This week on MC, people just did not know when to give up and keep their mouths shut. Sometimes you just make yourself look like an idiot, and sometimes it’s just…revolting.
For example: You ever been a situation where you feel like you’re giving all the right signals to tell someone you’re just not interested, and they can’t seem to take the hint? Ever been the person who can’t take a hint? Then maybe you’ll be able to relate to the following MC:
You were in the group Shai and had on the black NY cap w/Adidas – w4m – 33 (At Rain nightclub)
OK so I know you are an educated lovely singer with soul. I did admire your talent from on stage. to the left of you. I know the crowd was wild with some crazy drunk chicks. But I, a classy Master’s educated professional woman was daydreaming of being somewhere quiet with you and saying up until the sun arose, talking and exchanging lyrics of intellect.
“I’m better than all those other bitches. I’m boring and quiet. I have a Master’s. In what, you ask? Well, it’s certainly not punctuation or spelling!” Seriously, if you’re going to condescend to an entire “crowd” of people, you gotta make sure you’re actually better than them. But, then again, if you’re trying to condescend to everyone around you, you’re probably not. Though this woman does have one superior quality: she speaks in lyrics! How appropriate!
I did go back stage and saw members of your crew, and Joe asked me if I wanted a pic, I asked the tall one where you were for you were the only one who sparked any interest from me.
He said you had left. Big pout. He asked if I wanted a pic and I said no. My friends will have me for that one but it doesn’t matter. 🙂
Uh, actually, it kinda does. Why would this guy be interested in you after you basically said, “The other members of your band aren’t even worth taking a photo with”? They nicely offered to take a picture with you, something you knew your friends would appreciate even if you’re too far up your own ass to do so, and you refused?
I only wanted to converse with you. One stage we shared chemistry not the chemistry that you had to play off to your fans but real chemistry.
Surely performers never try to make each fan feel like she’s the only girl in the world!
I motioned for you to come back over next to me, when you went to the other side of the stage and you came back!
Surely performers never work the stage to perpetuate the illusion that each fan is the only girl in the world! Surely they sit in a dark corner of the stage, staring at their feet, avoiding eye contact with all of their fans!
I would like to get to know you if by strange fate you see this in which the law of Universal Attraction will allow you to see for I am projecting out…all the more fate on our side.
Okay, now I see where the Master’s degree comes in. She’s a scientist!
I am “proud” of you, you did a great job!
Wait, why is that in quotes? Why do I suddenly feel like you actually want to be his mother?
Blurry pic of you below. And from the back, but you were the one in the Black baseball cap with NY and black and white stripe Adidas sneakers. In the professional pic you are representing that “B”. 🙂
I should note here that this woman took two photos of him from behind while he was performing, and then posted two more photos that I assume she took from somewhere online (since she certainly didn’t take any photos with this guy who was clearly in love with her, yet bolted before she got backstage).
It’s like she’s never attended a concert, or even seen a video of a rap performance before. This is what they do. Performers, especially rappers, play off of their audience. That’s kinda the point of live shows. If you were relegated to taking photos of him from behind while he performed…he’s probably off with one of those “crazy drunk chicks,” having a raucous good time.
The next MC is similarly from someone who just does not understand straight-up avoidance:
Kaitlyn – wrote down your # wrong – m4w – 29 (tavern in the square, allston)
I stopped you by the stairs and said you were really cute. We had a nice little conversation. I said your nose was top 3 in the last 25 ive seen. I got your number, planned a date for Monday night, but I typed it in wrong!
If you see this shoot me an email.
There were actually a few MCs like this one recently, and the following response works equally well for them all: You didn’t type her number in wrong. You didn’t accidentally replace all the zeros with o’s or dyslexically type it all in backwards; she just gave you a fake number.
You think you had chemistry? You don’t think she would have done something so mean just to get away from you? Did you think maybe stopping a woman on the stairs and ranking her nose was a surefire way to get a real phone number?
Oh, honey, that’s just precious. Yeah, women would never do that to you. They always show their true emotions and are incapable of deceit. Quick, go back to your Nick at Nite re-runs, I think The Brady Bunch is about to start.
Normally, when I go through MC, I can spot the phonies. There are some people who post on MC repeatedly, and some who post weird chain emails, and some who just fabricate funny encounters. While this next one is so disgusting and ridiculous that it sounds fake, I have my reasons that it might be true…
Poaching eggs and sorry about your sprinkler lol – m4w – 31 (Topsfield)
I was running up by the church near 97 and had to stop because I felt sick to my stomach. You came out of your house and asked if I was hungry, and I didn’t know what to do so I went in with you and you showed me how to poach an egg in Everclear and vinegar. I asked you if I could use your bathroom but you said it was broken but if I had to pee I could go out back. I didn’t want to tell you I had to take a dump (that’s why I had a stomach ache) because I was embarrassed and it hurt so bad. So I went out back and found what I thought was a good corner to take a dump, but when I looked to see how I’d done I saw that I’d pooped on your sprinkler. Sorry about that haha. I ran away after that and never ate the eggs. Also I forgot to ask your name and feel weird showing up at your house because of the poop I took. But I left my runnign shoes in your front entrance way and I thought you were pretty cute. Let me know if you think this is you. No scammers.
R
Reasons this MC Could Be Real:
There is a specific place mentioned.
It’s in a weird suburb of Boston, not any place that would make a ton of people interested in reading it if they were just cruising MC.
There are waaaaay too many details.
He took a dump on the sprinkler, not a sleeping cat or a baby or something more ridiculous.
I want it to be.
I almost wish that were the last MC anyone ever read, but, alas, I feel compelled to leave you on an adorable note:
I crashed my bike into your kayak – m4w (Boston)
I kind of think that posting this on craigslist is bordering on being creepy, however my friend sitting next to me insists that “everyone does it”…
This is a true fact that everyone should spread like gonorrhea at a brothel.
It was kind of like the perfect set up for a romantic comedy, boy and bike collides with girl and kayak.
In which movie is it normal for bikes and kayaks to collide? The summer blockbuster, When Global Warming Gets So Bad that Boston Sinks Into the Sea: A Rom-Com? Whatever, you’re being whimsical, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.
As cute as I thought you were it didn’t occur to me until after I rode far away, to properly introduce myself and ask if you’d make up for trying to kill me with small watercraft by letting me buy you cup of coffee, or tea… or hot chocolate. Whatever kayaking girls like to drink.
In the unlikely chance you happen to see this, How about it?
Uh, DUH.
Now my friend is telling me that I have to ask you to tell me some specific detail about our crash because I’m going to get responses from jokers and spammers.
How about you mention the location of where this happened?
Posting on craigslist feels all kinds of weird.
Even though I would normally say he’s stupid for stating that it feels weird to post on CL (because it’s obviously not weird enough for you to NOT DO IT), his cute factor at this point outweighs his dumb factor. All I can say is: Thank the stars there are friends out there who encourage you to post on Missed Connections.
Many, if not most, MCs are written by people who seem to lack the self-esteem to say these things in person, in the moment. There are probably thousands more MCs that go unwritten for the same reason, and millions of missed opportunities to connect with people everyday because I’m too shy or not cute enough or just not something enough.
I wish that were the case for this first MC.
Party Girls Wanted for Nascar – m4w (Needham)
Looking for 2 women who want to Party for free in My RV .For New Hampshire Race Saturday and Sunday Tickets are on me. You weekend is free Just come along .
Let me get this straight: you want me to spend a whole weekend in New Hampshire. At a Nascar race. Sleeping in an RV with someone who doesn’t know a single female that will entertain this proposal. Without expecting a single thing in return. Every girl’s dream!
we are 50 and 47 old men . but act younger
“We’re middle-aged, but act like college frat boys. All of the immaturity of coeds, with none of the good looks or charm! Triple threat!”
RV sleeps 8 with all the comforts of home . Tickets are in Turn 1 , I am a season ticket holder .
Let’s assume you’re a female who is so crazy about Nascar that you’re willing to consider this proposal for even a second. To any woman with an ounce of self-respect, the former sentence is the most appealing one so far, since it means there’s a chance that, in this double-family-sized monstrosity-on-wheels, you won’t have to see either of these guys all weekend. To a woman who values Nascar more than her dignity, self-esteem, or any of that other crap your American Girl dolls taught you about, the latter is super attractive, I guess. But then this guy really nails it:
Please send a pix and why you want to go
Yes, that’s right—he’s AUDITIONING women. There is a chance that someone will respond to this ad and he will DENY them the chance to listen to his fart jokes and fight off his physical advances for two days. This MC actually makes me feel like my dating standards are spectacularly low, since I usually don’t require people to write me a college essay before spending the worst night of their life with me.
But, then, I don’t have a mobile Den of Loneliness.
The next MC has lower expectations, though they are still beyond reasonable:
Mike At the Model Who likes to laugh more than cupcakes – w4m – 27 (Allston)
This title is cute. There’s a name, place, and reference to conversation that clearly has some backstory to it, because “laughing” and “cupcakes” are not usually the two options for anything. This woman starts out right:
I liked your sarcasm and style.
And then devolves into a List of Reasons Why You Should Not Be Interested in Her:
I was the weirdo creep who had a couple vodkas too many and got a bit slurry in conversation.
She is a weirdo creep.
She believes that admitting to being a weirdo creep is attractive.
She doesn’t know her limits.
She’s a sloppy drunk.
I creepily came over to you even though you started taking to a cute girl,with a piece of paper with just my name on it(which seems even weirder than writing a phone number) before eventually getting my drunk ass in a cab home.
5. She has never hit on anyone in her life, since giving her name, surely scrawled in lipstick on a bar napkin, to a guy in the midst of a conversation with “a cute girl” only seems weird.
6. See: numbers 1-4.
I told my hairdresser about it and she thought this was worthy of a missed connection ad.
7. She wasn’t even interested enough to think this interaction was worthy of a MC. Thank God for rational hairstylists.
If you happen to come across this somehow as I have not read these things in years and this ad somehow redeems my weirdoness, we should have less slurry conversation together.
8. See: numbers 1-4.
Listen, people: I know the Woody Allens and Michael Ceras of the world would have you believe that self-effacing humor is super sexy. And, for some people, it is. But those people are celebrities, kay? Those people are not trying to connect via MC with strangers, who already have every reason in the world not to respond to you. DO NOT GIVE THEM MORE REASONS. Talk yourself up. Make yourself into the unsigned model at the bar who has aspirations of curing cancer. If by some miracle they find your MC and respond, they’ll find out all of your neuroses later—trust me. For weirdo creeps, it’s nearly unavoidable.
The last two MCs are much more pure, of intent and interaction. This first one reads like the notes on a rom-com screenplay, in the first scene where boy and girl serendipitously meet:
To the prettiest girl in the world, who I saw on the Red Line tonight. – m4w – 27 (Downtown to Fields Corner)
(Should that be “whom”?)
As a language nerd, I find this endearing. Probably a bit too much. Moving on…
I really hope that I see you again.
I spent all day working in the yard at my pop’s place so I wasn’t in any condition to talk to anyone, but looking back I wish I had at least said “hi” to you instead of reading that 3-day-old Metro.
Posting this on Craigslist isn’t like me at all, but I’m not exaggerating one bit when I say that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Sorta dramatic but true. This ad is probably the best I can do until we (maybe) meet again.
:3
He doesn’t even describe her, so it’s not really an attempt to elicit a response, it’s more of just a, “Hey, you should know that people think you’re gorgeous and I pray to the MBTA that we’re in the same train car again someday.”
[Note: for the emoticon-ally challenged, like myself, that last symbol is like a cutesy animal smiling. Like, a cat’s face when it “smiles” (though everyone knows those Satan beasts are incapable of feeling any emotions but contempt and hate)].
Just terrible.
This last MC, despite being completely platonic, is probably the most adorable one all week:
Whoever requested X-Men: The Animated Series for movie of the day – w4w (Healthworks Coolidge Corner)
You. Are. Awesome.
(Sorry, not a romantic missed connection. But I got on my treadmill today and was ecstatic to see Wolverine up on the big screen.)
If you’ve read the last twoMiss Connections (with this baby makes three—a long-time reader, that makes ye!), you know that there seems to be a growing fetish in Boston for the stalker/stalkee dynamic. So far, the stalking has been limited to isolated incidents, but in this week’s first MC, it’s a recurring, perhaps daily, event:
Blah, blah, blah – m4w – 38 (Revere)
Compelling. Go on…
You are a woman who I would sometimes catch watching me. You live directly across from my window.
I totally trust this guy, he doesn’t seem to have tendencies towards wishful thinking/justifying misdemeanors at all.
I am reclusive yes but all and all I believe myself to be a pretty awesome guy IMHO. I wasn’t particularly looking for anyone in my life for obvious reasons but then I started to wonder about you.
If you actually thought you were “a pretty awesome guy,” you wouldn’t need to tell us your HO (Honest Opinion) at all. And is the “obvious reason” you weren’t looking for anyone because you’re so “awesome” that you spend too much time watching your neighbor (ostensibly) watch you?
Why did you watch me?
Ditto.
Were you lonely too?
Uh, listen, I think you misunderstood—
Were you my “one?” Did you need me?
absofuckinglutely not.
So on Christmas I left a music box, a book, some lavender potpourri, and a Godiva chocolate bar on your doorstep. I thought you would think it was sweet. I thought maybe you would reach back out to me…
You never did.
WHY WOULD I—WHY WOULD I EVEN?
That is why I am no longer where you always found me. I just need to clear my head now and deal with all the other shit i have going on in my life.
Oh, well, I can’t imagine what kind of “shit” you’re dealing with if staring through your neighbor’s window and leaving her an anonymous stoop surprise, then expecting her to telepathically interpret who it is from and how to respond, seems normal. It’s hard out here for a p-i-m-p.
This was the photo on my desktop that most accurately encapsulates that last sentence. What, like you don’t have a photo of Scott Baio just sitting in the wings, waiting for action?
The next MC seems fairly normal, at first glance:
The animal that poses the biggest threat to the orangutan is man – m4w – 30 (Boston)
I read this on the Wikipedia page for Orangutans. I figured I woulc teach, as well as tell you that I miss you. I know we can’t see each other any more, but I hoped at the very least I could put a smile on your face. I am still here, if you ever change your mind…you know how to reach me…
C
…until you think at all about the title. Obviously, these two people share some sort of connection over orangutans (Both are feral children raised by the ginger ape-humans, perhaps, or met while ruminating aloud over evolution in front of the orangutans at the Franklin Park Zoo. People do that.). So using the fact that human poachers are largely responsible for killing them off as your hook is ballsy. Actually, I find it really disturbing. Like, if you both shared a love of “The Wizard of Oz,” and decided to use, “You know the scene where the munchkin hangs himself from a tree in the background?” as the title of your MC. It’s about on that level of sexiness.
This next MC is also ballsy, but in that really awesome honesty-will-make-me-stronger way, where you have to admire the writer for her shamelessness in reaching out to someone who most would chalk up to a drunken one-night-stand-ing promise to myself to stop telling people about my goddamn domesticated chipmunks:
We met you on the street and we held hands – w4m – 22 (Jamaica Plain)
Of course I feel like a drunk mess for this, but all I can remember is meeting you on the street, talking a bunch, holding hands, and you coming back to my apartment to see my gerbils. Then this morning, you were gone and I had none of your info. You were so cute and I really hope you know your Craigslist.
God, that makes two of us. It’s hard to say whether she actually owns two glamourized forest rats, or whether she just uses the word “gerbils” to refer to her naughty niblets–and, honestly, I’d rather not know. But either way, this seems like a genuinely adorable moment, in which the poster’s self-aware drunken smittenness makes up for the fact that Strangers in the Night usually applies more to a morning-after Regret Parade than a croony Sinatra song.
The next MC gem is from a refreshingly honest gay fellow:
Literate hotties at the Harvard Book Store warehouse sale – m4m – 30 (Park Street, Somerville)
So many adorable readerly guys at the warehouse sale. Sorry I wasn’t paying very much attention to you, future husbands & boyfriends … there were just so many books.
Though I’ve never identified as a gay male, I feel like I can relate to this MC very well. But, then, I also believe I will never meet someone whom I get along with as well as The Unbearable Lightness of Being, so I guess nerdery > human interaction. Books have always returned my texts…if you know what I mean.
And, to end on a note of genuine appreciation for the simple joy of being a loony:
Crosswalk Shenanigans – m4w – 26 (Harvard Square)
Oh man, this was awesome. I stopped to let you cross and you like danced / frolicked / arm waved across for no damn reason. And then you turned back and smiled. We should totally be pals.
Shit, I wanna be friends with this woman. Being authentic enough to Sound of Music your way across a street is pretty rad. Frolic on, Skipper, frolic on.
[Ed. note: You may have noticed that the title of this Miss Connections is much like the titles of Friends episodes. This, I feel, is a genius way of distinguishing one section from others in a long-running series, and probably the only thing worthwhile to come out of that show besides a generation’s renewed interest in dinosaurs thanks to Ross, the paleontologist.]
In reverence of the summer solstice, when suddenly everybody is outside and smiling, talking to strangers, even, and you almost forget how typically standoffish a Puritan and Catholic heritage can make people—in short, when Bostonians reverse their normal attitudes—this Miss Connections is inverse of the usual format. There’s usually a few bizarro MCs taken from the darkest recesses of degenerate perceptions of romance, followed by a heartfelt description of rom-com-esque serendipity. This week’s Miss Connections is just a bunch of snuggly, only-a-female-daytime-talk-show-host-can-express-the-correct-level-of-adoration-for-this-level-of-cuteness posts, followed up by one questionable…well, you’ll see.
So, remember that last round of Miss Connections, where some guy posted the Most Adorable Thing to Happen on the Internet Ever? Well, this first MC is like that, except it’s a woman posting for a man, and it includes aviary misfortune:
We chatted after a seagull stole my lunch – w4m (Galleria Mall)
So, here goes nothing.
I was at the Cambridgeside Galleria Mall this afternoon around 2 o’clock. I was eating lunch and reading a book out by the fountain, when a giant seagull came and stole the leftovers of my lunch, box and all.
You were sitting on the steps behind me, reading a book while on your lunch break. We were both quite surprised at the crazy antics of this bird and we chatted for a bit. Then you had to go back to work, which I happened to notice later was at the Apple Store.
So, long story short, I’ve been kicking myself for not introducing myself. I legitimately walked around the mall way longer than I’d like to admit trying to find something wrong with my iPhone so that I had an excuse to talk to you again.
If you see this and don’t think I’m totally desperate and lame for posting something here and would possibly like see me again when birds aren’t stealing my belongings, reply with the title of the book you were reading.
Be Still My Heart, Stop Quaking My Knees should be the title of that book. Though I’m charmed by this MC, I will say I’m disappointed in the poster. How could she NOT find something wrong with her iPhone? Jesus, anything would do. “Hi, I think I have PTSD from being mugged by a bird, and I don’t know how to access my phone contacts. Could you help me out?” Or, “Hey, could you help me figure out how to use my phone to call a bounty hunter that specializes in seagulls? Let’s date.” You could have even gone in there and said, “It’s my militant lesbian wife’s birthday tomorrow and I want to buy her a gift. Any specials?” And then when he starts responding, cut him off and say, “Just kidding, I’m single. And into guys. Now are there any specials?” Seriously, the possibilities are endless.
For some reason, quite a large number of MCs are posted for travelers, by travelers. I totally understand this, as many of the most interesting stories I’ve heard have been from other travelers I’ve met in airports and buses and what have you, which automatically makes you a future romantic memory in my book. But my theory is that traveling, for many people, is akin to a survival situation, and anyone that they can hold on to while the ship is going down (so to speak) immediately becomes more important. Your life or sanity might depend on this person’s ability to have engaging conversation or stave off brain-eating zombie-aliens when your flight is intercepted by a flying saucer. Along with Louis CK, this guy definitely knows what I’m talkin’ about:
San Salvador airport on a long delay – you inspired a song – m4w
I bought you a beer while we waited on a ten hour delay and we chatted for a good long while. I just wanted to say thank you for helping pass the time in a very nice way! I was chaperoning a group of high schoolers, so some adult conversation was a very welcome relief! You are probably never going to see this, but I wanted to put it out there that you inspired a song. Here it is: paste this right behind you tube’s web address /watch?v=VxsBlCCzvuU&feature=plcp
Hope you got home safe!
So, for those of you too lazy, or too much of a damn grown-up, to copy and paste (“What am I, a third-grader in art class?”), here’s the video:
As cute as this post is—possible negligence of an entire possy of high school hooligans notwithstanding—the song is…okay. You don’t need to watch all four minutes of it, just enough to know that he legit wrote a song about this woman. That’s a committed MC right there.
The next MC actually stems out of unfortunate circumstances—and I mean real misfortune, not gangster gull-level misfortune—but, because it is an MC that celebrates human dignity and kindness without any pretense of sexual interest, I had to include it:
To the Kind Woman on the Bus (86 bus to Cleveland Circle)
I watched someone be very rude to you, and you took it so admirably well.
She was an older, squat white woman who may not have been playing with a full deck.
You were younger, but fully grown. You could have been Latin American or Indian, or some other nationality entirely. The only thing this poor soul could register was that you were non caucasian.
It was a little before two thirty in the afternoon. She was getting off the bus as you were about to get on. Clearly she needed help doing this because the bus driver lowered the ramp for her. I can only assume that you put out your hands, offering to help her onto the street. In return for this kind gesture she shouted ‘Your hands serve no purpose! You come to America to take our jobs.’ ..but you only smiled, shrugging off the bad energy she’d emitted by waving it away. In that moment alone, your hands served greater purpose than she’ll ever know.
I was shocked and disgusted by what I’d heard. I wanted to reach out to you but in doing so, I knew that I would only remind you of something foul and unsavory that you’d just distanced yourself from. Instead I want to honor you here. Thank you for your kindness. It benefits us all in so many ways.
I’m pretty sure I know that old woman. Actually, I’m pretty sure we all do. She unequivocally sucks, which everyone also knows, but the fact that the subject of her ignorance responded the way she did, and that this person posted about it, makes up for her disproportionate Suck Factor. Also, she’ll probably die soon. So, there’s that.
Morning Assault in the T Station – w4m (South Boston/South End)
This morning, I physically assaulted you at the Broadway station, mistaking you for a friend.
Violence=hot. Go on…
Before that, I was verbally assaulting you up the escalator, which you luckily didn’t hear.
Ah, of course, emotionally-damaging verbal warfare as foreplay to the physical attack. Go on…
You told me it was “too early to start a fight”, and then you accidentally stalked me to work.
Okay, when did stalking people become sexy? Seriously, did I miss this after-school special?
Then I found out you design baby carriages, despite loathing children. And that’s when the morning went from good to great.
Why, because you think that assaulting someone who probably already hates themselves is cute? Or, because he hates children, does he design incredibly dangerous baby carriages, like ones that have heat-activated trap doors in the bottom? Coupla sadists, if you ask me. You know what, nevermind—you probably deserve each other.
When I started writing these articles, months ago, I had a conversation with my friend Ben about the purpose of MCs. I told him a lot of MCs are for people who know each other in real life, they just don’t know how to contact each other, or, more likely, don’t know how to express their feelings IRL.
“That’s stupid,” he said. “I thought the point was that these were missed connections, like someone you’ve never seen before and will probably never see again. If you know how to contact them, like you know where they work, for instance, and you could find them if you really wanted to, then it’s not really a missed connection, is it?”
And I agree with him; in its purest form, that is what MC is all about. But, alas, we do not live in a perfect world, and so people often misuse MC, and often to the amusement of onlookers.
This round of Miss Connections is dedicated to some of the most creative abuses of MC I’ve ever seen. Take, for example, this MC, in which the person who should be the Missed becomes the Miss-er:
6:00pm – Me walking my dog/you followed me – m4m – 39 (Dorchester Ave.)
You were wearing an Orange sweater and a brown cap with glasses with a beard. I was walking my dog after work. We said hello in from of the market on the corner. You followed me down the street after that. You whistled, and then followed me down another street until I left you at the corner.
You seem like a nice enough guy, next time say something more than hello instead of following me down the street. 🙂
If you reply to this, let me know what kind of dog I had.
And you thought that stalking someone was a turn-off! I guess you’re just a prude when it comes to foreplay (read: personal safety). Based on this interaction, it sounds like the writer of this MC finds sexual harassment, such as whistling at a stranger and then following him down multiple streets, to make you a “nice enough guy.” And if he’s hot, then what’s the foul? He should be called a sexy harasser, amirite?
The only problem with this MC—I mean, besides justifying sexual harassment—is that it makes the poster creepier than the postee. If I were Beardo Stalker, I would be horrified by this posting. Also, it really takes away a lot of the power I felt over this guy when I followed him for several city blocks, so I guess I’m just not really that into him anymore.
The next MC is a clear case of someone who has a much more direct way to contact their postee, but, for some reason, decided to leave this actually important communique to chance and the public eye:
To my Mistress (Boston)
I’m very sorry, I have to let you go. I really enjoyed our time together. You made me feel very good, when I needed you most. My family is very important to me. My kids would disown me if they found out what a scoundrel I really am. Remember, I bought you a lot of presents and sent you on some expensive trips. Don’t ever threaten me, that you will tell my wife. It’s in everyone’s best interest that we move on. Thanks, for the memories!
“Listen babe, didn’t you see my Missed Connection? What? Damn, I definitely thought I wouldn’t have to discuss this with you in person…um, so, I don’t know how to say this, but…people frown upon extramarital affairs, especially spouses and children, so…I can’t see you anymore. Oh, and don’t blackmail me, kay? Peace.”
This MC is another example of using Missed Connections in a completely backwards way—which is to say, asking for a Missed Connection:
tell me if you saw me today, heres my description..;) – w4m (harvard,redline, copley,park st..)
This is absolutely crazy of me to post on here..have never done this before.. lol.. im literally lmao off as im typing this.. but my friend put me up to it and suggested craigslist, because i may never know if a missed opportunity might come a knockin on here.. lol
I’m going to use this opportunity to comment on the idiocy of the seemingly obligatory disclaimer most MCs have about how ridiculous the premise of writing an MC is. If you didn’t think it might result in a meeting in real life/true love, then you wouldn’t be writing it, and if I didn’t think I might find one for me, I wouldn’t be reading it. Unless, you know, I wrote an analytical column about MC or something, but I don’t think that’s a less ridiculous reason for me to be reading anyone’s post. Moving on…
anyways, i was all around boston & cambridge today running errands ( 05/19 sat )… i never smile when a guy looks at me, and it may make me come off unapproachable..
“I SAID: COME HITHER!”
so a few handsome guys met my eyes throughout the day into night, and i believe they were checking me out..I really need to smile more.. lol so ill just throw a description of myself out there..I am tall, slender, had my hair in a high curly updo/ bun, with some curly pieces hanging down… had on a long striped black and white dress–form fitting, with a short light blue denim jacket, big black purse on my right arm,… if this description sounds familiar, respond back and tell me what ethnicity i was/ or appeared to be, and if i was walking by myself or with someone/group of people, am i someone who wears glasses or no?-.plse answer all of these ques.. i just want to make sure that you actually saw me, and not some desperate person looking to chat up anybody…;)
I’m astounded that she can both identify the exact reason that she’s writing this MC, and then blatantly and hypocritically claim that that’s not who she wants to respond. She doesn’t even care who answers it enough to give a description of any of the men she is maybe thinking of. The only response she will, and should, get is from someone who will write, “Yeah girl I saw you in your dress with your hair and your purse. You’re hot. I was the guy with a short haircut and huge biceps and I look vaguely ethnic. Let’s get freaky.”
damn i typed way more than i thought i was going to.. cant believe im doing this.. lol
Yeah, it’s funny how many details you can remember when you’re writing a description…of yourself. This is so self-involved that, even if I did see this woman, and was one of the many attractive men whom she scowled at whilst cavorting about the city, I wouldn’t respond.
The following MC, however, really challenged my powers of self-restraint, because, even though it is definitely not for me, I so wanted it to be:
Red hair, orange line, Friday midday. So darn beautiful. – m4w – 22 (Boston)
11:30am, orange line, a week ago this past Friday. Would have written this sooner, but I figured I’d forget about you. I didn’t.
You: Heading inbound, got off at Ruggles. Red hair, simple/plain summer dress. Oh gosh.
Girl, you’re just my type. We should probably make out — repeatedly. If that old creeper across the aisle hadn’t been hitting on you so hard, I just might have made a move myself. He had about 30 years on you (or me, for that matter), as well as an apparent case of emphysema. You were visibly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t being actively threatening so intervening seemed like a needless way to make the guy probably boil over. In any case, it wasn’t the best time to break out my charm, so I held back. Bummer, on all accounts.
Tell me what Grampa No-Chance asked you on your way off the train so I know it’s you, and I’ll take you to the arboretum and teach you how to identify different trees. It’d be super romantic, I swear. How can you turn down a nature date where we spend half our time totally nerding out and half our time totally making out?
Shamelessly adorable. Oh, how I hope she took you up on that wooded make-out session.
This week’s review of Missed Connections is a little bit more…involved. I’m not going to admit how much time I actually spend writing these things, because then it might explain why I’m still not fluent in French, but this week I actually did research. And the fact that I am seriously referring to it as “research” goes to show you how little deference my career in academia gave me for academia.
So, this round of posts, which in your Caesarian-ruled Western conception of time was “seven weeks ago” (Yeah, and I bet you call this moon’s cycle “June,” too, you plebian), include a couple about the Boston Marathon. Such as the following post, a shout-out for a very specific postee whom the poster totally saw, in person, lyke actually:
Saw you at Marathon – m4w – 25 (Coolidge Corner)
I saw you yesterday between 12-3pm, Monday April 16, 2012 at the Boston Marathon. You were definitely wearing running shorts, short socks, a sleeveless tank/shirt, running shoes (nike? adidas? Salomon? not sure), you had headphones in as well. I saw you and started cheering for you immediately. You might have had a name written on your arm, but it may have sweated off. Otherwise, this process would be so much easier. You had blonde hair, but I couldn’t see what color your eyes were though I’m sure they were beautiful. Your light skin was glistening with sweat, probably because it was 87 degrees outside. You had sunglasses on, black lenses. If I could guess ages, I would say you were between 25-35 years old. You were running with a bunch of other people who don’t quite match this description, maybe one or two did. I think you know who you are…
In short: any blonde woman running the Marathon. Normally I wouldn’t care about a post like this, because it’s obviously someone who thinks that the Missed Connections section of Craigslist is the same as the Casual Encounters section, which I consider a mild form of blasphemy, and I refuse to entertain such sacrilege. But what struck me about this post was the following:
1. The inclusion of things that seem like carefully observed details, included to make the post seem more legit, but which are vague enough that this person didn’t even need to attend the Marathon to know that this description probably fits a few dozen or hundred or so women who were running. The age range (10 years?), the guess at the brand of running shoes (because naming the top three most used brands really narrows it down), and the fact that she “might have had a name written on your arm, but it may have sweated off” (So, now you’re guessing things about her past? “You may have eaten your offspring last year, but may have pinned it on your ex-husband, so now you’re free to run the Marathon and he’s in jail,”), are all just filler. What this posting should look like is: “I want to bone a blonde woman who ran the Marathon yesterday, mid-20′s to mid-30′s. You should still have your sweat glands.” Boom. Done.
2. The last two sentences. See: #1.
3. The note that she was wearing headphones. Now, I had heard that headphones were banned from the Boston Marathon because they gave runners an unfair advantage, since exercising to music with a quick beat has been known to help you keep up an increased heart rate.
This is where the research comes in.
Apparently, the USA Track & Field (USATF), which regulates a bunch o’ marathons nationwide, banned headphones in 2006, citing safety concerns and the possibility that runners could receive communications from their alien overlords. In 2008, the ban was lifted on runners who weren’t competing for an award or championship, and allowed race directors to decide for themselves.
So, it’s possible that this woman, if we’re assuming there was one specific woman in question, was actually wearing headphones, since she’s running this race to prove that she can survive even though her husband went to jail for spawn-cannibalism, and not for any other prize.
But the best part of my research came when I was reading a runner’s message board about the ban:
Next they’ll ban certain running shoes. Then women.
Yeah dude, banning iPods is def the same as banning an entire sex from racing. Nice parallel. Making shitty slippery slope arguments like that has never reflected poorly on other, legitimate, feminist arguments. Well done. Douchebag.
The next MC includes a phrase that I believe should enter next year’s Merriam-Webster’s:
Spiderman on Heartbreak Hill – m4m
You were dressed as Spiderman and somewhere in the area of the hills. I gave you a high five, and was staring at your bulge as I ran up. Thanks for cheering us on and inspiring us with your nice Spidey Bulge!
Yeah, I Googled “spidey bulge.” I consider it a public service.
More like Hard-on Hill, amirite?!
…But for real, “Spidey Bulge.” Never thought you’d hear those words anywhere outside of your usual Saturday morning cartoon character porn session, didya? Now that’s going to stay with you all day. You’re welcome.
And, per the usual Miss Connections set-up, I leave you with this, an adorable MC that has absolutely nothing to do with the Marathon:
Hess – m4w – 22 (Allston)
i had a blue scooter, you had an acoustic, I am an idiot.
If you split it up like this:
I had a blue scoo-
ter, you had an acoustic,
I am an idiot.
It’s (almost) a haiku! There, I guess I (almost) do have respect for some part of my academic career.
This week [ed. note: more like six weeks ago] on Missed Connections, a number of men posting for women proved that they’re still using the same baiting techniques as they did when they were eight, and punching a girl was the sexually-frustrated compromise between shoving her face in the sandbox and touching her tiddlywinks: by straight up insulting them.
It Probably Isn’t Flattering… – m4w – 23 (Massachusetts)
That’s how you’re beginning this posting? Really? Self-awareness and acknowledgment of things like your emotions=sexy. Acknowledgment of impending douchebaggery=I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just stop right there.
but I’m feeling particularly miserable and somewhat less than sober, so I thought that I’d think of you.
“Hey, I was just contemplating how I’m a sopping mess of self-loathing and gin, and you came to mind. You always do when I need to think about anything besides popping a whole bottle of Oxy and drinking corrosive acid. Call me.”
You: Laugh like Woody the Woodpecker, Auburn hair, Gray Georgetown sweatshirt, blue jeans. Short, white girl with sterotypical white girl voice, but also one of the coolest human beings on the planet. Probably cooler than Fonzi.
No. I refuse to believe you could be even more insulting, while still convinced that you’re being cute. A laugh “like Woody the Woodpecker”? Do you know how often that laugh is used to qualify dispensable nuisances? And what the fuck is a “sterotypical white girl voice”? Fran Drescher from The Nanny? Another white woman whose voice is just as annoying as Woody’s? Thank Jesus you make sure to let her know that, despite the fact that she’s just like every other white girl/cartoon woodpecker hybrid, she’s really cool–maybe even cooler than another fictional character no one has cared about for years.
Me: Quiet, attempting to appear sullen and cool type. White, collared shirt, blue jeans, black boots. Okay (I think) looking black nerd.
Anything short of “Nobel Peace Prize winner, astronaut, and five-time Olympic champion” in your self-description isn’t enough to justify what came before it. Sorry.
I can’t quite think of the exact context in which we met, meaning the reason why we were there. It had something to do with future planning, establishing routes out toward our goals. We were all at a big conference table. You were in a seat, furthest away from the door, with a group of girls. I was closest to the door, caming in late, and I said that I had an interest in the medical field, as well as an interest in creative writing. You approached me afterward and asked if I was someone else. I can’t remember who you thought I was. Later on, we hung out. Because this is anonymous and only because it’s anonymous, I’ll say it. I swear, I have not had such a connection with another human being.
If the part about posting this MC that makes you the most anxious is that you “have not had such a connection with another human being,” then you seriously need to rework your perception of what women find attractive (and probably your own trust issues). No one’s going after an emotionally-stunted man who feels free telling the whole Internet that you sound like you’re constantly popping bubble wrap in your sinuses, but gets nervous about saying he likes you. No, I mean, he like-likes you.
The poster of the next MC took the opposite approach, which was that he was entirely cognizant of how he might offend the postee, and overcompensated:
Real World Ryan’s Long Lost Sister – m4w (Please don’t kill me for saying that)
Hi I mean absolutely nothing bad by that. I mean, why would I be posting here if I meant it was bad 🙂
Yeah, you’d think that would stop someone from posting shitty things about someone they’re interested in, right? (See: above.) But if there was any chance that this woman might “kill you for saying that,” then why wouldn’t you just change the fucking title? “Beautiful Woman Who Looks Nothing Like the Female Version of a Reality T.V. Star,” for example.
OK so actually we both resemble poor Ryan. If you keep reading this post, you may end up wearing a look on your face something like our hairdressing friend’s exasperated disbelief, and perhaps an angry scowl too. Hate mail very welcome, and I apologize in advance.
Her panties are probably melting off at this point.
I like trees and sitting in them, and doing other things with them too, and flowers and forests and hiking and things. I also like organic foods and bagels. And ‘root s. But I’m not very good at it, I’m actually really self-conscious about that. I suck at talking to people and take a while to open up. A while that I was not around for. I like hugs. Way too much, apparently. You must have somehow recognized my mortal weakness and launched a pre-emptive sneak-attack. Well, you won, and struck a crippling blow, shattering the foe behind the iron curtain. I counter-attacked in kindness though, on account of my sometimes-present ninja-skill reflexes.
Oh God, where to begin…okay, the first sentence: Are you suggesting that you partake in sexual activities with trees, or were you just referring to your hobby as a lumberjack by saying you do “other things with them too”? What does “‘root s” mean? How were you not around for the “while” that it takes you to open up to people? Why did you make an Iron Curtain reference? Was this just a coherent paragraph that you typed up, put in a blender, and glued back together while hoping for the best?
You? Well, I’ll try not to embarass you with flattery here, but you do have neat handwriting. And hands – very nimble. You actually just seemed really neat in general. They say cleanliness is close to Godliness. IDK but it’s good hygiene and stuff. Or at least keeps you from smelling. But then they also say a clean desk is a sign of a dirty mind. I don’t take too much stock in either honestly.
The chastity belt she wears under her panties is probably melting off at this point.
The last I saw you see me see you was like a Ray o’ sun to 800 film that had accidentally been through the X-ray machine at the airport – it was already overexposed. All the pics from the last roll came out completely blue. Wierd!
Speaking of which I had to replace my lenses and the case, never did end up finding them. Too much snow on the ground. REALLY SORRY THEY WERE NOT CHEAP I HAD TO ASK. I should probably have some simpler ones on hand just in case, like the black-rimmed kind.
…Special K is a helluva drug, isn’t it, kids?
Anyways, I hope I haven’t embarassed you or anything, but hey, if anyone makes fun of you for this, you know they’ve been reading CL missed connections! Way worse. And if you’re reading CL missed connections, I posted this to CL missed connections. WAY WORSE.
1. Fuck off. 2. Fuck off.
Hate mail link provided above (and I’m serious about that, trying to be at least a bit realistic here).
Live long and prosper,
A zoological oddity
I do appreciate the fact that he included a picture of this girl’s reality star likeness, since those of us who stopped watching MTV once it stopped being music television (see: roughly ten years ago) have no clue who this guy is. However, signing this post as a “zoological oddity” is not doing you any favors, nor is quoting Star Trek, nor is reiterating the notion that this girl can only hate you for anything you’ve said so far. It wasn’t nearly as offensive as the last post, and parts of it were even cute, references to Communist Russia notwithstanding.
The next post is a man addressing all sorts of vaguely identified women:
Attention Sassy Young Women Of Boston – m4w (Downtown)
Date: 2012-03-23, 7:49PM EDT
Could we tone it down and put on some clothes ladies, some of us are trying to get a little work done.
Sincerely Boston Bike Messenger
PS I cant believe i wrote that
This one, at first glance, does not really seem offensive. It’s kinda funny, actually. I imagine a lanky bike messenger, with gauged earlobes and a Chrome bag and a hat with racing stripes, running into parked cars as he stares at all the women who have decided to break out their short-shorts in worship of the sun god Ra.
But why are women who, presumably, aren’t wearing “enough” clothing, called “sassy”? Why is it their fault you can’t keep your eyes on the fucking road? Maybe you should learn how to control your erection, and you wouldn’t have such an issue keeping it from peeping through the hole in the crotch of your tight jeans that you got from biking too much while wearing tight jeans. I’m not going to say that this is like blaming the victim–because the victim in this case is clearly your blue balls–but it’s this line of thinking that places the responsibility of controlling sexual desires entirely on women.
The only redeeming part of this post is the last line, which would make one think that he had written this in a spontaneous act of drunken “hilariousness.” But check the time–not even 8 p.m. This bike messenger either just makes potentially regrettable decisions, or gets drunk and makes potentially regrettable decisions. But, admittedly, the fact that he wrote something so benign and then followed it up with, “I cant believe I wrote that,” as if he had described these women as having a Woody Woodpecker laugh (seriously!), does adds to the comedic effect.
But not everyone was a dick on MC this week. I’ll leave you on this, one of the cutest and strangest MCs in days:
Liberty Tax Girl – m4w – 34 (south shore)
I usually see you waving outside on my way home from work in Weymouth Landing. The few times I’ve waved to you I see the smile on your face and hopefully made your day. Haven’t seen you out there lately. Just wondering if you are out there.
Aww…probably not. But it’s refreshing to know that connections can be made even while doing the most obscure and shittiest of jobs.
I realized today, while sitting in a subway station, that I feel the same way about public transportation as Muslims feel about Allah: Some things just shouldn’t be depicted.
For those of you unfamiliar with Boston’s public transportation system (which is no one, because everyone who reads this is a 20- or 30-something who lives in Boston and can’t afford not to take the subway), it is often represented by this guy:
"You know me from those police sketches!"
Meet Charlie.
Like so much else on the Interwebs these days, the history of Charlie’s name is political, deriving from a folk song written to support a Progressive Party (read: Commie Bastard) candidate in 1949. But the contemporary history, the one that’s being written everyday in the refurbished wasteholes and desolate lean-tos known as “T stations,” is even bleaker.
As I was sitting at Park Street, the megahub of the subway system, I noticed that every single picture of Charlie I could see around me had been defiled. And not in the sexy way, either. It literally looked like someone had smeared shit all over Charlie’s face(s). The chain reaction that this realization set off in my mind is sad in its exhaustive analysis of something so straight-up stupid:
1. Oh, that’s kind of sad.
2. Why do I care so much about an asinine cartoon character? He’s meant to represent the MBTA, he’s not a real person.
3. This is probably a statement about how much the vandal hates the MBTA.
4. Yeah, fuck the MBTA! Fuck their proposed fare increases and service cuts! Free public transportation for all!
5. Wait, why is public transportation represented by a person, again?
That’s where the reaction ended, because I’m still stuck on figuring out why anyone would feel the need to personify the MBTA like this. I assume it’s to make the MBTA more relatable, something that people can feel a certain bond with. But, let’s be honest–do you know anyone who has a forehead that just drops like a baby down a manhole, right into their nose? Or anyone who has skin the color of fermenting caramel? I mean, if you really wanted to personify the subways or buses, why wouldn’t you just use the people who actually fucking run them? Put pictures of bus drivers up on buses, for example? That’s what they do in Portland, OR. But, then again, they also think things like “barcades” and “vegan food trucks” are good ideas. Buncha commie douchebags.
“Shh, whatever you’re saying right now is not important,” Ben interrupted me as a hot woman walked by. Travis and Ben were sitting next to each other in the booth, facing the bar and hardxXxcore people-watching, and I was sitting across from them, presumably in the way of tons of sexy babes that they both had a good chance of banging (not at the same time, ’cause that’s totally gay, but maybe if she’s into that). They were both staring at the newest prospect when I got up to use the bathroom, giving them the finger. When I returned, they were both eyeing a woman standing near the bar, talking about how intelligent she looked, probably.
“You guys have seriously been talking about chicks in the bar all night,” I said. “Don’t you have anything better to discuss?”
“No,” Ben said. “This is what guys do.”
“Yeah, there are guys talking about you right now,” Travis said. I shook my head.
“Yes there are!” Ben and Travis said in unison.
“Fine, where are they? Can I turn around and stare at them?” I asked.
“No, we’re not talking about anyone in particular, but they are. That’s why groups of guys come to bars,” Travis said.
I’ve been friends with dudes my whole life–and no, I don’t mean men, I mean dudes–so when I went to a bar last night with Travis and Ben, and the topic immediately became who in the room they most wanted to bang, I wasn’t surprised, nor offended. It’s not just dudes; everybody does this in bars, to some degree. This is why public drinking places were invented.
"Yeah, I get it, you want to sleep with me, fine. But why the fuck is every single person in this bar wearing the same thing? And why are the walls padded? How did I get here? God, this Roofie Colada is great, what's in it?"
They weren’t even, from what I could hear, being crude or derogatory, other than blatantly checking out every single female in the fucking place. They pretty much just said things like, “Oh man, that girl is easily the hottest chick in the bar right now,” and then stared. Whatever, I do the exact same thing with my friends when we go out, I just don’t do it as voraciously. What bothered me was:
1.) That was all they were doing, and
2.) I couldn’t participate.
When I called them out on only talking about girls, Ben said, “Yeah, we look at girls and talk about them, whatever. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I wouldn’t understand?” I asked.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t get it,” he said.
“Right, because I don’t look at girls,” I said.
“Well, not the same way we do.”
“Because you don’t think I’m interested in girls.”
“Yeah.”
“Not even a little bit.”
Now Ben looked a bit hesitant. “Well…are you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I am.”
But Ben was right–I don’t look at girls the same way they do, which was made obvious when he said:
“Dude, my vacation was fun, but there are no hot girls in Seattle,” referring to his recent stint in the West Coast city.
“Yeah,” Travis agreed, “Boston’s got the hottest girls.”
I made my I’m incredibly dubious face. “Eh…”
“Dude, are you fucking serious?” Travis immediately pounced on me. “Are you retarded? The girls in Boston are stupid hot. Everybody knows that. There are, like, magazine articles about it all the time.”
“You’re so angry right now,” I said.
“I get angry when my friends are being retarded,” Travis said. “And you were totally being serious just now.” He looked away, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Girls in Boston are boring,” I said. “They all look the same.”
“Whatever, that’s not the point,” Ben said. “They don’t need to be interesting for me to want to bang them, they just need to be hot.”
I thought about saying something like, “Yeah, you don’t need to talk to them before or after sex, you just need them to shut up and put out,” but at that point I was afraid they might agree with me. I tried sitting on their side of the table, facing the crowd, to see if I could as shamelessly objectify the women in the room as they could, but they decided it was too weird for all three of us to sit together and stare, so I went back to watching them watch people.
Later, when the subject turned to a girl whom Travis likes, he was all understatement and courtesy.
“So, why do you like her?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking away. “She’s really, really cool.” He wouldn’t say anything else about her, other than that he’s really into her, and that he thinks she’s cute.
Which is exactly how I talk about people I like–which is to say, I don’t talk about them. I usually just try to make shit happen, and then talk about them later, being all gossip-face with friends after winning some mild victory or watching part of my dignity get torn to shreds. But if I want to be one of the dudes, I’m going to have to learn how to match my action with lots of dick-swinging swagger and bravado.
If you follow the news, you might remember a little story back in June about how I started an online dating account while living in Prague. (Actually, if you follow the news, you’re probably trying to be a respectable human being, who has well-informed opinions on important world events, and, consequently, you dun give a fook about my forays into virtual mate-baiting. Kindly go back to analyzing the recent Dow figures, you adult bastard.) I wanted to make friends while spending a month in the city, especially ones who would pay for my beer.
Here's to you, Patriarchy!
I came back from Europe a couple months ago, but, wouldn’t you know it, the Interweb in the U.S. is the same one they got over there (guess the Space Race isn’t over), and my sexy Net persona followed me home. As I was back in Boston without many romantic prospects, I toyed with the idea of using my account in my home country, in my own city, even, which can be a problem because it means you can easily run into people you met on the site IRL.
Or, the opposite can occur, and you can run into someone on OKCupid who you already know in “reality,” without knowing it’s them. Which is what happened to me last week.
I got an email saying someone had “chosen” me, much like God chose the Jews to be His people (see: entourage/Entourage). Before opening the email, I told myself that, unless it was someone interesting or wildly attractive, I would delete my account, because I was sick of knowing who rated me as a human on a five-star scale. I clicked on the email and examined my admirer’s thumbnail.
He looked eerily familiar. I went to his profile–late 20s. Works as an English as a Second Language teacher. Has tattoos on his lower right arm.
Lives across the hall from me.
Yes, my fucking roommate gave me a high rating. Which kinda makes me think he didn’t know what I, his roommate, look like. I had moved into the apartment just a week or two before, and the only times I’d seen this guy had been when we were watching T.V. with our other roommates in a dark living room. I’m fairly certain he had never looked me in the eyes.
“Maybe he knows and wants to bang you,” Orion, another roommate, said. “It would make hooking up super convenient.”
“Dude, I think he knows,” Jason, my best friend, said. “Maybe this is just his way of telling you he thinks you’re cute.”
“He’s stalking you,” said Eddie, our cab driver.
“How can he stalk me if I live with him?” I asked.
“Well, that just makes it easier!”
Thanks, Cabbie.
I toyed with the idea of messaging him and asking him out on a date. I would ask him to meet me at my house, and then give him our address and see if he freaked out. But humiliating someone you live with is usually a bad idea for the same reasons dating them is–namely, because you fucking live together–so I decided to poke fun at him in private. (And then write about it on this blog. Whatever, it was the nicer thing to do, just trust me on this.) I sent him an “award” on OKCupid (side note: fuck you, OKCupid). It’s a picture of a stuffed bear, titled, “Smarter Than the Average Bear.”
Because when I think "someone I want to bang," I think these guys.
I wrote a note that was something like, “Yeah, hey, I live across the hall from you. Well done. Thanks for giving me a high rating, I AM pretty awesome.”
So that message, to me, sounds bitchy, but also overly cocky, so he would know that I wanted to call him out, but don’t actually care that he “chose” me. I wanted both of us to be able to laugh at the fact that he didn’t know what I look like. Immediately after sending him this “award,” I disabled my account.
That was about a week ago. He hasn’t brought it up, and neither have I. Instead, he’s invited me to watch a movie with him and looked me in the eyes about three times.
“He probably took that as a sign,” Jason said.
“Yeah, he thinks you want to bang him,” Aaron agreed. “Guys take anything as a sign. ‘Oh, she’s standing next to me? She wants me. She’s not looking at me or talking to me, but she’s standing right there–she totally wants me.'”
sanfranciscostreetfighter 