Friday Missed Connections
Wow, this week has flown. On Monday, I deeply dreaded the daily trek to the Chicago-based airline. 40 minutes on the Kennedy in the a.m., 40 minutes on Devon (through the hole that is Park Ridge, a town which sure loves their Sting). But the week is done and I am ready to revel in the 2/7 of my week that is truly, truly mine. It was a better week than I thought it would be; I updated my webbity every day and attended my first Neo-Futurist class.
Anyway, on with the Missed Connections. These MCs were taken from the most recent edition of the Chicago Reader. The stories beyond them are from me, your favorite Shylo.
VICTOR: I MET you on a plane to and from Houston, Martin Luther King weekend. Laughed and talked about politics, family, Lord of the Rings. Really enjoyed your company. Would love to hang out sometime soon. Peace, Christina.
I got to the airport as my flight was boarding. The ticket agent must have thought I was cute and bumped me up to first class! Wow. What luxury. Coach is for suckers. Most of the people kept quiet and watched their private TVs, but these two in front of my just yammered on about Lord of the Rings. They’d come up with this theory that Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Philippa Boyens had all fallen in love during the shooting and now lived in a secret plural marriage. Someone cut them off.
BLUE LINE 1/17. You were drunk and adorable, brown hair and green army coat. Saw you again as I was leaving Broadway IHOP 1/19, you were trying to place where you knew me from? I should have said hello.
Deanne and Shylo settled into the booth after three hours of driving. Sustenance was necessary. When they received their victuals, the girls eyed their syrups of choice from the sucrose carousel atop the table. As they grasped the handle, Deanne looked at Shylo, grimaced, and said, “Syrup equals sticky.”
DOCTOR STEVE, MET you at Spoon, Thursday 1/16. You were with two friends. You walked my friend home and caught a cab for me. Enjoyed our conversation and would like to continue where we left off. Please give me a call. Amy.
It’s funny seeing patients outside of the office. I barely recognized Megan, having not seen her since her annual physical six months ago. I gave her a wave and she came over and introduced her friend Amy. I bought them a few rounds and then offered to walk Megan home. When we got to her place, we made out for a while and then she led me back to her bedroom. I asked her to take her clothes off. After she stripped, she reached for my belt, but I stopped her and reached into my jacket pocket. Megan looked bewildered, but as she unfolded the paper gown, a wicked smile lit across her face.
THAILAND BOUND ENGINEER, gorgeous green eyes. Made connection, PJ Clarks opening reception, Saturday 1/18. Stupid me, left suddenly without saying goodbye when you headed to mens room. I was gone when you returned (too much champagne). How do we find each other now? Me: the attractive lady writer wearing a sexy black dress. Really miss your warm gentle touch, Joe.
Saturday afternoon in Filene’s Basement is the worst time to work. All these tacky women from the suburbs shuffle in with their full-length furs, jeans, tennis shoes, and big hair. They rifle through everything like it’s their last opportunity to shop before the second coming. I got stuck in the fitting rooms, which is normally ok because it’s mainly just counting garments and handing people numbers, but this woman came in frantic for an evening dress. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t let her take in 20 dresses at once. I’ve got to get a better job.
Overheard: [at work] “It wasn’t a traditional Paul Newman role, but Slapshot is a great movie.”
Attending: a Marshall Crenshaw concert at the Double Door. Tonight!
Wearing: My fantastically pettable long velvet skirt. I am sex on a stick.
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