Crunch - 2:30pm -Modelesque Man who loves himself a Saturday workout - w4m - 25
you: tall, dark, handsome, with the bone structure of a Greek God and (yes maybe...no definitely- a ponytail)
me: long blonde hair up with many a headband, black workout pants, pink & grey tennis shoes, with a serious staring problem
This is not the first time I've seen you at the gym on a Saturday afternoon. This is not even the second or third time. I have seen you on so many occasions at this exact time, that I now make it a point to come to the gym on Saturday afternoons whenever I can. Today when I walked in, I didn't see you right away. Then as I made my way over to a machine, I suddenly saw your glorious face right in front of me and we locked eyes. As you passed by, I thought your expression was one of recognition, but it was such a brief moment that I'm not sure. I have thought about writing a missed connection for you so many times, that now actually doing it, I am not even sure what to say. You. Are. Perfection. Literally everything about you is gorgeous. From the way you walk back and forth to the water fountain, to the way you lift yourself up on that pull-up machine, to your many, many crunches (oh those abs!), to the way you sit on the bench between sets almost as if brooding about something important....something deep. I could stare at you for hours...and typically I do (when I time it right!). I don't know what to say to you. You make me nervous and giddy. Sometimes I feel like you are looking at me too, in the moments when I look away to catch my breath. Either you're looking back to check me out too...or you're contemplating a restraining order. Either way, we should probably talk.
_____________________________________________________________________
To the fellow MC bloggers and readers- what do you suggest I do? I am seriously into the idea of talking to this guy, but am so nervous about approaching someone at the gym (please see ponytail saga of 2007 for my highlights with gym "romances"). I could ask him for some workout tips, but I am just not sure. Also, can someone this beautiful be straight? Questions, comments. Please refer to the comment section, also known as my version of therapy.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
why a craigslist account is a good idea.
a couple of weeks ago, i posted a missed connection, forgot to post it on this blog, and promptly forgot about it. i don't check my super-secret pseudonym email very often, and when i logged into it today to check that my new post had worked, i saw two replies from said post.
i had no idea what i'd written.
however: craigslist keeps your ads if you have an account! holla!!
spring in your step, strut in your boots - w4m
As I sashayed my way down 8th Avenue in my bright, springy orange coat, I could not help but notice you walking a few feet in front of me like you owned the whole street. You were rockin' out pretty hard on your iPod and came close to colliding with someone's Yorkie. But you were gallant about it, apologizing, and as you turned, I saw that you were not only tall and well-shod, but majorly cute as well.
[ strained innuendo ]
You can collide with my Yorkie anytime!
[< / strained innuendo ]
and so what was lost is now found. however, the two replies were:
Sounds very familiar! 8th and what?? (pls...)
wb
and
what was I wearing?
so demanding, these replies! and of course, now that time's passed, i have a vague idea of the cross street and basically no knowledge whatsoever of the outfit of the gentleman (or, really, any idea of what he looks like). oops.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
UPDATE.
So I responded to both these clandestine swains, and my faith in the power of the internet was once again knocked down a peg. With Mr. Cross-Street, the exchange went something like this:
To: Frankie
From: Mr. Cross-Street
Sounds very familiar! 8th and what?? (pls...) wb
To: Mr. Cross-Street
From: Frankie
About 44th or 45th, I think.
To: Frankie
From: Mr. Cross-Street
but u r a dude, so could not have been u
Let me interject here. Most of the time, use of a single letter in place of a word, unless you are Prince, is grounds for immediate dismissal. But I had to clear this up.
To: Mr. Cross-Street
From: Frankie
Just because my name is Frankie doesn't mean I'm a boy! (It's Frances, really.)
To: Frankie
From: Mr. Cross-Street
hey frances, wanna do a pic exchange? =)
Okay, look. Clearly, Mr. Cross-Street, you are wookin pa nub in all da wong paces ("da wong paces" here being "craigslist") but what makes you think I will provide a photo to you when:
1. you thought I was a man, though the ad was clearly w4m
2. your use of "r" and "u" turns me on like a raisin (meaning not at all)*
3. you have shown no proof that you are, in fact, the intended recipient of this ad
I know, I know, I've put countless photos online that could be any number of places, so what's one more floating around in the digital ether? But it just geeks me out a little bit. Especially when there's no real cause** for a pic exchange.
*used with permission from the album I made up with my college roomie once. "That Turns Me On Like A Raisin (Meaning Not At All)" was one of the tracks, along with "Optometrist (Cover Yo' Eye)" and "I Found Five Dollars on the Street (Let's Go To Taco Bell)"
**real cause here being one or more of the following: ability to write a coherent sentence, demonstrated affinity for anything I like, possibility of actually being the real dude
i had no idea what i'd written.
however: craigslist keeps your ads if you have an account! holla!!
spring in your step, strut in your boots - w4m
As I sashayed my way down 8th Avenue in my bright, springy orange coat, I could not help but notice you walking a few feet in front of me like you owned the whole street. You were rockin' out pretty hard on your iPod and came close to colliding with someone's Yorkie. But you were gallant about it, apologizing, and as you turned, I saw that you were not only tall and well-shod, but majorly cute as well.
[ strained innuendo ]
You can collide with my Yorkie anytime!
[< / strained innuendo ]
and so what was lost is now found. however, the two replies were:
Sounds very familiar! 8th and what?? (pls...)
wb
and
what was I wearing?
so demanding, these replies! and of course, now that time's passed, i have a vague idea of the cross street and basically no knowledge whatsoever of the outfit of the gentleman (or, really, any idea of what he looks like). oops.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
UPDATE.
So I responded to both these clandestine swains, and my faith in the power of the internet was once again knocked down a peg. With Mr. Cross-Street, the exchange went something like this:
To: Frankie
From: Mr. Cross-Street
Sounds very familiar! 8th and what?? (pls...) wb
To: Mr. Cross-Street
From: Frankie
About 44th or 45th, I think.
To: Frankie
From: Mr. Cross-Street
but u r a dude, so could not have been u
Let me interject here. Most of the time, use of a single letter in place of a word, unless you are Prince, is grounds for immediate dismissal. But I had to clear this up.
To: Mr. Cross-Street
From: Frankie
Just because my name is Frankie doesn't mean I'm a boy! (It's Frances, really.)
To: Frankie
From: Mr. Cross-Street
hey frances, wanna do a pic exchange? =)
Okay, look. Clearly, Mr. Cross-Street, you are wookin pa nub in all da wong paces ("da wong paces" here being "craigslist") but what makes you think I will provide a photo to you when:
1. you thought I was a man, though the ad was clearly w4m
2. your use of "r" and "u" turns me on like a raisin (meaning not at all)*
3. you have shown no proof that you are, in fact, the intended recipient of this ad
I know, I know, I've put countless photos online that could be any number of places, so what's one more floating around in the digital ether? But it just geeks me out a little bit. Especially when there's no real cause** for a pic exchange.
*used with permission from the album I made up with my college roomie once. "That Turns Me On Like A Raisin (Meaning Not At All)" was one of the tracks, along with "Optometrist (Cover Yo' Eye)" and "I Found Five Dollars on the Street (Let's Go To Taco Bell)"
**real cause here being one or more of the following: ability to write a coherent sentence, demonstrated affinity for anything I like, possibility of actually being the real dude
Thursday, May 1, 2008
don't say "tight"
So last night on the train, this dude complimented my tights (which were, in fact, pretty dope) and we got to talking drunkenly. He was adorable and had good shoes and glasses, and I don't know why I didn't at least fling my card at him as I left the train. I'm going to blame the sangria/no dinner combo. So of course I posted an MC upon arriving home:
you complimented my tights and said you were a drunken fool. i humored you because i thought you had good shoes (and cute glasses). i exited at graham. you kissed my hand before i left. you live at dekalb (in the heart of bushwick, apparently, where there are only baby jesus bodegas). if you read this, let's make out.
I thought to myself "maybe this time, I'll be lucky...maybe this time he'll reeeeeaaaaad (my missed connection that I posted)." So when I got to work this morning, I checked my super-secret pseudonym account and lo and behold, a message awaited me. However, due to the ridiculously strict internet policies of my current position, I can see iGoogle, and I can see the addresses and subject headings of my emails but I can't ACTUALLY SEE THE EMAILS THEMSELVES. I called Alex and considered asking her to check my account and read me the email in the hopes that my subway Romeo had seen my missive and responded in the affirmative. But then I thought: okay. There are two possibilities here, and these are the only two:
1. It's him.
2. It's a picture of a penis.
Because really, who responds to a post THAT specific at 4 in the morning if it's not for them? Only someone trollin' for the bootaaaayyy.
So when I met my iPhone-toting friend later in the evening, I checked it out.
Not one.
Not two.
But THREE PEEN PICS. THREE. In one of which, the dude appears to be talking on the phone (you can see its cord [yes I said "cord"] in the background). They're SO BIZARRE. It had to happen sometime, right?
you complimented my tights and said you were a drunken fool. i humored you because i thought you had good shoes (and cute glasses). i exited at graham. you kissed my hand before i left. you live at dekalb (in the heart of bushwick, apparently, where there are only baby jesus bodegas). if you read this, let's make out.
I thought to myself "maybe this time, I'll be lucky...maybe this time he'll reeeeeaaaaad (my missed connection that I posted)." So when I got to work this morning, I checked my super-secret pseudonym account and lo and behold, a message awaited me. However, due to the ridiculously strict internet policies of my current position, I can see iGoogle, and I can see the addresses and subject headings of my emails but I can't ACTUALLY SEE THE EMAILS THEMSELVES. I called Alex and considered asking her to check my account and read me the email in the hopes that my subway Romeo had seen my missive and responded in the affirmative. But then I thought: okay. There are two possibilities here, and these are the only two:
1. It's him.
2. It's a picture of a penis.
Because really, who responds to a post THAT specific at 4 in the morning if it's not for them? Only someone trollin' for the bootaaaayyy.
So when I met my iPhone-toting friend later in the evening, I checked it out.
Not one.
Not two.
But THREE PEEN PICS. THREE. In one of which, the dude appears to be talking on the phone (you can see its cord [yes I said "cord"] in the background). They're SO BIZARRE. It had to happen sometime, right?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
And Now a Word from Our Sponsors
A typical Tuesday night email conversation between Alex, Frankie, Nicky, and Sasha. Scandalous deets removed, names changed to protect the guilty. Behold the wonder.
===
ALEX:
===
ALEX:
So there's this dude, right?
He's a friend of a friend and he's super cute, although not really my type. We met at a party a few months ago and he was flirting with me to a ridiculous degree, but he was drunk so I kind of took it with a grain of salt.
A month or so later, I'm telling our mutual friend how desperately I need some make-out action in my life and she's like, "I bet _____ would make out with you" and then she told me that he thinks I'm super cute! What?
Flash forward to: This weekend at a party. He's there and I'm looking, like, ridiculously cute. Gold vintage-y dress, black tights, black fuck-me boots, turquoise top, hot pink sweater. I even brushed my hair. Eyeliner. Possibly over did it.
So we're both there and we are essentially not speaking at all because I am the Most Socially Awkward Person on the Planet. We end up leaving the party at the same time and walk out together.
Dude. So... where are you going now?
Me. Um... I'm just walking home.
Dude. Oh, ok.
(silence.)
Dude. Do you want a ride?
(beat)
Me. Um...
Dude. Or are you good? Ok, you're good, that's cool--
Me. No, I'd like a ride.
So he gives me a ride, which lasts literally like 25 seconds because I live next door, and during that 25 seconds he PLAYS A SONG FOR ME because he wants me to hear it. Who does that, right? And it's totes cute, but then we get to my house and I literally leap from the car before it has even come to a full and complete stop and I run into my house.
Please see: Most Socially Awkward Person Ever.
Anyway, I just discovered that he's on Facebook, but we have no mutual Facebook friends and he isn't listed under the email address that I have for him. AKA If I add him, it will be clear that I specifically looked up his last name and then searched for him on Facebook.
Creepy / not creepy?
p.s. Ummmm longest email ever!
===
FRANKIE:
No boy will ever EVER have this conversation with his buddy:
Dude 1. So, Alex added me as a friend on Facebook.
Dude 2. Whoa, weird... I wonder how she found you, since the email address you use on Facebook is totally not the one you use in real life, and you have no mutual friends.
Dude 1. She must have looked on gmail for my last name and then searched for me. That's stalkery.
I think it goes something more like this:
Dude 1. So, Alex added me as a friend on Facebook.
Dude 2. SCORE.
Nutshell: Girls overthink. Boys don't. Of the millions and billions of possible outcomes we imagine, boys think of, like, one: Sweet action. So don't sweat it, add him as a friend, and if he gets weirded out, whatevs, dude.
p.s. I won't go into the whole story right now since i don't want to steal no thunder from this chain, but this weekend a dude made me a paper plate with a robot face on it that says "platebot loves you". Then I did a little stalking... turns out dude HAS A GIRLFRIEND. I hate my life. But I love you guys.
===
ALEX:
Um, please steal my thunder because that sounds like an amazing story!
Also, if my boyfriend ever told another girl that he loved her via a paper plate robot, I would so dump his ass. That's worse than sex. Also: he sounds adorable. Maybe they broke up and he just forgot to change his status? Slash is still in the "grace period" when you are not technically allowed to change your status?
p.s. I sent a Facebook friend request with the message "what's up yo!" because apparently I want him to see me as "one of the guys". I think The Girl's Guide to Dating and Going Steady would advise against. Also, I hope that I added the right person because his picture was tiny and there were like 85 people with the same name as him, including a baby.
===
NICKY:
I read some of that Girl's Guide to Dating and Going Steady in an issue of OK! magazine. According to the guidelines, when at a bar, on a date, or just in proximity of any available man, you should always order a provocatively named cocktail. Dammit! I knew the reason I haven't met someone amazing is because I am not drinking enough vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry and orange juice. Ok new plan.....
p.s. The book says "yo" can be understood as "Hey, I'm one of the guys" or as "Hey, get into my pants," so I think you're ok.
===
FRANKIE:
As to Platebot: basically, he is the cutest ever and we had a long conversation in which we made up a language comprised only of gestures. At one point Sasha was like, "You are on fire" or something to that effect, because I WAS ON FIRE. Such banter.
Platebot. Do you want me to sign this paper plate for you?
Frankie. um...YES.
Platebot. (hides plate behind sheaf of papers, commences manic scribbling)
Frankie. What are you DOING?
Platebot. YOU CANNOT SEE YET.
(finally, he finishes)
Platebot. (hands me plate with a robot drawn on it) Now whenever you are sad, you can look at Platebot and know that Platebot loves you.
I DIED.
Ok while I was writing this, 4 more emails were written. Thank god for gmail.
p.s. Just start making up drinks called, like, "I am slutty" and "I have no self-esteem." Then you'll get all the jerks.
===
ALEX:
What would even be in those?
"The one on the right is skim milk and orange pulp. The one on the left is made with water, sherry extract, and two beef bouillon cubes."
Also, platebot story is cutest ever. Cannot stand it. That entire scene needs to be in an indie romantic comedy starring Jason Schwartzman.
p.s. Now I am majorly obsessing over choice of pp for impending visit to my Facebook profile. Need something come-hither yet not intimidating. Obvious choice is hot wig pic, but that is from Halloween and I just don't know how much more I can really bring that one back. Searching hard drive now. Possible photo shoot later. Abort, abort!
===
SASHA:
Wow, I can't believe I was sleeping through all of this! So much going on here, but it seems like most of it has been resolved. Thank god.
@Alex:
There is almost no amount of FB/myspace stalking that can be done that will drive a guy away if there is chemistry there slash possible action on the horizon. And let's be honest there is a mutual understanding when it comes to FB stalking.
Option 1: Status says 'single', nothing at all, or one of those fake marriage things.
Translation: This person is open to FB hook-ups.
Option 2: Status says 'in a relationship'.
Translation: This person is probably open to FB hook-ups but not overtly.
So, it is good that you FB friended him. However, take note: I would not run away next time you are with him, as I have found this decreases your chance of action exponentially.
@Frankie:
I agree with you for the most part about women being more analytical than men (although I think this is taught and not innate). And of course this is an over-generalization, because I do think men think about those things- but they don't have a place to discuss it. I can give pointed examples but that seems a little unnecessary now. Best for us to just get our own talk show and discuss it then.
Ok, new topic but still to Frankie: OH MY GOD about Platebot. I can't believe he has a gf slash I am not that surprised. Maybe that's why he was not taking it to the next level- maybe he has a gf and felt a connection and was like "wtf" and you made him question his ENTIRE relationship slash existence so the only way to reconcile this was to make you a platebot man to express his undying love. Wow, I did not see that coming (don't say "coming").
It's too bad about that though, cause he was really awesome(ly hott) and you both had a nice connection. Although, I agree with Alex that if that much flirting was happening and I was his gf, I would be really mad. So maybe it's good that you found this out now, rather than dating, falling in love and then finding out that yo man's a dawg!
Ok that's all I have for now. Which is a lot, I know. I think I need a nap.
Kisses,
Sasha
p.s. Good choice on the profile pic, Alex.
He's a friend of a friend and he's super cute, although not really my type. We met at a party a few months ago and he was flirting with me to a ridiculous degree, but he was drunk so I kind of took it with a grain of salt.
A month or so later, I'm telling our mutual friend how desperately I need some make-out action in my life and she's like, "I bet _____ would make out with you" and then she told me that he thinks I'm super cute! What?
Flash forward to: This weekend at a party. He's there and I'm looking, like, ridiculously cute. Gold vintage-y dress, black tights, black fuck-me boots, turquoise top, hot pink sweater. I even brushed my hair. Eyeliner. Possibly over did it.
So we're both there and we are essentially not speaking at all because I am the Most Socially Awkward Person on the Planet. We end up leaving the party at the same time and walk out together.
Dude. So... where are you going now?
Me. Um... I'm just walking home.
Dude. Oh, ok.
(silence.)
Dude. Do you want a ride?
(beat)
Me. Um...
Dude. Or are you good? Ok, you're good, that's cool--
Me. No, I'd like a ride.
So he gives me a ride, which lasts literally like 25 seconds because I live next door, and during that 25 seconds he PLAYS A SONG FOR ME because he wants me to hear it. Who does that, right? And it's totes cute, but then we get to my house and I literally leap from the car before it has even come to a full and complete stop and I run into my house.
Please see: Most Socially Awkward Person Ever.
Anyway, I just discovered that he's on Facebook, but we have no mutual Facebook friends and he isn't listed under the email address that I have for him. AKA If I add him, it will be clear that I specifically looked up his last name and then searched for him on Facebook.
Creepy / not creepy?
p.s. Ummmm longest email ever!
===
FRANKIE:
No boy will ever EVER have this conversation with his buddy:
Dude 1. So, Alex added me as a friend on Facebook.
Dude 2. Whoa, weird... I wonder how she found you, since the email address you use on Facebook is totally not the one you use in real life, and you have no mutual friends.
Dude 1. She must have looked on gmail for my last name and then searched for me. That's stalkery.
I think it goes something more like this:
Dude 1. So, Alex added me as a friend on Facebook.
Dude 2. SCORE.
Nutshell: Girls overthink. Boys don't. Of the millions and billions of possible outcomes we imagine, boys think of, like, one: Sweet action. So don't sweat it, add him as a friend, and if he gets weirded out, whatevs, dude.
p.s. I won't go into the whole story right now since i don't want to steal no thunder from this chain, but this weekend a dude made me a paper plate with a robot face on it that says "platebot loves you". Then I did a little stalking... turns out dude HAS A GIRLFRIEND. I hate my life. But I love you guys.
===
ALEX:
Um, please steal my thunder because that sounds like an amazing story!
Also, if my boyfriend ever told another girl that he loved her via a paper plate robot, I would so dump his ass. That's worse than sex. Also: he sounds adorable. Maybe they broke up and he just forgot to change his status? Slash is still in the "grace period" when you are not technically allowed to change your status?
p.s. I sent a Facebook friend request with the message "what's up yo!" because apparently I want him to see me as "one of the guys". I think The Girl's Guide to Dating and Going Steady would advise against. Also, I hope that I added the right person because his picture was tiny and there were like 85 people with the same name as him, including a baby.
===
NICKY:
I read some of that Girl's Guide to Dating and Going Steady in an issue of OK! magazine. According to the guidelines, when at a bar, on a date, or just in proximity of any available man, you should always order a provocatively named cocktail. Dammit! I knew the reason I haven't met someone amazing is because I am not drinking enough vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry and orange juice. Ok new plan.....
p.s. The book says "yo" can be understood as "Hey, I'm one of the guys" or as "Hey, get into my pants," so I think you're ok.
===
FRANKIE:
As to Platebot: basically, he is the cutest ever and we had a long conversation in which we made up a language comprised only of gestures. At one point Sasha was like, "You are on fire" or something to that effect, because I WAS ON FIRE. Such banter.
Platebot. Do you want me to sign this paper plate for you?
Frankie. um...YES.
Platebot. (hides plate behind sheaf of papers, commences manic scribbling)
Frankie. What are you DOING?
Platebot. YOU CANNOT SEE YET.
(finally, he finishes)
Platebot. (hands me plate with a robot drawn on it) Now whenever you are sad, you can look at Platebot and know that Platebot loves you.
I DIED.
Ok while I was writing this, 4 more emails were written. Thank god for gmail.
p.s. Just start making up drinks called, like, "I am slutty" and "I have no self-esteem." Then you'll get all the jerks.
===
ALEX:
What would even be in those?
"The one on the right is skim milk and orange pulp. The one on the left is made with water, sherry extract, and two beef bouillon cubes."
Also, platebot story is cutest ever. Cannot stand it. That entire scene needs to be in an indie romantic comedy starring Jason Schwartzman.
p.s. Now I am majorly obsessing over choice of pp for impending visit to my Facebook profile. Need something come-hither yet not intimidating. Obvious choice is hot wig pic, but that is from Halloween and I just don't know how much more I can really bring that one back. Searching hard drive now. Possible photo shoot later. Abort, abort!
===
SASHA:
Wow, I can't believe I was sleeping through all of this! So much going on here, but it seems like most of it has been resolved. Thank god.
@Alex:
There is almost no amount of FB/myspace stalking that can be done that will drive a guy away if there is chemistry there slash possible action on the horizon. And let's be honest there is a mutual understanding when it comes to FB stalking.
Option 1: Status says 'single', nothing at all, or one of those fake marriage things.
Translation: This person is open to FB hook-ups.
Option 2: Status says 'in a relationship'.
Translation: This person is probably open to FB hook-ups but not overtly.
So, it is good that you FB friended him. However, take note: I would not run away next time you are with him, as I have found this decreases your chance of action exponentially.
@Frankie:
I agree with you for the most part about women being more analytical than men (although I think this is taught and not innate). And of course this is an over-generalization, because I do think men think about those things- but they don't have a place to discuss it. I can give pointed examples but that seems a little unnecessary now. Best for us to just get our own talk show and discuss it then.
Ok, new topic but still to Frankie: OH MY GOD about Platebot. I can't believe he has a gf slash I am not that surprised. Maybe that's why he was not taking it to the next level- maybe he has a gf and felt a connection and was like "wtf" and you made him question his ENTIRE relationship slash existence so the only way to reconcile this was to make you a platebot man to express his undying love. Wow, I did not see that coming (don't say "coming").
It's too bad about that though, cause he was really awesome(ly hott) and you both had a nice connection. Although, I agree with Alex that if that much flirting was happening and I was his gf, I would be really mad. So maybe it's good that you found this out now, rather than dating, falling in love and then finding out that yo man's a dawg!
Ok that's all I have for now. Which is a lot, I know. I think I need a nap.
Kisses,
Sasha
p.s. Good choice on the profile pic, Alex.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
i can see you, so i can only assume you can see me. but i don't think you do see me. you just could. if you wanted to.
from my office - it's temporary - on the 11th floor on the south side of the street, i can see you on (i haven't counted, but i think) the 12th floor on the north side.
just now you stretched. it's morning and you're not quite awake yet. it looked relaxing.
your little office is next to a bigger office. are you his assistant? you're clearly an underling. i'm under the underlings - i'm temporary.
the thing is, we'd probably hate each other. you probably love working in that green-and-glass behemoth. i don't know why i assume that about you; i'd be offended if anyone assumed it about me - it's temporary, remember?
so maybe that's not true. maybe we'd like each other; maybe we'd be best friends. forever. but from my perch on the 11th and yours on the 12th, i can't tell. the glass and asphalt between us makes it difficult. but they're just temporary.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
My Favorite Morning Ritual
1st Avenue below 14th - 9:15 am -recurring dreamboat - w4m - 25
you: beautiful blonde hair, jeans, a backpack, snacking on a sandwich
me: long brown hair, pink scarf, black and white coat, attempting to look cool
I have seen you several times in the past weeks and have noticed you were quite the looker. Today I saw you walking down 1st Ave. as I was walking up and I looked away quickly, so you wouldn't notice the trace of excitement in my eyes. I glanced up again ('cause I can't help myself apparently) and we caught eyes for a few seconds. You smiled from behind your sandwich and I thought that was adorable. I waited for you to pass before I turned around to check out the rest of you. I don't know if you recognized me too or if you're just one of those strange street smiling anomalies; but I know a good bakery on that block, so next time we cross paths, we should make out...or get coffee.
you: beautiful blonde hair, jeans, a backpack, snacking on a sandwich
me: long brown hair, pink scarf, black and white coat, attempting to look cool
I have seen you several times in the past weeks and have noticed you were quite the looker. Today I saw you walking down 1st Ave. as I was walking up and I looked away quickly, so you wouldn't notice the trace of excitement in my eyes. I glanced up again ('cause I can't help myself apparently) and we caught eyes for a few seconds. You smiled from behind your sandwich and I thought that was adorable. I waited for you to pass before I turned around to check out the rest of you. I don't know if you recognized me too or if you're just one of those strange street smiling anomalies; but I know a good bakery on that block, so next time we cross paths, we should make out...or get coffee.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Yoga Love on the A Train
14th Street Station - 9:40 am -serious eye candy across the platform - w4m - 25
you: tall, dark, handsome, dressed to the nines and looking a whole lot like a teacher from my yoga studio
me: brunette ponytail, pink hoodie, jeans and an avid fan of your body/sexy accent/ teaching style.
I was coming from the L train heading to the uptown A, when I saw you across the platform. We locked eyes and my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't tell from the fleeting glance if you were the teacher from my yoga studio who I have been crushing on for months and if you recognized me too, but I was definitely feeling some heat between us. If it is you, my yoga love, perhaps we could get together for a private session 'cause I could use some help on my positions...poses.
you: tall, dark, handsome, dressed to the nines and looking a whole lot like a teacher from my yoga studio
me: brunette ponytail, pink hoodie, jeans and an avid fan of your body/sexy accent/ teaching style.
I was coming from the L train heading to the uptown A, when I saw you across the platform. We locked eyes and my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't tell from the fleeting glance if you were the teacher from my yoga studio who I have been crushing on for months and if you recognized me too, but I was definitely feeling some heat between us. If it is you, my yoga love, perhaps we could get together for a private session 'cause I could use some help on my positions...poses.
Friday, March 28, 2008
A Brief Lesson in Rapacity
Avid readers of this blog will recall a recent post regarding an email I received from the creepy "cutie with a beanie" guy, who apparently needed a lecture on letting go. If you're not one of the dedicated few, please direct your attention here before going any further. So yeah, this guy (who goes by the pseudonym "JJ" by the way) was weird. But in the back of my mind- because I'm an idealist (or slightly delusional) - I still thought perhaps he wasn't actually a creep. Maybe he was just a passionate person who thought we shared a strong connection and got upset when I stopped responding. And just because I was not feeling it, that doesn't make him a total weirdo right?
I still chose not to respond. But I left the window of hope slightly ajar, just in case the breeze of second chances and renewed prospects was to come a blowin'.
Then I found this.
So this guy is officially a serial missed connection responder. He does not even live here, yet he looks through the NYC MC's like it's his part-time job.
Fuck second chances. If you think he's creepy- go with that.
I still chose not to respond. But I left the window of hope slightly ajar, just in case the breeze of second chances and renewed prospects was to come a blowin'.
Then I found this.
So this guy is officially a serial missed connection responder. He does not even live here, yet he looks through the NYC MC's like it's his part-time job.
Fuck second chances. If you think he's creepy- go with that.
Monday, March 10, 2008
History's First Recorded Missed Connection
Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me
as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate,
chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours
only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you
take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or
wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
-- Walt Whitman, "To a Stranger"
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me
as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate,
chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours
only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you
take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or
wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
-- Walt Whitman, "To a Stranger"
Thursday, March 6, 2008
sexy, sexy fractals
first, i noticed your cool, brown, long-underwear looking shirt that was just retro enough.
then, i saw that you were very cute and had unkempt brown hair under your baseball cap.
then - and this was the kicker - i saw that you were reading a magazine article about benoit mandelbrot. swoon!
you got off the train at union square. why, oh why, is my office in soho?
then, i saw that you were very cute and had unkempt brown hair under your baseball cap.
then - and this was the kicker - i saw that you were reading a magazine article about benoit mandelbrot. swoon!
you got off the train at union square. why, oh why, is my office in soho?
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