Ships that Pass

Interpreter of Maladies, p. 83. / w4m / Chicago / Ravenswood Manor

You: Dashing youth in a white T-shirt sitting al fresco at Beans and Bagels by the train tracks. I am the señora sitting at a table with a newborn, young boy, and husband. We are attractive and dark. Your hair is tousled, and you are giving keen interest to Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies. So sexy. I noticed you looking at me, nursling at my bosom. A HA! I caught you. This isn’t her at all! This is her husband and I knew you were looking at my wife. You mother fucker. Had I horns I would gore you duly. Reading that book is so totally not sexy at all! Are you kidding me? I read that book. So what? Fuck you. And by that I mean go fuck yourself instead, Master Thespian! Give me a break. On the Road sucks.

                                                              via Fred Sasaki 

 
Another Missed Connection Missed: Flagged and Removed within the hour.

almost all the way / w4m / 28 / A to Far Rockaway

I got on the A at 207 noticed you at 181
I was sitting you were standing by 168
I was certain you were glancing at me
at 145th you sat
(you: fitted button-up)
you didn’t seem too stalkerish
I had time to think about it all the way down
(me: not frowning, just intent
on our joint future)
at Chambers afraid you had got up to leave
but you were giving up your seat
and almost had a heart attack again at Metro-tech
when you started to move
only to settle in at Hoyt-Schermerhorn across the aisle
where you proceeded to give me the flirty eyeball all the way to Howard Beach!

I was too shy to continue.
But did you really need to go so far into Queens?

                                                     via Elsbeth Pancrazi

Actual Response to the Ad:

You stayed on the train, even though your stop was way before that for some guy, and you didn’t get up and say something to him? WOW!!! no wonder I am alone. man you are shy baby girl. enjoy my art.

Attached artwork:

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.

❒ Single ❒ Taken / w4m / 25 / Manhattan

✔ Will probably hook up with anyone who writes a Missed Connection about me at the last LCD Soundsystem show. 


                                                    via Laurel Crosby


Actual Responses to the Ad:

……. ? 

[Email included a link to following missed connection]

LCD Soundsystem Show 3/31 / m4w / 26 / Midtown West

Jaime, or is it Jamie? 

We met as I left the intensely packed crowd to get a beer. You warned me once I came back, I would no longer have my spot. I said “no chance, don’t you worry, I’ll be back.” I indeed came back. When I did, we started dancing, chatting. You were with one friend and I was with two, ages 27 and 28, which came up in conversation because you thought we were younger than you. You were wearing a gold band around your head, and when you left to get some breathing room, you said “Ok, well I’ll never see you again.” I passed on the opportunity to get your number right there strictly because I thought I’d play it cool and that I’d see you and your gold headband again before the show was over. I was wrong, I’m apparently not that cool. 

Jaime, or Jamie, I’d love to get together some time. Hope you had fun the rest of the show!


* * *


i’ll be honest. 
i didn’t go to the LCD Soundsystem show, i wanted to but i only knew
one song of theirs.

the thought of hooking up was enticing.  It’s what started me to write
you an ad.

but as i wrote it, as i read and re-read your one line post, with its
meticulously cute checks and boxes, with all its emotions behind every
word, i began to see you.

and i think you are beautiful.

so, hallos stranger, i like your purple dress, it’s really cute on
you.  would you like to hold hands for the next song?

❒ Yes handsome i’d love to       ❒ Maybe.. oh why not

here’s our missed connection [included link to the following missed connection]

Someone Great / m4w / 25 (LCD Soundsytems)

you were standing in the crowd as i cut a path back to my spot from the bar. 

it all seemed so fast as i drink in the moment. the way your hair fell, the way you moved without realizing it, the way your beautiful crystal eyes fixated on the invisible vibrations. i felt your presence. and all i wanted to do was to hug it. 

it was too much and i needed to calm down, i’d like your first impression of me to be cool and collected, fun and funny. i needed the drink in my hand and maybe a couple more to rip down the walls and show my naked self. 

i came back for you. 

i couldn’t find you, and someone great was gone.   


* * *


oh if I only had impeccable taste in music like you and new what real good music was then I would meet you? Is that the point here? One thing you will never catch me doing is calling your musical taste superior..This band is OK and that is all..certainly in no position to make all the ignorant dickhead comments they made directed towards me on their page…i have never said anything about your taste in music being bad I will say you picked some ignorant dickheads in this case to be a fan of..I’d actually be into checking out more shows if I had some transportation and a friend to go with..


* * *

Posted to Craigslist in response to ad:

To the girl who says she’ll hook up with anyone Re: LCD / m4w / 25

Single, not Taken.

You were wearing all white. Or all black. Perhaps a blend of both colors.

Additionally you may have been wearing color.

Drink?  


* * *

 
And now the Flavorpill story:

http://flavorwire.com/167434/craigslists-most-wonderful-lcd-soundsystem-missed-connections

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.

Your Screaming Baby / w4m / 36 / Brooklyn

You: a middle-aged Dad with a screaming baby in a stroller. Me: a very pregnant lady who saw her future staring her in the face.

We were sitting across from one another on a Bay Ridge-bound R train when your baby started screaming in that paint-peeling way that makes people hate children. I watched as you tried everything short of duct taping the baby’s head to your leg to make it stop, but it didn’t matter — everyone thought you were evil. They assumed your baby cries like that all the time because (a) you are a terrible Dad or (b) the sub-par gene-cocktail you passed along resulted in an irredeemably terrible baby. It probably didn’t help that your Bugaboo was blocking the aisle. FYI? People hate that.

We all watched as a hipster couple with impressive haircuts exchanged a “live free or die” look before heading to the back of the train.

I sent you frantically empathetic signals with my eyes. My eyes said, “I know it’s not your fault. Everyone has bad days. I’m sure you are actually a great Dad! Please don’t let this one episode prevent you from ever going outside again. Your baby probably just has a poopy diaper. And how would those hipsters feel if they happened to take a warm dump in their Diesel jeans and now had to sit it out, all the way to 77th Street? Not so smirky, I bet!”

I would love to continue this conversation with you using words, not eyes. 

Maxine


                                                                      via Alina Simone

Actual Responses to the ad


Were you the pregnant woman on the R train on Sunday?


* * *

BABY AD

I’m not that guy, and I hope you find him but never seen anyone write what you did like you did and I’d like to continue that conversation over coffee with you anyway if you feel like a conversation with a stranger in Manhattan some day.

* * *

Hi Maxine, your CL post was not intended for me but I just wanted to say it was great! You’re obviously an intelligent and special person! Drew

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.

Sex Party Soulmate / w4m / 38 / Hollywood

This is awkward, but I’m going to have to describe your penis because I didn’t get a very clear look at your face. The swingers’ party (Hollywood Hills, Tudor mansion, this past Saturday) was incredibly dark, and I’m going to be very honest: I have trouble telling black men apart. BUT I responded to you somewhere deep down within me, and so I believe that I truly locked onto your inner self, and maybe that’s also why I can’t describe your face: because I only saw the true you.

Anyway, your penis. It had a very significant vein running along the left side- VERY SIGNIFICANT- and struck me as more three-dimensional than that particular vein when I’ve seen it on other men, including my husband.  I would say that you’re probably about 7 inches erect, with a very, very sturdy looking glans. One of your testicles appeared to have minor damage- maybe a slight scar from an accident- although that could have been a momentary dimpling from the pressure of that woman’s taint (she was a brunette with significantly sized areolae, if identifying her helps you recognize yourself in this description). You had no pubic hair.

I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since the weekend because you just seemed like such a great person. But I’m too shy to ask our host for your name and number. My greatest hope is that you’ll read this and destiny will bring us together organically.

                                                                     via Andrea Seigel


Another Missed Connection Missed: Flagged and Removed