Anyone who knows me, even just through the social mediaz, knows that I’m totally incompetent when it comes to any form of technology. You could probably put oven mitts and a blindfold on a monkey and they would be able to figure out how to use the Internet better than I can. (Though, to be fair, I am referring to one of those monkeys that’s, like, only a few hundred thousand years removed from human evolutionary history. You know, the smarter ones. Whatever.)
The point is, no matter how much of an imbecile I am at technology, this woman is worse:
Anthony Roberts I am feeling you – w4m (Waltham)
Your name is Anthony R ( I know your last name just not posting it here for obvious reasons)
I think your really cute and I want to get to know you but I am not sure if you feel the same
while you talk to me occasionally you have not asked for my number
but i want to hang out with you so email me if you see this
So, not only did this woman include Anthony Roberts’s full name, she also included a city, street name, and MAP of where to find him. I guess her idea of “being discreet” was not posting his cell phone number or Social Security number on the Internet. Well, at least she’s posting for someone she’s met IRL, unlike the next poster:
looking for your Dad – w4m – 72 (Arlington)
Hi, you are a nice young couple, we sat at the Legal Seaside bar enjoying “Portuguese Seafood Stew” yesterday (Friday March 15); we had a brief conversation about your dad, you and your husband live in Grafton.
I was there with my date, I would love to get in touch with your dad. My date was OK, but not what I’m really looking for. If you happen to see this, please ask your Dad to give me a call.
1. What did this person say about their father that was so appealing? “He’s filthy rich, ages better than a fine wine and is the best shuffleboard player in his retirement community”?
2. What exactly is a 72-year-old woman looking for? Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of senior citizens dating, because it gives me hope for the future and is like a big middle finger to the stereotype of chaste old folks, but at what point do you decide to just ride out your time by following the adage, “Love the one you’re with”?
3. Why is “Portuguese Seafood Stew” in quotation marks? It makes the dish sound more insidious than seafood anything already is.
I applaud this woman for her shamelessness, though, I really do. Just like this guy:
Man Who Ralphed at Park Street – w4m – 26 (Park Street (alewife))
To the well dressed gentleman who decided a crowded train platform at rush hour was a good place to lose your cookies.
I hope you’re OK. I would have helped but I suffer from a serious form of Emetophobia and was busy trying not to faint and or cry. It’s odd that no one seemed to acknowledge your sickness–but at least I can take comfort in knowing that if I were to suffer from a serious medical ailment, everyone would pretend not to notice.
Oh, is it your first week in Boston? Don’t worry, the collective nonchalance becomes ingrained in you after a while, so that not even you will notice when you throw up in public.
Hope you were just drunk (at 5PM) and not suffering from the Flu. Let me know if you are OK and also WHY GOD WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME.
Again I ask: is it your first week here? Because he was definitely drunk. Why do you think the streets of the Financial District are lined with giant Irish pubs?
It’s really sweet that this woman is inquiring into his well-being. I mean, acknowledging that he did not intend to throw up at all, much less in order to send her into a conniption, or maybe just handing him a tissue as he was hurling would have been more considerate, but…this is, uh, nice.
Okay, I’ll fess up: I chose this one partially because imagining a man wearing a business suit and throwing up in public makes me feel better about my liberal arts degree. No, I don’t have a full-time job with a steady salary and an office in a skyscraper, but hey, you don’t see me blowing chunks in front of the evening rush hour crowd. At least, no one would be surprised if I did.
Though that mental image hardly competes with this one:
Muffin slap – m4w – 28 (Cambridge, ma)
I saw you on the street today. You had really long fingers. Like, way long. You could probably scratch your knees without bending at all. Also, your neck was fast. It moved with a quick swagger if you know what I mean. By the way you were really good! Now I like a lot of sauce, but this was one sassy slump. You were carrying 14 muffins in one hand with those dumpy fingers and all I wanted to do was create a good muffin slap across your sexy bugs. Contact me if you saw me creating a muffin slap opportunity. I am a man.
This MC reads like it was written alternately by Don DeLillo, a horny British brat, and…Aaron, actually. The language here is just glorious—your neck was fast. It’s a horrifying image, but it’s a very specific one nonetheless. “Sassy slump”? I don’t know what the hell that is, but dear God do I love it. And it’s anyone’s guess as to what this woman was really good at, but even the most overarching and misplaced compliments can deliver a self-esteem boost. The only part I totally did not understand was what a “muffin slap” is.
In addition to being effectively Amish when it comes to technology, I am totally out of the loop on the culture of anyone who grew up after the 1970’s. Naturally, I went to Urban Dictionary for the definition of “muffin slap”:
This is a physical diss for all girls who have muffin tops. You approach one of these unfortunates from behind (for those more daring, or rather semi-retarded, you can advance from the front) and with both hands slap her muffins.
So this man, who provides absolutely no other description of himself than that he has a penis, is either being a huge fatphobic asshole, or just very open about his muffin slapping-fetish. And because I’m optimistic, and a little in love with his poetic description of her sassy slump sauce, I will assume it’s the latter.
You find that quick-necked woman, Man, and may you both slap each other’s muffins.