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 email@example.com.
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!
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,
Contact us for more information.
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!
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.
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?
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.
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?
Lazy and Loving It
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.
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,
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.
Blue Velvet--in addition to authoring this award winning blog--is a professional technical, creative and comedy writer, wardrobe stylist, sometime stand-up comedian, boutique proprietor, occasional actress, traveler of the world, hobbyist and lover of kitty cats.
She originally hails from the Cincinnati area, did hard time in Nashville, and now calls New Orleans home.