Missed Connection:
It was about 11:30 on Wednesday. I had just finished a long day of work and was grabbing a drink with a friend as I am wont to do. Soon after we ordered our pitcher of beer, you came back from what I assume was either a cigarette break, or an appointment with a wedding planner after spotting us. I have to imagine it was some type of dual wedding that you had in mind, as my friend and I pretty closely resemble each other and any other woman that has long dark hair and bangs these days. As I poured my glass from the pitcher, I heard you mumble something in our direction. My friend responded, but my shyness got the best of me and I chose to conceal my burning desire for your Irish accent with apparent apathy. She introduced herself and then turned to me. You looked at me, waiting for my own introduction and I finally acquiesced; for it is not every man that can break through my icy exterior to learn my name. When I nervously (do not mistake nerves for indifference!) told you, you looked at me like I had just asked you to solve a long division problem in your head. I pictured your brain like a Rubik's Cube, looking for the combination to unlock the correct reply. You paused for a moment, and then, finally: "Is that a boy's name??? ...Or a girl's?" If I at all appeared nonplussed and disconcerted, it was only because it was in that moment I knew I loved you. That we were meant to be. And that your requited love for me was so deep, you wouldn't let something as trivial as my ambiguous gender stand in the way. I wanted to cry out, to tell you I have been waiting for you for thirty long years! To tell you that I will be everything you have ever wanted in a wife (and/or husband, if that's what you want!)...but instead, I left. And so my intended, here I am, ready to move forward with this relationship if you are. But as for your question? There is really no way of knowing.
Sincerely,
Morgan
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
9/16/14
Missed Connection:
Like most good love stories begin, I went to The Huddle last night after fleeing my regular Tuesday night bar like a desperate refugee seeking shelter from loud shitty music. I was catching up with some friends over drinks and after a few I headed to the bathroom. If I had known I was about to meet the love of my life on my way out, I probably would have fixed my makeup. There you were. Leaning against the jukebox with what I can only describe as those googly eyes that you glue onto construction paper and anything else around during arts and crafts as a kid. I'm fairly certain you were drunk, or maybe you just have lazy eyes? I can't wait to learn all these little things about you! I'd like to imagine you were selecting songs for our wedding reception. I paused by the bathroom door, trying to figure out how I was going to get around you since you were blocking my path with not only your body, but also with your raw animal magnetism. You looked at me the way a hungry lion looks at a steak and the eloquence poured from your lips much like the alcoholic vomit poured from it later I imagine: "Do you want to make out?" Is what you said, but I know that "Do you want to exclusively date me for the next year or so, get engaged, have an outdoor June wedding and honeymoon in Florence?" is what you really meant. Being as incredulous as I am and just to make sure I wasn't way off base with my romantic deduction, I asked, "What??" "Do you want to make out?" You repeated. Almost annoyed that I had not yet consented and that you had to reiterate what was probably so difficult for you to put into words! (Your love for me.) Sadly, when it comes to the game of love, I always fall far too late. For as you awaited my answer with hope in your googly eyes, you were only met with heartbreak when I told you no and walked away. But you would not give up that easily! Oh, not yet. For in retaliation just minutes later, you approached my friend with the same proposition, only THIS time you offered to show her the $12,000 in your bank account as what I can only conclude was some type of make out dowry. I am no stranger to heartbreak, and I will not pretend that this was any exception or that it did not cut me straight to my core. I guess here's what I'm really getting at: I'm just a girl, sitting in front of a computer screen, asking for another chance to make out with a drunk stranger. So, what do you say?
Sincerely,
Miss Missed Connection
Like most good love stories begin, I went to The Huddle last night after fleeing my regular Tuesday night bar like a desperate refugee seeking shelter from loud shitty music. I was catching up with some friends over drinks and after a few I headed to the bathroom. If I had known I was about to meet the love of my life on my way out, I probably would have fixed my makeup. There you were. Leaning against the jukebox with what I can only describe as those googly eyes that you glue onto construction paper and anything else around during arts and crafts as a kid. I'm fairly certain you were drunk, or maybe you just have lazy eyes? I can't wait to learn all these little things about you! I'd like to imagine you were selecting songs for our wedding reception. I paused by the bathroom door, trying to figure out how I was going to get around you since you were blocking my path with not only your body, but also with your raw animal magnetism. You looked at me the way a hungry lion looks at a steak and the eloquence poured from your lips much like the alcoholic vomit poured from it later I imagine: "Do you want to make out?" Is what you said, but I know that "Do you want to exclusively date me for the next year or so, get engaged, have an outdoor June wedding and honeymoon in Florence?" is what you really meant. Being as incredulous as I am and just to make sure I wasn't way off base with my romantic deduction, I asked, "What??" "Do you want to make out?" You repeated. Almost annoyed that I had not yet consented and that you had to reiterate what was probably so difficult for you to put into words! (Your love for me.) Sadly, when it comes to the game of love, I always fall far too late. For as you awaited my answer with hope in your googly eyes, you were only met with heartbreak when I told you no and walked away. But you would not give up that easily! Oh, not yet. For in retaliation just minutes later, you approached my friend with the same proposition, only THIS time you offered to show her the $12,000 in your bank account as what I can only conclude was some type of make out dowry. I am no stranger to heartbreak, and I will not pretend that this was any exception or that it did not cut me straight to my core. I guess here's what I'm really getting at: I'm just a girl, sitting in front of a computer screen, asking for another chance to make out with a drunk stranger. So, what do you say?
Sincerely,
Miss Missed Connection
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
9/2/14
Missed Connection:
It was Tuesday night. Naturally, I was at a bar having a few beers after marathoning season 2 of Orphan Black (should it end up working out between us, I suggest you do the same, it's quite good). I was there for my friend's trivia night, you were there to get drunk (and win me over!). Your friend was outside puking on the sidewalk - I both saw her and heard you talking to your other friends. You were sitting at the end of the bar, laughing about it, but sympathizing with her in spirit, I'm certain. The crowd dispersed. I noticed you immediately as I took a seat at the bar, partly because it was a pretty slow night at the bar, partly because you seemed to only speak only at an 11, which you see, is one louder than 10. You were different than the rest; you did not approach me. You did not ask me if I was from Tennessee, or outer space, or if it hurt when I fell from heaven. We made eye contact a few times, but beyond that you left me alone in this world to replay the events of the evening again and again my mind. As I unknowingly sipped my drink, dreaming of being swept off my feet by the kind of man you only see in movies, Cupid shot his arrow deep into my heart. The very first thing you said that caught my attention: "When women ask you how old they are, you always have to add a few years. That way you put them in their place." Though you did not say this directly to me, I still gasped. Probably aloud! My cheeks are reddening even now at the very thought of you possibly noticing me swooning only two barstools to your left. How did you know that us women long to be "put in our place?!?" That we lie in bed each night and each morning praying to whatever belief system we acknowledge to be nothing other than put in our place! How did you know that all we really want from men are veiled insults about our appearance accompanied by your condescending tone? SISTERS: I thought these were secrets that we all agreed to tell NO man! Needless to say I was amazed at how clearly and deeply you were capable of seeing into women's hearts and souls. How I yearn to one day be loved and cared for by such an honorable man as yourself! While my initial thought was that you must have had a significant amount of personal training from VH1's Pick-Up Artist, my next thought was of course "how do I make this virtuous man who respects women my own?" And so I'll leave you with one final question, oh object of my affection: How old do you think I am?
Sincerely,
whitegirl1 (VH1 and I go way back)
It was Tuesday night. Naturally, I was at a bar having a few beers after marathoning season 2 of Orphan Black (should it end up working out between us, I suggest you do the same, it's quite good). I was there for my friend's trivia night, you were there to get drunk (and win me over!). Your friend was outside puking on the sidewalk - I both saw her and heard you talking to your other friends. You were sitting at the end of the bar, laughing about it, but sympathizing with her in spirit, I'm certain. The crowd dispersed. I noticed you immediately as I took a seat at the bar, partly because it was a pretty slow night at the bar, partly because you seemed to only speak only at an 11, which you see, is one louder than 10. You were different than the rest; you did not approach me. You did not ask me if I was from Tennessee, or outer space, or if it hurt when I fell from heaven. We made eye contact a few times, but beyond that you left me alone in this world to replay the events of the evening again and again my mind. As I unknowingly sipped my drink, dreaming of being swept off my feet by the kind of man you only see in movies, Cupid shot his arrow deep into my heart. The very first thing you said that caught my attention: "When women ask you how old they are, you always have to add a few years. That way you put them in their place." Though you did not say this directly to me, I still gasped. Probably aloud! My cheeks are reddening even now at the very thought of you possibly noticing me swooning only two barstools to your left. How did you know that us women long to be "put in our place?!?" That we lie in bed each night and each morning praying to whatever belief system we acknowledge to be nothing other than put in our place! How did you know that all we really want from men are veiled insults about our appearance accompanied by your condescending tone? SISTERS: I thought these were secrets that we all agreed to tell NO man! Needless to say I was amazed at how clearly and deeply you were capable of seeing into women's hearts and souls. How I yearn to one day be loved and cared for by such an honorable man as yourself! While my initial thought was that you must have had a significant amount of personal training from VH1's Pick-Up Artist, my next thought was of course "how do I make this virtuous man who respects women my own?" And so I'll leave you with one final question, oh object of my affection: How old do you think I am?
Sincerely,
whitegirl1 (VH1 and I go way back)
Thursday, August 21, 2014
8/21/14
Missed Connection:
The story I can't wait to tell our children someday started in broad daylight and without the influence of alcohol; something I cannot say for the majority of my honorable suitors. I had stepped outside of my office into our back alley to take a phone call, or, to have a proverbial cigarette if you will. As I talked while pacing around the dumpster, I heard a faint noise coming from behind me from another building. Not thinking anything of it I continued my conversation and definitely did not think that that noise was directed at me. However, I of course would not be writing this if it weren't. Still on the phone, and in the middle of explaining something, I decided to find out where the (what can only be described as a "clucking"?) sound that had been going on for at least a solid two minutes was coming from. Imagine my surprise when I turned around and discovered that you were staring directly at me and that this sound was actually your mating call! I must admit I am curious as to why you went with the clucking, though. Was this a challenge to something? An unfamiliar language? Were you mimicking a chicken as a way to ask me if I am a good cook? I do not intend to crush your dreams, but I am not. If this changes things for you, I understand, though I sincerely hope you still give me a chance. Perhaps you were inquiring as to whether or not my eggs are fertile? I cannot tell you for sure, but I would like to think so! I would be happy to confirm this for you via medical testing; maybe this can be the agenda for our first date! Or maybe you were simply calling me a chicken for reasons I may never understand, but will secretly hope that you will tell me one day when our children are grown and we are old and retired, doing the New York Times crossword in front of a gentle fire reminiscing about this very day. I digress... I stopped talking for just a second while my synapses fired away trying to make sense of it all. Fortunately, it was long enough for you to yell at me from your building that I am "hot." Thank you. I hope I did not disappoint you too much when instead of dropping my phone and leaping over the fence into your arms I yelled back an irritated, "Really?" and resumed my conversation. You'll have to forgive me, I can be quite shy.
Sincerely,
Your Hot Chicken
The story I can't wait to tell our children someday started in broad daylight and without the influence of alcohol; something I cannot say for the majority of my honorable suitors. I had stepped outside of my office into our back alley to take a phone call, or, to have a proverbial cigarette if you will. As I talked while pacing around the dumpster, I heard a faint noise coming from behind me from another building. Not thinking anything of it I continued my conversation and definitely did not think that that noise was directed at me. However, I of course would not be writing this if it weren't. Still on the phone, and in the middle of explaining something, I decided to find out where the (what can only be described as a "clucking"?) sound that had been going on for at least a solid two minutes was coming from. Imagine my surprise when I turned around and discovered that you were staring directly at me and that this sound was actually your mating call! I must admit I am curious as to why you went with the clucking, though. Was this a challenge to something? An unfamiliar language? Were you mimicking a chicken as a way to ask me if I am a good cook? I do not intend to crush your dreams, but I am not. If this changes things for you, I understand, though I sincerely hope you still give me a chance. Perhaps you were inquiring as to whether or not my eggs are fertile? I cannot tell you for sure, but I would like to think so! I would be happy to confirm this for you via medical testing; maybe this can be the agenda for our first date! Or maybe you were simply calling me a chicken for reasons I may never understand, but will secretly hope that you will tell me one day when our children are grown and we are old and retired, doing the New York Times crossword in front of a gentle fire reminiscing about this very day. I digress... I stopped talking for just a second while my synapses fired away trying to make sense of it all. Fortunately, it was long enough for you to yell at me from your building that I am "hot." Thank you. I hope I did not disappoint you too much when instead of dropping my phone and leaping over the fence into your arms I yelled back an irritated, "Really?" and resumed my conversation. You'll have to forgive me, I can be quite shy.
Sincerely,
Your Hot Chicken
Thursday, August 14, 2014
8/13/14
Missed Connection:
It was a Wednesday night. I am not used to meeting men of your caliber at The Huddle, let alone at The Huddle on a Wednesday. I was there to celebrate a friend's birthday and had stepped out onto the patio to watch my friend smoke a cigarette while I took my third tequila shot of the night. You said hello. I said hello back. My friend said you reminded her of Ron Swanson from Parks and Recreation which was absolutely not true because if that was the case I would have married you on the spot. As I chatted with two of my female friends you looked at us, thinking of just the right thing to say. You noted my hair color and bangs. Additionally, you noted their hair color. It was then that the perfect thing to say finally hit you like the ton of bricks that hit me when you spoke again: "You all look like Zooey Deschanel" you said proudly. My heart was broken. Was I not special? Did you not feel the same romantic pull that I felt when I first laid eyes on your bespectacled visage? Had you not put a deposit down on a home with a white picket fence and named our first born child already in your head??? But wait! My love-deprived, cynical mind had too quickly jumped ship. You looked RIGHT at me and added three words that would change my life forever: "...but ESPECIALLY you." I knew we were meant to be from that moment on, but that tequila shot had started to do its thing and my judgement was clouded like my heart has been for years. Instead of asking you to be in a committed relationship with me I walked inside and your lesser counterpart told me I had a "nice rack". How did I not run back into your arms?!? Sadly, I did not realize my misstep until I awoke this morning with nothing but a hangover and my regrets. Until we meet again...
Sincerely,
The Girl From Last Night Who Looked ESPECIALLY Like Zooey Deschanel
It was a Wednesday night. I am not used to meeting men of your caliber at The Huddle, let alone at The Huddle on a Wednesday. I was there to celebrate a friend's birthday and had stepped out onto the patio to watch my friend smoke a cigarette while I took my third tequila shot of the night. You said hello. I said hello back. My friend said you reminded her of Ron Swanson from Parks and Recreation which was absolutely not true because if that was the case I would have married you on the spot. As I chatted with two of my female friends you looked at us, thinking of just the right thing to say. You noted my hair color and bangs. Additionally, you noted their hair color. It was then that the perfect thing to say finally hit you like the ton of bricks that hit me when you spoke again: "You all look like Zooey Deschanel" you said proudly. My heart was broken. Was I not special? Did you not feel the same romantic pull that I felt when I first laid eyes on your bespectacled visage? Had you not put a deposit down on a home with a white picket fence and named our first born child already in your head??? But wait! My love-deprived, cynical mind had too quickly jumped ship. You looked RIGHT at me and added three words that would change my life forever: "...but ESPECIALLY you." I knew we were meant to be from that moment on, but that tequila shot had started to do its thing and my judgement was clouded like my heart has been for years. Instead of asking you to be in a committed relationship with me I walked inside and your lesser counterpart told me I had a "nice rack". How did I not run back into your arms?!? Sadly, I did not realize my misstep until I awoke this morning with nothing but a hangover and my regrets. Until we meet again...
Sincerely,
The Girl From Last Night Who Looked ESPECIALLY Like Zooey Deschanel
Monday, August 4, 2014
7/26/14
Missed Connection: Comic-Con edition
It was around 1pm and I had been wearing high heels, a dryer vent top and a bubble wrap skirt for longer than any woman should. I had 30 minutes to get the fuck out of my costume and get back to the panel I was waiting to see. You asked to take my picture. Fine. As I consented, you reached into your rapey back pack and told me you were "bringing out the big guns" as you pulled out your apparently special camera. I pretended to be unfazed. You asked me if my skirt was made of bubble wrap which it unmistakably was. I said yes. You responded with: "Oh, you are FUN!" I quickly realized you had no idea who I was dressed as and were probably just into checking out "some half naked chick." You then told me your camera was falling in love with me. You were old enough to be my grandpa. I ran. I changed my mind. Never talk to me again.
Sincerely,
Just, never talk to me again.
It was around 1pm and I had been wearing high heels, a dryer vent top and a bubble wrap skirt for longer than any woman should. I had 30 minutes to get the fuck out of my costume and get back to the panel I was waiting to see. You asked to take my picture. Fine. As I consented, you reached into your rapey back pack and told me you were "bringing out the big guns" as you pulled out your apparently special camera. I pretended to be unfazed. You asked me if my skirt was made of bubble wrap which it unmistakably was. I said yes. You responded with: "Oh, you are FUN!" I quickly realized you had no idea who I was dressed as and were probably just into checking out "some half naked chick." You then told me your camera was falling in love with me. You were old enough to be my grandpa. I ran. I changed my mind. Never talk to me again.
Sincerely,
Just, never talk to me again.
Monday, July 21, 2014
7/19/14
Missed Connection:
It was another Saturday night and I had spent the better part of my evening readying myself for San Diego Comic-Con for the following week. (I bet you didn't even know this about me, but don't worry, all in due time.) As I entered the bar, I noticed there was something different about the night's crowd than those who typically frequent Durty Nelly's Irish Pub on most weekends. I soon found out that the classiest of weddings chose to reconvene at said karaoke bar post-wedding, which I can only imagine was remarkably high class as the groomsmen all sported backwards white "Angels" baseball caps and the bridesmaids were adorned in a white lace number I am fairly certain I saw at Forever 21 the other day. After a few drinks, I realized that I was probably not going to meet you (for who else could I be waiting for??) here, so I determined that it was time to take my leave. As I made my way to the exit, visibly disappointed (but prematurely so!) that our paths had not yet crossed, you unknowingly blocked my way. In retrospect, perhaps you did know! Maybe that is why upon my third request for you to kindly let me pass and persevere on my thus far desolate journey for love, you looked at me with Fireball Whiskey (you just seemed like that kind of guy) filled eyes, winked, and spoke those six little words every girl wants to hear: "Where the FUCK are YOU going??" I had clearly just taken away your breath and any ounce of eloquence you possessed away with it. I looked (nay, I must have swooned!) at you in disbelief and silently noted your Justin Bieber-like appearance - and now disposition - and as I stumbled to find my next words you grabbed my hand. No doubt you were thinking that once your skin touched mine I would have no choice but to remain at the bar and your side forever, or at least until the cruel hand of fate ripped us apart. You were of course, right, but I, being the stubborn fool that I am instead pulled my hand away, rolled my eyes and said "somewhere that's not here." What I MEANT was, "where have you been all my life my knight in shining armor?" So, my dearest JB, I ask you in earnest: When the FUCK are we going out again? I'll be waiting, with a shot of Fireball just for you.
Sincerely,
Gone Girl
It was another Saturday night and I had spent the better part of my evening readying myself for San Diego Comic-Con for the following week. (I bet you didn't even know this about me, but don't worry, all in due time.) As I entered the bar, I noticed there was something different about the night's crowd than those who typically frequent Durty Nelly's Irish Pub on most weekends. I soon found out that the classiest of weddings chose to reconvene at said karaoke bar post-wedding, which I can only imagine was remarkably high class as the groomsmen all sported backwards white "Angels" baseball caps and the bridesmaids were adorned in a white lace number I am fairly certain I saw at Forever 21 the other day. After a few drinks, I realized that I was probably not going to meet you (for who else could I be waiting for??) here, so I determined that it was time to take my leave. As I made my way to the exit, visibly disappointed (but prematurely so!) that our paths had not yet crossed, you unknowingly blocked my way. In retrospect, perhaps you did know! Maybe that is why upon my third request for you to kindly let me pass and persevere on my thus far desolate journey for love, you looked at me with Fireball Whiskey (you just seemed like that kind of guy) filled eyes, winked, and spoke those six little words every girl wants to hear: "Where the FUCK are YOU going??" I had clearly just taken away your breath and any ounce of eloquence you possessed away with it. I looked (nay, I must have swooned!) at you in disbelief and silently noted your Justin Bieber-like appearance - and now disposition - and as I stumbled to find my next words you grabbed my hand. No doubt you were thinking that once your skin touched mine I would have no choice but to remain at the bar and your side forever, or at least until the cruel hand of fate ripped us apart. You were of course, right, but I, being the stubborn fool that I am instead pulled my hand away, rolled my eyes and said "somewhere that's not here." What I MEANT was, "where have you been all my life my knight in shining armor?" So, my dearest JB, I ask you in earnest: When the FUCK are we going out again? I'll be waiting, with a shot of Fireball just for you.
Sincerely,
Gone Girl
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
7/5/14
Missed Connection:
It was Saturday night and if I'm being completely honest, I had spent the entire day on my couch binge watching The Following. I decided to meet a friend at the bar so I could at least say (without guilt) that I actually left my house that day. I was still recovering from my last night out (7/3/14) so I was only drinking soda water. This MUST be why I was so impervious to your unrivaled charm! At least that's what I'm telling myself to escape that overwhelming feeling that my future husband might have walked out the door and out of my life forever. I was outside on the patio when you approached. "So like, are you a fan of Jim Carrey, or...what?" I racked my brain for how you could possibly know that I DO in fact have both Ace Ventura: Pet Detective AND Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in my rather dated DVD collection! You then gestured to my sweater. It was green with blue polka dots. A smarter woman's questions might have all been answered from your clear and insightful finger point, but I, as your intellectual inferior, was still bemused. You quickly left without explaining yourself despite my protests for clarification. I continue to grasp at straws in my vain attempts to unravel your enigmatic question. I hope it is enough to impress you:
1. The Mask. His face is pretty green, after all. You probably saw a similar hue in my sweater. The connection there is all too obvious. Something you are not, my Riddler. Which brings me to:
2. The Riddler from Batman. I guess blue polka dots on a sweater can look like purple question marks on a full body spandex suit if you're drunk enough. Unfortunately for both of us, I was not.
3. The Grinch. This one didn't even cross my mind until I started writing this!
Maybe Jim wore a green shirt in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? There is really no way of knowing, but I plan on watching it later this evening to confirm. The possibilities are rather endless. This leads me to my final deduction (and I am rather embarrassed that you figured this out before I myself had the chance) that, yes! I AM a Jim Carrey fan and that MUST be why I chose to wear that particular sweater! I hear Dumb and Dumber 2 comes out later this year; what do you say?
Sincerely,
Jim Carrey's #1 fan
It was Saturday night and if I'm being completely honest, I had spent the entire day on my couch binge watching The Following. I decided to meet a friend at the bar so I could at least say (without guilt) that I actually left my house that day. I was still recovering from my last night out (7/3/14) so I was only drinking soda water. This MUST be why I was so impervious to your unrivaled charm! At least that's what I'm telling myself to escape that overwhelming feeling that my future husband might have walked out the door and out of my life forever. I was outside on the patio when you approached. "So like, are you a fan of Jim Carrey, or...what?" I racked my brain for how you could possibly know that I DO in fact have both Ace Ventura: Pet Detective AND Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in my rather dated DVD collection! You then gestured to my sweater. It was green with blue polka dots. A smarter woman's questions might have all been answered from your clear and insightful finger point, but I, as your intellectual inferior, was still bemused. You quickly left without explaining yourself despite my protests for clarification. I continue to grasp at straws in my vain attempts to unravel your enigmatic question. I hope it is enough to impress you:
1. The Mask. His face is pretty green, after all. You probably saw a similar hue in my sweater. The connection there is all too obvious. Something you are not, my Riddler. Which brings me to:
2. The Riddler from Batman. I guess blue polka dots on a sweater can look like purple question marks on a full body spandex suit if you're drunk enough. Unfortunately for both of us, I was not.
3. The Grinch. This one didn't even cross my mind until I started writing this!
Maybe Jim wore a green shirt in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? There is really no way of knowing, but I plan on watching it later this evening to confirm. The possibilities are rather endless. This leads me to my final deduction (and I am rather embarrassed that you figured this out before I myself had the chance) that, yes! I AM a Jim Carrey fan and that MUST be why I chose to wear that particular sweater! I hear Dumb and Dumber 2 comes out later this year; what do you say?
Sincerely,
Jim Carrey's #1 fan
Monday, July 7, 2014
7/3/14
Missed Connection:
It was Thursday night. You saw me from across the room at the bar, but alas, I did not yet see you. As I walked to the bathroom you made your move. And WHAT a move you made! I can almost picture you at your desk, staying up nights, pouring over your composition books and coming up with incredible line after incredible line. "What's up, Betty Crocker?" Is the one you honored me with. No doubt you were paying homage to my blue dress with ruffles at the bottom. How naive of me; I honestly had NO idea that she had the same dress! I am forever in your debt for my newfound knowledge. It never ceases to amaze me that despite all the romantic prose and poetry (for how else can I describe your delicate words??) I have been seduced with, I remain single. ...This must be due to my own folly! For what other woman would not fall down at the feet of these Romeos? Foolishly, I said nothing. Though you probably knew from my vacant stare that it was love at first sight. And then, simultaneously affirming my apparent infatuation for you and setting gender equality back 100 years, you asked me if I was going to "cook you biscuits." No, my love. I am not going to cook you biscuits. Your fervent interest in my choice of clothing caused me to notice your own. Your Great Gatsby shirt that was clearly a recent purchase from Urban Outfitters and donned in an attempt to boast your unparalleled "intelligence" to the world screamed out to me: "Scholar!" "Provider!" "Everything you've been waiting for in a man!". You wore it so proudly. So when I commented on it and you told me it was your favorite book and that you "studied it in college," I refrained from telling you that I read and "studied" said Great American Novel in 5th grade. And then in junior high school. Again in high school...and then about 3 more times in college. However, I held my tongue as I want you to be proud of your accomplishments! Isn't that what proper women are supposed to do? I would have said let's talk literature, but I suppose I should leave the learning up to you and get to work on cooking those biscuits. Until we meet again...
Sincerely,
Betty Crocker
formerly, Zooey Deschanel's cousin
It was Thursday night. You saw me from across the room at the bar, but alas, I did not yet see you. As I walked to the bathroom you made your move. And WHAT a move you made! I can almost picture you at your desk, staying up nights, pouring over your composition books and coming up with incredible line after incredible line. "What's up, Betty Crocker?" Is the one you honored me with. No doubt you were paying homage to my blue dress with ruffles at the bottom. How naive of me; I honestly had NO idea that she had the same dress! I am forever in your debt for my newfound knowledge. It never ceases to amaze me that despite all the romantic prose and poetry (for how else can I describe your delicate words??) I have been seduced with, I remain single. ...This must be due to my own folly! For what other woman would not fall down at the feet of these Romeos? Foolishly, I said nothing. Though you probably knew from my vacant stare that it was love at first sight. And then, simultaneously affirming my apparent infatuation for you and setting gender equality back 100 years, you asked me if I was going to "cook you biscuits." No, my love. I am not going to cook you biscuits. Your fervent interest in my choice of clothing caused me to notice your own. Your Great Gatsby shirt that was clearly a recent purchase from Urban Outfitters and donned in an attempt to boast your unparalleled "intelligence" to the world screamed out to me: "Scholar!" "Provider!" "Everything you've been waiting for in a man!". You wore it so proudly. So when I commented on it and you told me it was your favorite book and that you "studied it in college," I refrained from telling you that I read and "studied" said Great American Novel in 5th grade. And then in junior high school. Again in high school...and then about 3 more times in college. However, I held my tongue as I want you to be proud of your accomplishments! Isn't that what proper women are supposed to do? I would have said let's talk literature, but I suppose I should leave the learning up to you and get to work on cooking those biscuits. Until we meet again...
Sincerely,
Betty Crocker
formerly, Zooey Deschanel's cousin
6/22/14
Missed Connection:
You were at The Huddle last night around midnight. I had had a long day and was having a few drinks with friends before starting the week anew. On my way out the door you yelled (literally, yelled), "HEY! ZOOEY DESCHANEL'S COUSIN! LET ME TAKE YOU OUT TO DINNER - WE CAN GO ANYWHERE YOU WANT!" As I turned around full of curiosity and bewilderment, you then added as a last ditch effort: "...YOU CAN ORDER WHATEVER YOU WANT!!!" I don't know if it was the sheer shock of wondering how in the world you knew I have a somewhat unhealthy obsession with eating unsexy amounts of food as often as humanly possible, or how you knew how much I love being compared to an attractive yet extremely annoying celebrity solely based on the fact that I too have bangs, but I panicked. Instead of running to you with open arms and my open calendar, I rolled my eyes and continued to my car. I hadn't even eaten dinner. I have since realized my mistake and that you are probably my soulmate. I was also not wearing my glasses (which was quite unfortunate, given the circumstances), but I'm sure if I had been I would have immediately taken off all my clothing and offered myself to you. I have no idea how you obtained and honed such impeccable flirting skills, but when are we going to dinner? I have been working on a list of what I want to order since last night.
Sincerely,
Zooey Deschanel's Cousin
You were at The Huddle last night around midnight. I had had a long day and was having a few drinks with friends before starting the week anew. On my way out the door you yelled (literally, yelled), "HEY! ZOOEY DESCHANEL'S COUSIN! LET ME TAKE YOU OUT TO DINNER - WE CAN GO ANYWHERE YOU WANT!" As I turned around full of curiosity and bewilderment, you then added as a last ditch effort: "...YOU CAN ORDER WHATEVER YOU WANT!!!" I don't know if it was the sheer shock of wondering how in the world you knew I have a somewhat unhealthy obsession with eating unsexy amounts of food as often as humanly possible, or how you knew how much I love being compared to an attractive yet extremely annoying celebrity solely based on the fact that I too have bangs, but I panicked. Instead of running to you with open arms and my open calendar, I rolled my eyes and continued to my car. I hadn't even eaten dinner. I have since realized my mistake and that you are probably my soulmate. I was also not wearing my glasses (which was quite unfortunate, given the circumstances), but I'm sure if I had been I would have immediately taken off all my clothing and offered myself to you. I have no idea how you obtained and honed such impeccable flirting skills, but when are we going to dinner? I have been working on a list of what I want to order since last night.
Sincerely,
Zooey Deschanel's Cousin
6/11/14
Missed Connection:
It was about 9 pm on a Wednesday night and I was in the middle of hosting trivia at the Costa Mesa Tavern and Bowl. I had ordered some food earlier, but foolishly did not allow myself enough time to finish my food before starting trivia. Distressed and disappointed wholly in myself, but committed to my obligation, I moved my half eaten wedge salad with no bacon to the edge of the table. My plan was to slowly eat this as the night progressed and eventually when trivia ended, finish it. When we meet, I can go into more detail about how I was going to try to save most the tomatoes for the end because those are the best part, etc etc. However, I did not account for you and I must say you caught me off guard. While I was on the microphone you approached me. Your 50-some years of wisdom must have told you this was a good idea - nay; that this was the ONLY idea. "...You gonna finish that?" You asked, making direct eye contact - well, kind of direct. I'm pretty sure there was a lazy eye situation. Your words reeked of whiskey and broken dreams; the kind where you take one look at someone and just go, "I get it, man, and I'm sorry." Your opening line made me momentarily forget everything I have ever known. When I asked you if you were actually asking me if you could eat my half eaten salad, you unapologetically replied yes. I said no. I was too hasty. You weren't though. You lingered at the edge of my table for a full minute, staring lustfully at the salad, hoping for a miracle - or at least for my ice cold heart to melt. It didn't. Also, I was working. Maybe it was simply the rejection, or maybe it was the fact that you noticed there was no bacon on the salad. Either way, you gave up and stumbled away, dejected (or perhaps just extremely drunk at 9pm on a Wednesday). Give me another chance. You can have your own salad, or we can share. I'll even save the bacon on the side for you.
Sincerely,
The chick you don't know whose half eaten salad you really, really wanted.
It was about 9 pm on a Wednesday night and I was in the middle of hosting trivia at the Costa Mesa Tavern and Bowl. I had ordered some food earlier, but foolishly did not allow myself enough time to finish my food before starting trivia. Distressed and disappointed wholly in myself, but committed to my obligation, I moved my half eaten wedge salad with no bacon to the edge of the table. My plan was to slowly eat this as the night progressed and eventually when trivia ended, finish it. When we meet, I can go into more detail about how I was going to try to save most the tomatoes for the end because those are the best part, etc etc. However, I did not account for you and I must say you caught me off guard. While I was on the microphone you approached me. Your 50-some years of wisdom must have told you this was a good idea - nay; that this was the ONLY idea. "...You gonna finish that?" You asked, making direct eye contact - well, kind of direct. I'm pretty sure there was a lazy eye situation. Your words reeked of whiskey and broken dreams; the kind where you take one look at someone and just go, "I get it, man, and I'm sorry." Your opening line made me momentarily forget everything I have ever known. When I asked you if you were actually asking me if you could eat my half eaten salad, you unapologetically replied yes. I said no. I was too hasty. You weren't though. You lingered at the edge of my table for a full minute, staring lustfully at the salad, hoping for a miracle - or at least for my ice cold heart to melt. It didn't. Also, I was working. Maybe it was simply the rejection, or maybe it was the fact that you noticed there was no bacon on the salad. Either way, you gave up and stumbled away, dejected (or perhaps just extremely drunk at 9pm on a Wednesday). Give me another chance. You can have your own salad, or we can share. I'll even save the bacon on the side for you.
Sincerely,
The chick you don't know whose half eaten salad you really, really wanted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)