Author: Sarah Rose

Boston’s been through a lot this week. Its people have been subjected to emotional rugby, which is a game I am convinced has no rules other than “hurt each other,” only made worse by the relentless media coverage.

But through it all, Bostonians carried on—living, loving, loving from afar, loving in completely inappropriate ways and then posting about them on the Internet. Such as this first MC:

A much better show than Oblivion! – m4mw – 41 (Danvers)

Not a missed connection, really — I saw everything! (a la Patrick Stewart in “Extras”) — but thanks to the young couple who spent the entire, overlooooong 5 pm showing of Oblivion at Liberty Tree shamelessly getting it on in the back row. Obviously, I’m the guy who was sitting midway down the row shamelessly watching!

Obviously!

I suppose thanks are also due to the producers of this particular big-budget snoozer for not providing any competition to your writhing lapsex. I give you a five star review, three more than that flick deserves….

You didn’t seem to mind my brazenly watching you go at it — you even stuck around a bit as the credits rolled, perhaps waiting for me to leave. (I wanted to see who the key grip was, honest!) Anyway, if you enjoyed the added thrill of an audience, hit me up – the next matinee tickets will be on me. 🙂

The best part about this MC is that this man has clearly realized a fetish he never knew he had: being able to be a movie snob and an envoyer at the same time! Getting off to his own snarky one-liners about the movie he’s watching while others are getting off! When he says “the next matinee tickets will be on me,” he means it—because if there’s not a film playing at the same time, he’s not interested.

But as skeezy as it is to be getting down and dirty in a movie theater, and even moreso the man watching it, this next MC is truly in poor taste:

Girl on CNN – m4w – 28 (Watertown)

Just wanting to let the girl that was interviewed by CNN after the suspect was caught know that she is hot.

Solitary confinement can do a lot of crazy shit to your psyche. My brother was once put in solitary confinement in the Navy (and it had nothing to do with ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,’ so you can put away the jokes about “seamen,” as if my grandmother hasn’t made them already anyway). He said he learned how to win at Monopoly…against himself. I can’t remember ever finishing a game of Monopoly, aka The Four-Hour Exercise in How to Steal Money from the Bank Without Anyone Noticing, let alone after I’d spent time making up my own alter ego and then giving her the ol’ Capitalism Shakedown. The only time I’ve been in solitary confinement was (semi-)voluntarily for much of my childhood, and I ended up writing poetry…about how much I love America. Like I said: it changes people.

So it’s not totally unreasonable for this guy to make a totally inappropriate advance after being stuck in his house for hours on end. I mean, this woman was probably the first one he’d seen all day, if you don’t include his lipstick-smeared right hand.

But how, how how how did he justify this to himself? “I wish I could care about what this woman is saying, or the horror that my entire city went through over the past few days, but all I can think about is how sexy her mouth looks when she says, ‘I’m just happy the terrorists have been caught.’ Mmmmm. It’s even hotter than when my hand-mouth says it.”

The next poster has significantly better judgment when it comes to understanding what is MC-appropriate:

Hey, girl, hey. – w4w – 21 (Davis Sq.)

Hey. You with the face. I saw you looking and LIKING. Thumbs up. Two of em. BAM. Saw you outside of Diesel looking gay as a fish. And I like that. A lot. Hit me up. Alright, you had navy and green flannel on with these tight black jeans. Rocking a nice big pair of boots with laces. You had these glasses on… you look smart like WHOA. Like you go to Tufts or something. You probably have a tattoo. I’ll probably like it.

The fact that “gay as a fish” and “flannel” describes half (which, if anything, is a severe underestimate) of the clientele of Diesel, and that I’m sure similarly quirky and bold, yet coy and tongue-in-cheek, MCs have been posted for them many times, did not make me less endeared to this one. I think it’s because of the poster’s obvious self-awareness in writing this, and her ability to point out the ridiculousness of MCs in general without literally pointing it out (“Hey. You with the face.” instead of, “There’s no way you’ll ever see this, but…” =1,000,000 eprops [those are still legal virtual tender, right?]).

It could also be that I imagine Tom Cruise voicing the lines, “I saw you looking and LIKING. Thumbs up. Two of em. BAM.” And who isn’t whisked away to Wet Dream World by the thought of Tom Cruise hitting on you?

But this last MC, as always, takes the award for Most Heartwarming:

You mailed me my lost wallet?!?! (Brighton Ave, Allston)

I’d had a horrible Friday night, trying to cope with my sister’s deteriorating condition due to cancer. I started crying at the bar, surrounded by my friends and went to try to find the bathroom to compose myself when one of the bar staff told me I had to leave and escorted me out. In no condition to be alone, I tried frantically to text my friends to come find me as drops of rain and tears fell onto my phone, to no avail. Lost, disoriented, abandoned and scared, I managed to find a main street to catch a cab home, shakily got out onto Brighton Ave and walked one block to my house, losing my wallet along the way.

When I finally realized it was missing, too much time had passed for any hope that in a well-trafficked area, I would find my wallet. The thought of canceling and replacing everything was a constant reminder all weekend of the anxiety, shame and sadness of that night. Something told me, the entire time, that it would come back to me.

I checked the mailbox every day to see if someone had dropped it in there and when I ever reached in and felt the mailer today my heart jumped. I couldn’t tear that stupid stretchy FedEx plastic fast enough. There it was! But the biggest surprise was not that all three of my credit cards, my Charlie card with over $50 on it and four $20 bills were inside, along with my license, library card, hospital cards and medical alert card (I have a chronic illness); it was that inside there was one extra thing: a small piece of paper torn from a notebook that read, “Hey, found your wallet on the ground in Allston. Hope losing it temp. didn’t cause too much trouble”

I had to fight back a tear, I was so grateful. It may seem like a small thing, but for me it was much more than a lost item, a hassle and money. I cannot express how proud I am of Boston right now, and this one particular, anonymous good Samaritan. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You can be sure this good deed will be paid forward many-fold.

Boston has a reputation for being a city of cold-hearted bastards—which is perhaps not helped by the fact that many Bostonians pride themselves on being cold-hearted bastards—but it is small, astounding acts of kindness like this that prove even New Englanders can be nice.

Or that we need to build a wall around the city, Texas-style, to prevent any more foreigners from ruining our reputation as borderline sociopaths.

I recently visited my good ol’ home state dere of Minnesota, and in honor of the Land of 10,000 Lakes, this week’s MCs are all from the Minneapolis Craigslist. As we all know, most MCs in Minnesota happen in the supermarket, like this first one:

adam corolla fondled your pinneapples – m4w – 33 (uptown rainbow)

He questioned price on some cookies as made cashier run an isle to check a price..tdude then decided to hit in u..I noticed that he was touching all your items u were going to .buy then the more as he searched for change …I SAVED your gum and ran it outside to u as cashier said that would be sweet …I SHOULD HAVE ASK U TO DINNER. god knowyou weren’t eating pineapples after his grubbing hands were i on them …we did have a nice quick chat about him ..thou u think u digged him lol

What this guy lacks in grammar, he sure makes up for in chivalry! I mean, he SAVED her gum from both the much afeared Produce Fondler and her own terrible short-term memory. (We will ignore the fact that the cashier, whom the poster assumes is actually named “Cashier,” had to tell him it would be a sweet thing to do before he did it. Proving the fact that even sociopaths can do good deeds if given a bit of probing!) He SHOULD HAVE ASK HER TO DINNER, but apparently didn’t because she actually digs the Fondler. Which is not enough of a sign of this woman’s fetish for people who grope grapes, because this man still thinks he can reach her via MC.

Fact: You Are Both Weirdos, and Not The Kind Who Are “Meant For Each Other.”

This next poster expresses the same sentiment:

a poem… – m4w

you came into town

you turned my frown upside down

you went home with a douche

there is no good rhyme for douche

Well played, sir. Well played.

Okay, but where are some sweet postings for thoughtful people?

You Bought My Son’s Nerf Gun at Target – w4m – 38 (St. Louis Park)

My son was checking out at Target with a bag of nickels and you stepped in and bought his Nerf gun. I’m not sure if you were just sick of waiting in line for the a target check out guy to count up the change…either way you made his/my day. A first I thought it was Target that gave him the toy then he explained it was you. I wish I had known this before you walked out the door so I could say thank you. I was checking out in another lane and wanted my son to buy his own toy to learn a lesson about how much things cost and their true worth. You stepped in and taught him a far more important lesson about kindness and generosity. Thank you so much.

Wow, this is so kind. I mean, I’ve seen Pay It Forward, and Minnesotans do have that reputation for being what Bostonians would call “wicked nice, like retahded nice,” but this is really nice…a bit too nice.

Okay, here’s what actually happened: the boy was taking way too fucking long to pay for a $12 Nerf gun with a bag of nickels, because he was paying for it with a bag of nickels. The man behind him started mumbling angrily under his breath about how much he’d like to hit the kid with the bag of change, but the kid (who makes up for his poor business sense with a heightened sense of hearing) heard him and began to cry. The man, not wanting to draw more attention to himself lest people question his motives for purchasing Toilet Buddies, paid for the kid’s Nerf gun. So, not only did the kid get a free Nerf gun, he also learned that by crying, he can get anything he wants. And thus, another sugar baby was born.

Congratulations, Mom—your son is going to grow up to be a socially-acceptable type of prostitute. Don’t worry though, his sugar daddy/momma will teach him the value of a dollar…because he’ll know exactly how much work he needs to do to get one.  

This next poster knows exactly what I mean, since women are apparently throwing themselves at him for no good reason:

You dig my accent? I have a question – m4w – 33 (St Paul)

Yet again I get a remark today from a very attractive young lady who said she loved my accent. Very flattering and everything but…

1) I guess I don’t understand how an accent can be ‘hot’ and

2) I don’t understand why I’m always told that in situations where I can’t capitalize on it, shall we say.

What’s with that?? Answers on a postcard please… or in an email. Especially if you’re the young lady who served me in Noodles & Company on Ford Parkway this morning 😉

Here’s some answers:

1. You suffer from an inability to hear any sort of accent, like being verbally colorblind. Right, there’s nothing inherently ‘hot’ about an accent, unless you think that people who are from a different place are interesting and thinking about them moving their tongue in creative ways to speak your language reminds you of making out. Just like there’s nothing inherently ‘hot’ about blonde girls…unless you like blonde girls.
2. I’m interested in what a situation that you could “capitalize” on would look like, and why this seems to be a widespread injustice committed against you by kind females. Should the young lady at Noodles & Company have first removed her name tag/t-shirt and then complimented your accent? Should she have waited until you used the restaurant’s bathroom and then whispered it through the keyhole?

At least she didn’t describe your accent as sounding like “a rubber life raft bobbing on a sea of steel drums.”

And, in normal Miss Connections fashion, we’ll end on a tender note:

TCF teller at Cub (scared of thunderstorms) – m4w (Hanson/Northdale Coon Rapids)

You weren’t my teller but I was next to you. You are the most beautiful woman I have EVER seen in my life! Your eyes and ur lips were so amazing! And your smile made me feel good! Scared of thunderstorms your boss said. I’d love to know more about you!

You’re right—her smile IS lovely!

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)

 

moody st

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.

Thank you.

Okay, questions:
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.

Scanning Missed Connections for interesting posts can sometimes be disappointing. Most posts are horribly vague–one this week actually just said, “You were hot, walking down the street. We made eye contact.” so, EVERYONE who left their house that day–or just vengeful nonsense–“Fine, go back to that whore, but will she ever understand what ‘Raging in the Deep’ means like I do?”

This week, however, the Freaks of Boston really came out in full force. Take, for example, this anti-pedophile:

Indoor Playground – m4w – 36 (Watertown)

Went there last week and was impressed with the mommies and nannies. I’m tall, lean, and bearded

If we smiled and made eye contact, say hi.

Have a good day

Let’s consider for a moment how a 36-year-old man found himself at an indoor playground stalking female child wranglers in the first place. He makes no mention of a child, like, “I was the dude with the five-year-old dressed as Spiderman who was screaming for an ice cream cone,” so I can only assume he was there alone. This is how I imagine his day went down:

–Wake up on couch in front of the TV, having fallen asleep to infomercials for Chia Pets that look like Obama, cigarette butts and Bud Light cans littering the floor
–Wallow in self-pity
–Drink a Gatorade and eat the leftovers of a Meat Supreme pizza you don’t remember ordering
–Decide to clean yourself up and go out (eventually settling on your nicest sweatshirt and a quick sink wash of your armpits)
–Search for some place more exciting than the dank bar you usually frequent in the early afternoons, remembering that women your age often have children and therefore congregate at schools, but loitering at an elementary school is creepy, so you eventually settle on the nearby indoor playground
–Feel strangely drawn to the maternal figures at said playground because you clearly need someone to take care of you, though it doesn’t really matter who at this point so no need to remember any of these women in particular detail
–Return home feeling like you’ve accomplished something and maybe grown as a human
–Wipe away said feelings by writing a MC for any and all of the women you just stared down while they tried to herd their children away from you
–Return to the couch, the only one who truly understands you

As much as that MC weirds me out, the next one hits a bit closer to home—because I actually used to live here:

courtyard Fremont you were role playing a dog getting pounded loved – mw4mw – 35 (Boston )

we went to bill burr Saturday night.

When I was a freshman at Emerson College, right in the heart of downtown Boston, they ran out of space for all of the incoming co-eds (“Oops, you’re homeless!”) and had to rent out the entire 7^th floor of the Courtyard Marriot, down the street on Tremont. (Bill Burr was performing at the Wilbur Theatre that night, not twenty feet away. Also, “Fremont” Street is in Mattapan.) A lot of weird shit happens when you live in a hotel, but this is by far one of the strangest:

you were in the room next to us…
you role played a dog while your husband or boyfriend fucked you crazy from behind.
then you talked about it after you came and you got the outfit from I party…
thin walls in the hotel, but we want to meet you.
it was hot
email us the room number you were in
would love to have a drink together.

So at first you’re all, “Oh, they listened to a couple doing it doggy-style. It’s weird that they could tell the position through the walls, but otherwise this is pretty normal.” And then the poster is like, “BAM, I mean a literal dog outfit. Not only did we listen to the whole thing, we also realized we’re furries and into foursomes. Let’s make it happen.” It’s kind of beautiful, in a way, that these people found each other…it’s also disturbing for me to imagine all this going down in the bedroom I occupied for a year. How many people played out their “Shaggy Dog” fantasies on my sheets before I lived there?

This MC, however, is even more personal…

Red Line, Green Line, Copley – m4w – 25 (Copley)

I got on the Red Line at Harvard and noticed you sitting with your friend. We both transferred to the Green at Park, and I sat directly across from you. We made eye contact. We smiled at each other. My heart literally started racing. We both got off at Copley. I wanted to say something to you, but you raced away and I thought maybe I had freaked you out. If you see this, and your heart started racing too, I hope that you respond.

You: short dark hair, jeans, pumas. Me: short dark hair, jeans, pumas.

…because it is definitely just a post for himself. Narcissists, take note: when you get goosebumps from seeing yourself in the reflection of a subway window, it’s time to hit up the Family Dollar for a pocket mirror. It will save you a lot of money in T passes.

This week’s MC (which comes latelatelate, I know—but if you’re missing it, you can always read the past weeks’. Or, you know, obsessively read MC to the point where it interferes with your social life. But who needs friends when you have the Loneliest Souls on the Internet, amirite?) marks the tenth week of the Miss Connections column. So, as a special feature, the first MC this week was sent in by a fan. If you have ever read the Comments section of any post on SFSF, you will read some snarky and/or inspirational note from a commenter named Susan. She’s my mom.

I know, cute, right?

Well, my mother started reading the Minneapolis MC—yes, I was born and bred in Minnesota, these hips don’t lie—and sent me the following MC, which is especially relevant because it happened RIGHT next to where she works, and because I am my family’s “dirty hippie.” It’s also fucking adorable:

Self Proclaimed “Dirty Hippy” at Dunn Bros. – m4w – 27 (Loring Park)

Dear Self Proclaimed “Dirty Hippie”,

You were sitting close to me at Dunn Bros. this morning, Saturday, talking with a friend/loved-one/telemarketer on the phone and you had an interesting conversation about your first days/weeks in Minneapolis.

Wait, was she talking to each of these three types of people in turn, or do you just assume that she would speak to a friend, a loved one, and a telemarketer in the same way? How many people use telemarketers as tele-therapists? Better question: why doesn’t everyone?  It’s not like they’re going to hang up on you.

Yes, I listened to your conversation. I apologize for being so rude, but don’t worry, I’m here to help.

Okay, let’s be real: we all do that. If you’re in a public place, people will listen to your conversation. It’s not eavesdropping if they’re talking about something interesting, I always say!

The subject of bar stools arose near the end of your conversation and whether or not you should purchase some for your new apartment.

At first, I agreed with you and I thought you should wait to get bar stools until you actually have friends to sit in said bar stools. A very wise, logical point. Because, obviously, you would go to buy the bar stools, and the salesperson, the point person for your bar stool purchase, would certainly ascertain as to the use of your bar stools, as an inquiring salesperson is wont to do. And of course, with you not having any friends in the city, you would have to either 1) make-up friends and tell the salesperson that you are having a bunch of your (made-up) friends over for a (made-up) get together (probably Hawaiian/Tiki themed) or 2) tell the salesperson the awful truth that you just moved to the city and don’t have any friends, thus furthering your self-esteem downward spiral. And who wants to buy bar stools in a sad state? I certainly don’t. And I’m pretty sure you don’t either. Buying bar stools should be a happy, momentous occasion.

Right up there with graduating high school and getting married!

I’m fairly certain you would be left weeping over your unused bar stools, cursing their existence. You would have to greet them every morning, filled with hollowed pleasantries. “Hey, Bar Stools! How was your night last night, empty and unfulfilled? Great. Mine too!”

I’m like REAL close to writing an MC for this guy, asking him to be a contributer to SFSF…

But then, as my mind wandered, I read through a couple inspirational quotes and phrases, and I realized, no! No! No, goddammit! Go buy the bar stools and the friends will come! Yes! Go buy the bar stools and their vacant, cushioned tops will call out to soon-to-be friends, yelling at the top of their comforting, bar stool lungs: “Yes, come sit on me! Relish in my proportioned butt to cushion seat ratio! Join me and your new friend “dirty hippy girl that sits on at Dunn Bros. on Saturday mornings” and we shall dwell in bar stool nirvana!” Yes. You just read that last sentence correctly. Defy the odds. Go buy the bar stools and the friends will come knocking. Self-esteem downward spiral be damned!

A newly purchased IKEA bar stool is a friend indeed.

Welcome to Minneapolis.

…

HOLY SHIT

GET ON THAT NOW

SERIOUSLY

HAIR LIP AND GIANT FACE MOLE BE DAMNED!

—I mean, I can only assume that someone this charming, and actually funny, who is single, and yet lacks the confidence to approach this girl, must have some sort of physical aberration. Or, like, a predilection for brushing his teeth with chocolate pudding or another equally heinous quirk.

As much as I comb Boston’s MCs every week, I cannot read them all, let alone ones from other cities. SO, readers, this is where you come in: send us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses! Send us your MCs with snarky comments! We will post at least one of these things on this blog. (The tired, poor, and huddled masses will also be put to good use…building the world’s most pre-beleaguered army. But that’s another blog post.)

You can send in your MCs with commentary, or just the plain ol’ MC and I’ll put my own spin on it, to: sanfranciscostreetfighter@gmail.com.

Okay, enough of the cutesyadorable fuzzy times; let’s get into that creepy shit:

Think you followed me to a gas station – m4w – 27 (Marlborough)

Left the Solomon pond mall, you were in a red Saturn. I think you followed me to rt 20 in Marlborough. I think I should have said hi. I was in a blue car. If I am right and you see this hit me up. I want to buy you drink and see where it goes.

Another reverse stalker MC? Again? Why is this a trend? This woman, of course, is delusional, as she fails to realize two very important things:

1. Malls are meant to attract large groups of people.
2. Freeways and highways are meant to provide routes for large groups of people to get from gathering places (see: #1) to any other place on Earth.

So the chances that this guy actually did follow her from the mall to Route 20 are very high. The chances that he did it on purpose, with the Bates-esque intention of seducing this woman via stalking, are right up there with the chances of Dick Cheney living forever: not totally impossible, but God help us all if either one is true.

Though, if this next MC is real, it takes this week’s pixelated cake for Most Terrifying Reality:

Craig Robinson I’m having your… – w4m – 26 (Back Bay)

Being optimistic, I’m going to assume that this sentence ends with, “parents over for dinner and forgot to invite you and all three of us have lost our phones and there was an Internet apocalypse and MC is the only thing left standing.” Because, really, the only other thing she could write, the strangest and saddest thing, is—

Baby in about 4 months.

That’s the one!

It would mean the world to me if you call me. My husband is thrilled to be a dad and is ok with you being part of this. You only get to see your child born once!

Or never, since I thought the best way to reach you was through MC!

I hope this finds you and finds you well.

Keri M.

There are a lot of questions left unanswered here. Like, why did she wait five months before contacting Craig, using the most obscure means possible? Is she working her way up through the forgotten and ignored methods of communication, beginning with Friendster and ending with actually just calling the guy? Why is her husband okay with this? If she slept with Craig five months ago, did she cheat on her husband, or did she get married within the past few months? Or is he a sperm donor? If so, shouldn’t she have a more reliable, and confidential, way of asking him to watch her push a human out of her birth canal?

But the most pressing question really is: How many weirdos responded pretending to be Craig, who weren’t me?  I can only hope for a follow-up MC…