Friday Missed Connections
Comments: 0 - Date: February 28th, 2003 - Categories: Uncategorized
Enjoy these select Missed Connection ads from the Chicago Reader and the LA Weekly. The stories below the ads have come from, or behind, my interpretaion of the ad. It should be noted that I don’t do this every Friday to mock the posters. I applaud the search for love and wish these folks well.
WEBSTER POT BELLY’S. Cute boy in blue turtle neck, tan pants, on Friday 2/21, 7:30pm-ish. You: Asian with glasses, kept touching your hair–I assume you just got it cut? Me: Caucasian female with brown hair, just a few people behind you. Would love to chat if you’re free! (From the Chicago Reader)
That barber did a great job. I am stylin’. I asked myself in the mirror, “Who’s that looker?” Answer: me! It’s the perfect cut, just short enough to really make me feel like I’ve just gotten a haircut, but not too short so I feel naked. It’s good. I am loving this new haircut.
#66 BUS, BLUE Line, Jackson stop. You: cute indie chick, brown coat, red scarf, cool Fluevogs, smoky gaze. Me: black everything, spiky hair, shaky knees. We’ve got to stop meeting like this, or start meeting somewhere else. (From the Chicago Reader)
John Fluevog stepped out of his Boxter early on Saturday morning. His size 10, resoleable Houtans crunched on the gravel as he lumbered toward the dry cleaner’s. A chilly Vancouver wind prompted John to tighten his scarf. Outside the door, he inhaled smoke from a pedestrian’s cigarette, and was glad he could only smell leather.
SEABISCUIT WRAP PARTY Union Station, 2/21, you wore pink halter w/black slacks. Me in all white, you asked for cigarette, let’s see if we can start a fire. (From the LA Weekly)
The bartender-for-hire sees all. I work all kinds of parties: corporate meetings, weddings, Hollywood parties. It’s ok when people remember to tip. And I can usually sneak out a bottle or two of something top-shelf. Last week, I had to work this party at Union Station for some horse movie. There were actual horses there, walking and shitting on the tile floor. I took three bottles of Ketel One that night.
AT BEVERLY DRIVE & OLYMPIC THURS 11AM You, driver for older man. You looked several times. I looked too. Let’s try. (From the LA Weekly)
The Rolls-Royce is a comfortable vehicle. Smooth, plush. Expensive to maintain, but projects an appropriate image. My driver has been with me for ten years. He is capable and, generally, invisible. At times, he lacks discretion and displays his natural effete manners. I know that constant reservation injures the soul, but I manage to stifle these impulses.
Overheard: [on clark street in andersonville] “ok, one, two, thr- you ass! you cheated!” these guys decided to have a foot race. shortly after this comment was made, the speaker’s wallet fell out of his pocket, spilling credit cards everywhere.
Worrying: about where I’m going to live. Our lease isn’t being renewed and I’m sort of afraid to live somewhere random by myself.
Accepting: a world where some people have decided I’m in no way redeemable.