Ships that Pass

SUNNING IN DOLORES PARK ON SATURDAY / SF / W4M

You had commie energy in the old school mimeo style: earnest and
bearded and ready to take down a wall. You and your comrades were
kicking it on an old poncho and passing around an iPhone, maybe
pictures of your art car or your Angry Birds high score. I liked the
McCain/Palin t-shirt you were wearing ironically and the way you so
expertly rolled a joint with two fingers. I didn’t even mind that you
might have been wearing Tevas; your eyes were a striking Matthew
McConaughey gold. We shared glances a couple of times: I was swinging
a child, not mine, at the little park. I might have ten years on you,
but most people think I’m still in my final years of grad school:
short blue hair, brown saucer eyes and frizzy legs. I was unironically
wearing a PETA shirt and have no phone, my only hold on mutiny. If we
met, if we were to walk to Azteca in the Castro, I’d share a veggie
burrito with you. Hippie, will you be mine?

                                                      via Carmen Gimenez Smith



Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.

Mr. Airport Dude / w4m / somewhere in Nashville

This is not so much of a missed connection but a missed opportunity or even, perhaps, a misused or abused connection. I am sorry you think I am crazy, psychotic, eccentric, obsessed, neurotic, erotic or any of those terms used to describe people (primarily women) that have heads that spin around 360 and foam at the mouth and have the red dazed “crazy eyes” Yes, I am sorry that I just started watching “How I met your Mother” because of you. I am sorry you think that I will turn your rabbit into stew or have my husband kill you with a snowglobe and then carry you out in your overly cool oriental rug, from your ridiculously spacious artist loft in Manhattan, all without me knowing.

I am sorry that in some parallel universe I started calling myself by missus and somehow became Mrs. Baltimore Airport Dude all because you decided to stalk me a little bit and even though I found it somewhat creepy, I kind of liked it and decided to respond to your text messages and calls with equal enthusiasm.

I am sorry I stopped being cool by answering your calls and messages within a couple hour window rather than making you wait half a day to see if I was still, in fact, interested. I am sorry you boarded a plane and had to talk to chatty Cathy because I didn’t respond to your text and I gave you a roller-coaster of a heart by making you wait until you landed, got home, unpacked, showered and then laid your head on your pillow.

I am sorry that I sent you 40 text messages. One after the other after the other, telling you about the adventures of my boots. I am sorry that I wrote about you, and said that I liked you and told you that my friend said that you only wanted to have sex with me. I am sorry that I was kind of intrigued by your stalker-ish nature. I am sorry that I was easily tempted and gave in to ridiculous, crazy, overwhelming, and perhaps too much to live up to, phone sex. I am sorry for giving in to the all too common, “sexy voice syndrome.” I am sorry that I think you have one, a sexy voice that is.

I am sorry that you used big words and had a cute laugh and liked B movies and fell in love with your neighbour’s dog. I am sorry you told me all that. I am sorry I remembered the things you told me. They weren’t passing fragments that I would “ooh and ahhh and um-hum,” I am sorry I actually listened because I cared.

I am sorry that I accepted your invitation to visit me…I allowed you to invite yourself to see me and then un-invite yourself and I am sorry that I got a little pissed off that you planned a trip somewhere else (six months down the road) when you said you were coming to see me in two weeks. I am sorry I took you seriously. I am sorry that I built you up, rubbed your ego, made your head grow freakishly big. I am sorry that you have the ability to turn the sentiment of the word “stalker” over to me because I still wonder and perhaps care, and perhaps, a tiny little piece of me still wants to see you. I am sorry about all that.

I am sorry that I don’t have the money to be at the airport all the time, hoping that you will one day appear on the plane or in a near terminal. I am sorry that I don’t have the money to go see you, drive by your house and actually STALK you the way you deserve to be stalked. I am sorry that I can’t sit around and wait for you to call or email or text or Facebook.

I am sorry that I don’t really know you and I am sorry that you don’t really know me. I am sorry that you don’t know my groovy taste in music, movies, dance, art, life, love, and food. I am sorry that I would cook for you. I am sorry I would even go great lengths to finding you boxed perogies just like your grandmother would NEVER make. I am sorry I would even take the plastic off and put them in the oven rather than microwave. I am sorry that you didn’t know that I bribed a friend to go on Eastward to get a case of your favourite, Yuengling beer and hail it back in her luggage only to sign a damage waver that the airline was not responsible for damages…and only 8 of the 12 made it safely. I am sorry that I gave them to random strangers only because I was a bit peeved that I would do anything that stupid for anyone again. I am sorry I never tasted the beer and I am sorry I lied to my friend by saying you appreciated it.

I am sorry that I had to delete your number out of my phone for fear of accidentally calling or texting you. I am sorry that I could even possibly think of accidentally texting you. I am sorry that my bum would even want to call you. I am sorry that my iPhone sucks and could very well mistake your name for someone else’s in the automatic voice control. I think my iPhone secretly had a crush on you too. I am sorry that I see a whole bunch of signs that lead me to you. I am sorry that I now see your name on a daily basis. I am sorry that I run into people with various forms of your name. I am sorry that you appear to me on billboards. I am sorry that your city appears everywhere. I am sorry that you seem overly passive to me. I am sorry that I had expectations and excitement of getting to know you. I am sorry I wasn’t playing the game right, by not answering your calls and keeping cool for a while.

I am sorry that you may want more of a dictatorship than an equal partnership. I am sorry that I cannot create drama for you on a daily basis and expect you to call by a certain time. I am sorry that I can’t fathom the thought of keeping you from your friends and doing the things you enjoy. I am sorry that I think I would actually like your friends from what you told me. I am sorry that I envisioned traveling, boating, walking, hiking, and doing all those things that you finally said you were able to do again, with you. I am sorry that there is absolutely nothing I can do to make things right. I am sorry that I can’t just make you care. I am sorry that I can’t get cupid to come a month early and shoot an arrow to your heart. I am sorry but I don’t like that kind of violence. I am sorry that even if cupid is naked, it still seems so WRONG. I am sorry that you don’t want explosions and fireworks and a lifetime sentence of being with a serial monogamist. I am sorry that we won’t have fun together. I am sorry that we won’t be co-stars on any infomercials. I am sorry that I won’t be narrating the ten best moments with you. I am sorry that we won’t be co-narrating the ten worst moments together. I am sorry that you won’t have to defend me on the worst dressed list. I am sorry that you won’t have to defend my horrible taste in movies or eccentric hair styles. I am sorry that we won’t be the leaders of a nouveau Christian punk-cum-shoegaze music band. I am sorry that we won’t be on the TBN network with pink hair and even worse, nouveau christian made-for-TV movies.

I am sorry that I sent the playlist first. I am sorry that I am secretly still curious to hear yours. I am sorry that I overestimated you. I am sorry that I underestimated you.

I am sorry that I have overwhelmed you. I am sorry that I know it takes you a long time to do things. I am sorry that I won’t get to see you in a banana hammock. I am sorry that I won’t have to cheer you on in a dance contest with a bunch of cougars trying to stake their claws in you.

I am sorry that in a short period of time, I let my guard down. I am sorry that when I say that, I think of Abra Moore’s song, “Trip on Love,” I am sorry that the song describes how I feel and I am sorry that I am not ashamed to feel like a 12 year old. I am sorry that things wouldn’t get boring with us. I am sorry that I would have always have something to say. I am sorry that I like fun and adventure and would want all of that with you.

I am sorry that in some part of the world, or maybe in an alternate life, you are still Speedo. I am sorry but I like the name speedo and I like the way it rhymes with mine. I am sorry but I think we were kind of cute together (at least in my imagination.)

I am sorry that I think you are kind of cool. I am sorry that I think you are kind of uncool. I am sorry that I still kinda like you. I am sorry that I still kinda like. I am sorry that I still kinda. I am sorry that I still. I am sorry that I. I am sorry that. I am sorry. I am. I

am
sorry
that
I
still
miss
you
a
teeny
little
bit

Ps. It’s a hollywood 24 ;)
-cheeto


                                                                          via Lesley Clark


Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.

Snowy McNally Jackson / m4w / 26 / New York

I want to say something about the certain slant of snow from the window of an office building or I wanted to mention how your gloved hand caught my attention as you held the door and I paused to brush the snow off my coat. I wanted to follow you around the bookstore but I knew that would seem like I didn’t need a book. The book that I ended up looking at wasn’t what I came in for—it was about trees in the Northwest where I haven’t been. I’ve thought about taking a trip there, who hasn’t? You seemed like you would like Northwestern trees, a sense of time which cannot be explained by traffic lights, the mess of weather, etc. I know this is the snow talking now, but I would like to sit by the window with you and discuss typography, Jon Stewart, or the sad rendition of snow men made by adults. I hope you noticed me. Some people say I look just like Justin Bieber if they squint (or was it if I squint?). I can’t remember, I think it is the hair, which my hat was covering.

                                      via Jennifer Kronovet and Brett Fletcher Lauer


Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.

Sassy But I Liked It (w/ Century 21 bag on L train) / m4m / 24 / Brooklyn, Williamsburg

You got off at Graham Ave. but I wish you hadn’t. We made a bit of flirty eye contact before you simply said the name of the book I was holding. You were wearing black jeans and a black jacket, white sweater underneath? You gave me a look before you exited like maybe you wanted to know more? Well, you can know more. Send a note and tell me what book I had so I know its you. I’d love to meet you for drinks, and who knows, maybe I’ll read you a few pages …

                                                                                 via Ben Fama



Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.

Laundromat / m4m / over 40 / NYC / Chelsea

You’re probably the kind of guy who doesn’t want to muck up your life, which is probably why you saw me coming, someone like you. You were standing outside the laundromat on Seventh near 20th. You had a beard, a dark beard. You were tall: six foot two, three. Strong jaw, strong brow-line, no excess in your face and chin. All plane and and edges and bone. That look in your eyes made me think you weren’t from here. You might not have known that people give each other looks like that all the time here, which made me only half-look back at you as I kept walking on.

If you were a dog, you’d be a boxer: melancholy, dignified, bodily, scholarly. You’d stay close to the fence, to the water bowl, if you were in the dog run. (Good dog, bad dog: a little of both, I’d say.) You might have been thinking of your other life, that beautiful life, that meant so intensely that it felt a little bit like a collar that could have been let out a notch. You were probably thinking of your partner—you have a partner, I know that look on anyone—as you thought about the possibility of—what?  I felt all these things as I walked to the bank, as I stared at the machine spitting out the cash, as I felt myself doing what I didn’t want to do, which was to walk back down Seventh Avenue, as if I had a purpose. But I wasn’t exactly surprised that you’d already gone on. I pictured you walking back toward the room of the person you were probably ready to go back to, the clothes basket braced between your left arm and your hip.

                                                                  via Paul Lisicky


Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.

Muscle Beach Jungle / w4m / 29 (Venice)

You were the bodybuilder in the tattered green “Throwing Copper” tee, at the north edge of the gym (just down from the basketball hoops). No doubt you bench-pressed all sorts of tourists that day, but perhaps you remember a shy, skinny thing whose glasses fell off at the apex of one of your reps? 

You were so sweet, letting me down with one arm while you dusted off my specs with the other. I wanted to tell you I felt like Fay Wray to your King Kong, but my stupid friends pulled me away before I could muster the guts. 

Jane too shy, Tarzan. But she’ll be back in LA soon. Can we go for a swing? 

                                                           via Luke Pebler

Man reading children’s book / w4m / 35ish / Portland, Hawthorne Blvd.

I saw you with your little boy at Powell’s Books on Hawthorne. I was the one at the magazine rack who kept straying over to the kid’s table and asking you dumb questions. I think you were reading Runaway Bunny but I’m not sure. It was around 9pm on a Saturday night and I was just secretly impressed you didn’t look trapped. I always did. Is your boy about two? It’s amazing how quickly you forget what each age looks like. And by the way, I’m sorry for asking if you could recommend any good atheist children’s stories. I realize it came off like I was trying to make some kind of point but I wasn’t. I just wasn’t thinking. I was on my way to a show, which sucked by the way, and later I really regretted not sticking around introducing myself for real. My name is Lilah. I go to that Powell’s a lot. Maybe we could talk sometime? Obviously you have a young kid so you probably have a family, but just in case that’s not true—like you did, but don’t now, or do, but it’s turning into something else—I give you an open invitation to come up to me anytime, anywhere and tell me your name.

                                                           via Vanessa Veselka


Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.

On the Abandoned Platform at Hoyt-Schermerhorn / m4m / Brooklyn

Last night, around 1:37 am, you were standing on the abandoned platform at the Hoyt-Schermerhorn station, waiting for a train. You looked pensively down the tracks, checked your watch, read a book (The Dud Avocado, I believe). You had dark dark hair and splendid green eyes - I think. My distance vision isn’t the best. But hey, you were the only person to wait for a train on that platform in like two decades. So you probably know who you are.

I let two A trains pass, trying to get your attention. I wanted to join you on your platform, but I thought it might the sort of trip you have to take alone.

Did your train ever come? Where did it take you? Maybe tonight, at 1:37 am, I’ll see if I can get on myself.

                                                               via Hugh Ryan

Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.

Old Scotch / M4M / East Village, NYC

You collapsed on Houston and Lafayette, I think, this was a while ago, but I’m sure it was four in the afternoon and a Thursday, also, you were wasted and wearing a black suit jacket, white t-shirt, really dirty. You collapsed backwards, toward the curb. I was walking behind you—I was wearing a black vest from EMS and had this wraparound mustache that left my chin looking like the end of undercooked pork tenderloin—when you started falling, I thought I could catch your head, but I didn’t, I don’t know why, and I meant to at least see if you were alright, but then all those people swarmed around you and stood there watching you unable to get up. I stayed for a few minutes. You couldn’t stay sitting up. I can’t understand why they got you a cab. Where was it going to take you? Listen, I have to tell you what happened. I forgot where I was going. I mean I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I got on the train, went up to 72^nd, and walked a couple of blocks, and I think just as I really forgot about you, then another guy, who looked just like you, collapsed into a fruit stand. Just like you, except with oranges rolling everywhere, and a huge Armenian guy yelling at him.

                                                      via Sam Amadon


Another Missed Connection Missed: No responses to the ad.