Archive for Osama Bin Laden dead

Day 26: “5 Worst Dates EVER and News”

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on May 19, 2011 by Veronica Graham

Today was a good day in news: Osama has “officially”  been “unofficially” replaced, Arnold’s mistress was revealed, a 13 year old facebook user with blue hair was interrogated by the secret service for posting a concern about suicide bombers, a woman was told by Southwest airlines she was too fat to fly unless she and her mother sat together with another overweight woman (makes so much sense!), and DC 101 Chili Cook Off is this Saturday- the same day the world is supposed to end according to Harold Camping followers.

Today, another piece of big news happened for me: On Today, Day 26, is the first day I’ve been asked out on a date since my vow!  It was a vague invitation- and yes, something more than just booty calls that I ignore.  Now, how to rewire my thoughts from sex to date… yes, they are two different things I’m learning.  Decent men DO exist– I’ve heard this someplace.  Not all girls are sluts!– I’ve actually seen some of this from time to time…  It’s amazing that nearly a month has gone by before I’ve gotten a lunch invitation!  Usually I’m the aggressor and now, taking a back seat from.. er, aggressing, I got a unconfirmed invite to lunch by a total hottie with a great personality!  So hot in fact, I’m gonna have to learn how to sit on my hands without seeming weird- probably wear a skirt to blame the “AC” on my “hands being cold.”

Being prone to nervous awkwardness, bad dates come by every now again, but having a history of sleeping around- thankfully, I haven’t gone on too many dates, so I’m able to talk about nearly all of them:

1. LOS TIOS, Del Ray:  The cursed Restaurant.  I’ve gotten trashed here with every LUNCH date I’ve ever been on.  This is usually because I’m too nervous to listen to the staff and their thick accents and they always say, “Margarita?”  I don’t know what I THINK they say, but I always say “Yes.”  A fish bowl of Margarita sits in front of me, where I look at my date, embarrassed and say, “I don’t usually drink this early… but I don’t want to be rude.”  I get trashed. TRASHED.  Strongest Margaritas in the world, they should have a warning sign… seriously.

2. The Animal Lover:  This guy had no pets, but in the middle of making out after a great evening together- all of a sudden he starts head butting me like a cat does… I’ll pause, not really knowing what to do except to continue making out, but then he would pause, look at me- and headbutt me… Totally killed my mood.  So maybe I SHOULDN’T have said, “Are you headbutting me like a fucking cat?… It’s making me sick… literally sick… like I’m gonna need a bucket if you do that one more time.”

3. The Face Planter:  After a few drinks at my favorite local bar, I met this guy.  Got along great!  Of course, we went back to his place where I noticed a framed picture of a girl on his dresser.  “Is that your girlfriend?” I asked.  He walks over to the picture and plants it face down, ready to get going.  I flip out, wake up his roommates, screaming, “YOU’RE A SCUMBAG!!!”  I saw this guy again another night hand in hand with his girlfriend.  I said Hi to him and asked how his girlfriend was as I face planted a standing drink menu… let’s just say, he shooed her out of there and they left me alone at MY bar.

4. The Coward:  A night out with Iago and his friends, I called Kimmie and her roommates, Trevor and Ian to join us.  The brothers were two very good looking and charismatic guys that drew a lot of attention: by females.  Iago’s males friends felt threatened, used their poor dress habits to pretend like they were thugs to pick a fight with the brothers.  Kimmie, Trevor, and Ian instantly turned to leave the bar when Iago’s stellar friends followed the three of them out.  I looked to Iago to help my friends, but when he stood there stunned and frightened- I was suddenly embarrassed to be with him and his poor company.  Thankfully and expectedly, the guys were no match for Kimmie’s cutting tongue and they ran away with their tails between their legs.

5. The Other Coward:  A night out with Rich-Married-Man, he noticed me eyeing a group of beautiful black men at the end of the bar.  RMM feeling insecure with the size of his penis and a few too many drinks started talking shit to these four large black men that looked like they played defense for the Redskins.  I said, “Sorry, sorry, sorry” for RMM’s sake.  We left the bar and a large Escalade rolled up next to us and one of the beautiful black guys stuck his head out and say, “Hey Boy…”  RMM tackled me into a bush to hide- pressing my face down into a bed of poison ivy… Yeah, buddy, that was three weeks of swelling and medication for me.

I’m not anticipating a bad date with this hottie, but I do think I should probably stay away from Margaritas.  I’ll let HIM pick the place- far far away from Del Ray.

Here’s to 340 Days, Veronica Graham, this damn world better not end on Saturday… seriously-

Day 10: “The Ex-Convict and Dinner”

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on May 3, 2011 by Veronica Graham

Yesterday, President Obama made an announcement that arguably the most evil man on earth, Osama Bin Laden had been killed by our Navy Seals…  I’m a proud American, but I couldn’t help but feel uneasy by the frat-boyish “YEAH!!!!  OSAMA is DEAD!!” comments popping up all over facebook.  Also, being a Washingtonian, I was happy to be in the comfort of my own home instead of “celebrating and dancing on the streets” in front of the White House.  What is with this mind of the masses?  I felt like I woke up back in time when it was socially acceptable for normal citizens to be that blood thirsty.  People were crying (seriously), drinking, and now demanding photos to see his dead body.  Seeing news footage of the crowd- I couldn’t tell the difference between us and a crowd at a gladiator arena.  It was really difficult to watch.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mourn Osama’s death, but he was Osama Bin Laden, not the Queen Bee of the Terrorists… you don’t kill the queen and automatically the other bees go away.

I look back on a former relationship, not comparing him to Osama, but I’ll call him Iago, named after Shakespeare’s most evil and manipulative character and how easily my own individual mind turned to mush around him… I was the worker bee to his Queen Bee.

The most trivial thing I remember about my three-year RELATIONSHIT with Iago was we always ordered the same thing when we went out to eat.  This little piece of trivial information could have saved me from three years of abuse (emotional and physical), drug addiction (too many to name), restraining orders, and doing time (OK, so it was only for a night, but still…. the WORST night of my life.)  The first time I met this ex-convict was when I started waiting tables at sports bar and he was working on brewing coffee in the kitchen.  Even with a collared white button down shirt and khaki pants, it was evident that this guy was no good and THAT was hot.  I looked up, crossed myself like the Catholics do and said, “Oh God, here we go.”   I was definitely the aggressor in the beginning, insisting that he have drinks with me after work where it was revealed that he had just gotten out of prison, serving an 8 year sentence, which meant to me:  He hadn’t gotten laid in EIGHT years.  I wanted to be that girl that popped his freedom cherry.

It was supposed to be a one night stand, but he was stage 5 virgin clinger.  After that fateful “OH,” he was hooked and I was his and there was nothing that could be done about it.  This was fun at first, he would stare down any guy that looked at me and we would spend our free time practicing what he missed out on for the last eight years.  It was when the pants came back on and we sat down to dinner to eat where things would fall silent.  Our minds became like the bees, we were connected together, couldn’t think without the other, and since Iago wasn’t much of a thinker (like some good-looking men), I was left in the dark.  We were that annoying couple at restaurants who stared at the menu, never deciding on what we wanted, “Burger?  No…. Pasta?  No…. Fish and Chips?  No…  Oh, I’ll have what he’s having.”  Iago decided the fate of all things for me: what I ate, what I wore, how my hair looked, how my nails were done.  He did this with subtle suggestions and gifts- LOTS of GIFTS:  “Here’s a new outfit for you,” “You should REALLY order the salad,” “I LOVE the way your hair looks straight,” “I’m going to treat you to a manicure.”  This subtle control wasn’t noticed until it was out of control.  It wasn’t long before the suggestions became demands and by the time I was ready to leave this bad boy, I had pushed away all the support I had around me and had no where else to go.

I look back on this time with eye rolls, scoffs, and a puke bucket ready for me.  If I met the Veronica Graham that was dating Iago, I would beat the SHIT out of her.  Even today writing this, I fear that he’ll read this entry and see it as an invitation to come after me again… but it’s OK, I got DC Police on speed dial cause of his ass and I know most of Second District on a first name basis… Hey Sergeant Thomas, remember that bunt cake I made for you when I call you at 3 AM!  

This would have all been avoided if I kept my legs shut back then and realized that Iago and I truly had nothing in common.  I recognize this now in many other guys:  “What kind of music do you like?”  “What’s your favorite color?”  “What are you studying?”  “What do you do for a living?” “Do you prefer cats or dogs?”  All these superficial, surface questions that really have nothing to do with how much of a connection you may or may not have with someone… and more importantly, how compatible two people are together.  If I would have really listened to Iago that first night we met, instead of focusing on how to make his eight year dry spell wet & wild, then I would have seen there was nothing between us but silence.  Sex brought us together and drugs kept us together.

Here’s to 356  Days, Veronica Graham, I’ll order whatever the hell I want!-