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 17, 2014
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)
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