and each time they giggled and chose "Sports and Leisure", my Achilles Heel. Clearly I hoped for a "Leisure", but I kept getting "Sports", and continued to miss the question. Meanwhile, TEE was catching up--scoring pie after pie--until they, too, were making their way to the center for the winning question. I planned to stick their dumb asses with "History", arguably the most difficult category, and they knew it.

I admit, I was nervous. These hoodrats were not going to beat me at my own game. The game had gone on for hours. Nature had called, I had to pee and couldn't wait. I returned from the bathroom, declared "History" as their category, and slowly read their question to them. I can only recall that the question involved the Russian Revolution and I was certain there was no way in hell that any of them knew the answer. Almost immediately, however, Tony pipped up with the correct answer, making TEE the winners and not Team Me (TM).

Naturally, I was enraged. Obviously, they cheated. I accused them of reading the card while I was gone. They maintained that they won fair and square. One thing led to the next and I threw the board into the air, along with the cards and dice and pie pieces and whatever else I could find. "Fuck all of you! I'm out of here!" I screamed. I took one proud, last look at my destruction and headed out the door, slamming it behind me.

My sister followed me out the door. She wanted a ride home. I was like, "Hell no! Your ass can stay here with your new best friends!" I continued to walk to my car, which by now was covered in about six inches of snow. Oh yeah, during our hours and hours and hours long Trivial Pursuit game, a blizzard decided to show up. Coupled with two of the whitest girls in the land, that blizzard made the ghetto of ghettos the whitest it's ever been. I sadly discovered that there was a zero percent chance that my little Honda was going to make it out of this parking lot.

While I was shoveling snow with scraps of cardboard and my bare hands, my sister was inside calling a taxi. I had to swallow my pride and ask her if I could ride in her taxi with her. At first she acted like she was going to let me, then once the taxi arrived, she started running towards it--hence her actions stated otherwise. I caught up to her, grabbed her by her coat, she slipped, and a full-on sister girl fight ensued. Tony and Ashante came running out of the apartment. I was mid strangle when Ashante intervened. I had to direct my rage somewhere, so I directed it towards him. I was, after all, still upset about the game.

In my peripheral, I could see my sister jump in the taxi and slam the door. I grimaced as I witnessed the taxi drive down the snow covered street. I was fucked....really fucked this time. I released my hands from Ashante's neck. I calmly asked Tony if I could use his phone to call my own taxi. He let me, but the only cab company in town that was still operating in the blizzard had at least a three hour wait.

Shortly thereafter, I was a cowering white girl, apologizing to a scary, ghetto dwelling, black family for destroying their living room, waking up the whole house with my tantrum, attempting to murder Ashante, and disturbing their neighbors. Yes, people in the projects are apparently more disturbed by two middle class white girls fist fighting in the snow over a Trivial Pursuit game than the shootings or drug deals that regularly happen there. I begged them to allow me to stay. After picking up zillions of tiny game pieces and trivia cards off the dirty floor, I was finally able to rest my head on a sticky couch while snuggled up with a blanket that likely belonged to their dogs. Perhaps this was my victory march.

So, I guess that's what I get for "livin'" in the ghetto.

*Yes, I know poor people! But it is only because I was obsessed with a skater/graffiti artist called Fever and I thought he would think I was cool and more street if I hung out in housing projects.

You Look Just Like Norm MacDonald

2011-02-10T14:51:00.002-06:00

If any of you people read my FB and Twitter updates, you are probably aware that I recently read a novel in which one of the characters was inspired by me. I was informed of the existence and impending publication of the novel back in 2007. At first I didn't have the courage to read it, and then ultimately let it slip my mind. Imagine my surprise when earlier this week I was visiting a friend and I saw a copy of it sitting on the back of his toilet. I asked to borrow it and he obliged.

"Why would you want to read a book like this, BV?" my friend asked.

"Because I know the author. And, um, I think I'm a character in it. At least that's what he told me." I stared at the cover until I got home. I read all 400 plus pages in three hours.

Many years ago, when I first started dating Jack, I met a young writer who was temporarily living in my hometown of Cincinnati via New York City for a writing assignment. My sister and my bestie, Trippette, were in town visiting from their adopted home of San Francisco. They wanted to go to a party of a well-known skateboarder and thought that I should join them. That's when I met the writer, who was also part of the underground-ish NYC/San Francisco/LA skateboarding scene. I wish not to reveal his true identity, so for the sake of this story I'll refer to him as Norm.

Norm and I sparked up a friendship that lasted for most of his eight month stay in the Nati. I liked his company very much and found myself spending increasing amounts of time with him. I could easily tell that he was interested in becoming more than just friends. There were two big problems with this on my end: 1) I had a boyfriend who I loved very much 2) I was not physically attracted to Norm. Norm was not unattractive---he was anything but---he was very handsome, social, whip-smart, and downright hilarious. Most of all, he was very kind to me. He took me to the movies, bought me gifts, helped me start somewhat of a modeling career, etc. He just wasn't Jack.

For the record, I did not lead him on! Norm was well aware of Jack's existence, but I kept Norm a secret from Jack. Jack toured a lot with his band and didn't exactly fraternize with the skaters, so keeping Norm on the DL was quite simple. Norm would regularly belittle Jack and ask what a girl like me was doing with someone like Jack. At the time, most everyone had similar sentiments and I would always respond with, "I love him very much." and I did. I loved Jack from the second I met him. To me, the ignition of true love has to happen immediately. I never loved anyone before or since in the same way.

One evening, my sister was once again in town for a visit. She, Norm and I went to a bar and then back to Norm's house to continue drinking. I was driving, so I opted for water for the last half of the evening. Earlier that night, Norm presented me with a mask that he made of my then celebrity crush, comedian Norm MacDonald. Now drunk, Norm was donning the Norm MacDonald mask and saying things like, "Would you love me if I kept this mask on? Would you love me if I was Norm MacDonald?"

Soon, my sister and Norm were drinking whiskies in the kitchen and I overheard their conversation.

Norm: I am in love with your sister. You have to help me get her to break up with Jack.
My Sister: I know! That's great! I think she is in love with you too! She is! Yes, she is in love with you!

My sister was aware that I was not in love with Norm. Out of drunkenness she made a complicated situation unbearable for me. I called for her and told her that we needed to leave. I waited for Norm to go to the bathroom, grabbed my sister and we ran out the front door. Norm soon followed us, once again wearing the Norm MacDonald mask. He began yelling and cursing and punched my car. Then he removed the mask, threw it and it landed in the back seat. As I gassed the car, I accidentally ran over Norm's foot.

Norm eventually moved back to NYC, but would occasionally travel back to Nati for work. On one such visit he contacted me. He wanted me to move to NYC with him. He promised me a great apartment and an even greater life. He still loved me. I declined his offer. It would be many years before I heard from him again. From time to time, however, I would see him on TV or read something he wrote. Once I recall watching an episode of a show he helped create and he made a cameo appearance. Jack was seated next to me in our tiny loft apartment. I didn't mention to Jack my connection to the show as we laughed hysterically.

Norm found me on MySpace in 2006. He was shocked to discover me still with Jack. I think he half expected (and wished for) me to be fat, sad, and married to a nobody with a couple of kids on each ample hip. We kept in touch. He married a girl who looks similar to me. When he told me of his book, he offered to send me a signed copy. I passed. I didn't want to know what his memories of me were, and I certainly didn't want Jack to know.

I've mentioned this on the blog before, but at one point in my late 20s, I had my palm read. The palm reader told me that I was going to marry a writer. I remember thinking, "Hmm, she must mean a songwriter!" because in my head Jack would be mine forever. Still, I couldn't shake what she said. After Jack and I broke up, I dated a couple of (dud) writers who were completely inappropriate for me---I don't know if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, or compensating for life choices that I didn't make. Either way, I was almost entirely with these people because they were professional writers. All the while I've wondered: What would life be like in New York?

Set List

2011-02-01T03:35:00.001-06:00

Hi Readers!

I'm sure you've read the "About Me" (hint: It's about ME!) section on this blog. You've probably noticed that it says I'm a sometime stand-up comedian. That is not a lie. I just haven't performed in public for a while. Great News?! I have two shows scheduled in the near future! The first of which is a "secret show". I really mean that--I'm telling only those on a need-to-know basis. I will announce the second show on here, given that the first show isn't a complete disaster.

With the help of close friends--Eli, Emily, and Chris--I developed all new material and I think the result is a unique and (obviously) funny set. Here is my set list*:

Intro-List of Grievances

Regular Kroger

Remix to Ignition

It gets better!

More Grievances (Rider)

Osama Bin Laden

Date Rape

Gettin' Paid

Groupon

Anal

Charlie Sheen

Conclusion-Cocaine

*Set list is subject to change/editing

So I hope I've piqued your interest enough for you to possibly come to a show. If all goes well *fingers crossed* my goal is to take this act on the road. Yes, I'm talking about a fucking comedy tour! It's been a long time coming.

Love, BV

p.s.

R. Kelly, if you are out there and you are reading this, thank you for being an inspiration!! Much love! xoxoxoxoxoxo

The Chevrolet Set

2011-01-29T06:39:00.000-06:00

Years ago, my sister was gifted with a real Rolex watch. For the first few weeks that she had it, she would wear short sleeves, generously offer the time to anyone, twist her wrist a lot, and refer to it (constantly) in casual conversation. "Did you know that my Rolex can withstand enough water pressure to be worn while SCUBA diving?" "My Rolex automatically adjusts to any time zone in the world!" She's never been SCUBA diving, or travels internationally much--save for a disastrous family European vacation. Where was that amazing watch when she and my niece wasted hours in Parisian souvenir shops resulting in me being late for (and subsequently denied) my tour of the Notre Dame?

I admit, I was slightly jealous. Not because I wanted a fucking Rolex, but because I wanted to sell the damn thing and use the money to go on vacation or buy some expensive clothes. Which is what I think she should have done with it, because it has been sitting in her jewelry box for about six years or so. Before retiring to its permanent home in the jewelry box, however, the watch provided a bit of entertainment for me and, I believe, for my sister as well.

Sometime during the honeymoon phase of her relationship with the watch, my sister and I visited a local bar. I wouldn't consider it a four-star establishment, but it wasn't a dive. It had a wine selection. We, as per usual, drank heavily while seated at one end of the bar that was closest to the wine rack. Last call was impending and we wanted to continue to drink. I informed my sister that the bar was known to sell "to-go" drinks. She agreed that we needed some drinks to-go, but she did not agree that we should pay for them. She studied the wine rack, chose a bottle, stuffed it under her shirt and covered up with her jacket.

The bartender witnessed her attempt and immediately said, "Hey! Put back that bottle of wine you are trying to steal!"

My sister, while throwing her hands in the air, responds with, "Fuck you! I'm not stealing shit!" Then she flashes her wrist at the man and says, "My Rolex could buy this dump!" Really.

All of her arm and wrist movements must have loosened up the hold her shirt had on the wine. Almost instantly after "dump!", the wine fell out of her jacket and onto the floor--breaking the bottle.

She and I exchanged glances, and without saying a word, we ran out the back door. Fast.

REPOST:Getting Tested

2011-01-28T15:23:00.000-06:00

Poll: Does anyone think that it wasn't Patrick Rodgers who wrote the disparaging comment on "Advice to Slumming It"? Because he swears up and down that it wasn't him. Ha!

It seems that I am not the only one to whom D. Patrick Rodgers, I mean "Anonymous", is offering health related advice! (Remember him, the one who referred to himself as sweet and beautiful in the comment thread on "Advice to Slumming It"?) Click here for a Nashville Cream post written by none other than D.Patrick Rodgers, aka "Anonymous" There appears to be a very familiar line in the Cream post with reference to getting tested, presumably for venereal disease. Perhaps he thought it was so nice, that he had to use it twice!

Hey "Anonymous", you might be the one who needs to "get tested". You and your friends may be able to swing a group rate, since you all fuck the same girl(s)!!! Who's the big loser now?

On second thought, I'm sure that it's all one big coincidence. LOLZ.

Open Letter to Charlie Sheen

2011-01-27T18:01:00.002-06:00

Dear Charlie Sheen,

I have followed your A-list career for some time now, and subsequently your personal antics via the national news. I realize that you are a very busy man, so I will skip the flowery language here and cut to the chase. I am writing to express interest in applying for a short term, um, position with your firm. I hear that you are almost always hiring. I like to party. You like to party. I like precious monies. You have precious monies. Therefore, I think that together we have the potential to have a successful business relationship, albeit for one night.

I am a petite blonde with size 36D natural breasts. I'm told I have a very pretty face. Click here for recent, PG photos I am not very sexually experienced, but--after years spent in the theatre (hello, role play!)--I can take direction very well. I'm of above average intelligence and hold my drugs and alcohol well, so I can conduct an articulate conversation with police officers if necessary. I am not impressed by fame, but I am impressed with fortune!! Hence, I can be trusted to keep my fucking mouth shut re: any and all details of my employment. My availability is flexible, a moment's notice, for I have easy access to travel by plane.

If you are interested in further pursuing my candidacy, please contact me at bluevelvetsfp@gmail.com.

I ain't gay, but I'd stay in a closet for you...if you know what I mean.

Kind Regards and (Maybe More),
Blue Velvet

Fortune Cookie

2011-01-09T23:45:00.001-06:00

I never get, "You are lucky in love." or "Great wealth will be yours." Instead I get this:

"Ghosts that you cannot lay to rest will haunt your sleep."

However, I plan to use the lucky numbers for the lottery this week. Wish me luck!