Taunting Craigslist Missed Connections

I am no stranger to Craigslist. I have successfully negotiated the purchase of electronic equipment — not stolen — and did not die in the process. I have also found two roommates in this manner and neither killed me in my sleep (though one roommate's cousin did, I believe, want to partake in some late-night funny business with my handsome sleeping cherubic self).

Craigslist is also where I go to not find work. The job boards are criminally depressing, time-and-self-worth suckholes that bog me down in mire and shame and depression. Eyes glaze over, sexual appetite wilts, brain liquefies, body becoming a gelatinous goo of worthlessness, I am a Madam Toussaud's wax figure of myself under a McDonald's heatlamp, and if only I had a little more fry-o-lator experience, I could get that job at McDonald's.

There is one place on Craigslist, however, that does not disappoint: Missed Connections. Eyes search for daddy issues and latent low self-esteem with pinpoint accuracy, sexual appetite becomes voracious (easy prey, I'm perverted, etc.), brain is sharp, body feels muscular as everyone else seems so weak, I am AWESOME. (By comparison.) I could be president! And what a tyrant I would be!

I never respond to these posts, primarily because the sad/shy/chubby girl in question is never talking about me. And then I cry. Also, because, would you respond? Do you really want to meet up with somebody who was too scared/lame to talk to you the first time around, but now armed with their stairway wit they go on to Missed Connections to reach you? And, on top of that, not only are YOU so lame that you're reading Missed Connections, but you stumble across one and have so little in the way of social obligations that you'll respond, maybe even go on a date based on an email sent to an anonymous reply-to e-mail address?

Who cares. Check out what I found the other day:

In case you are blind and reading this on your braille computer (or it's reading it for you, I guess is probably more likely) here is the text:

when i saw you behind the mcdonalds counter on broadway..... my heart dipped into what seemed like a melting sundae. your hair color reminded me of the hot fudge as i was letting the spoon graze my sun soaked lips. everytime i see a mcdonalds commercial, i envision me sitting on your face as you yell im loving it. i wanna say it was the hot weather that made me so wet but then id be lying. as i watched you stack the cups into size order, i pictured you licking the sweat from the pores of my body. i hope you don't have your sexual education certificate because i'm about to certify the shit out of you. 

For the first time ever, I felt compelled to respond. No, I HAD to respond. First of all, who was this hussie not only swimming in my infinite pool of personal sadness (that helps me cope with the "success" of working about 8 days a month), but also peeing in it, degrading the true missed connections with the blatant mockery? Second of all, this is pretty funny, and one good turn deserves another. So I signed in to Gmail with my Tuesdays With Maury e-mail address and banged out the following letter from my phone, since my computer has been down for days: *Ahem*

I knew it was going to be a scorcher today, that's why I set my company issued visor at a lusty tilt. You've got Golden Arches, girl, and I ain't talkin' bout dat ass, though it's a stunna: Naw, I'm a foot man. And even though your tight tourist figure came struttin' up to the counter wearing some crusty Rainbow flip flops, I knew dem feet was the apple pie to my value meal. You know how they invented that spoon that also makes the McFlurry? The same magic put me on this earth to caress those toes of yours. I'm gonna dip em in all the sauces, even mixtures you haven't even fathomed. You're the one who's gonna get an education.

You saw me stack those cups, huh? You see how gentle I was with the supersize? Yeah, you gotta finesse the big ones in.

Also, just looked at the e-mail to get the text of the letter. Realized that I must have registered that "anonymous" Maury account under my real name.

I stand by my words.

Sadly, however, it is I that missed the connection. I haven't heard back from my lusty wench of both McDonald's and cyberspace. Here I thought I was gonna have this like Sleepless in Seattle (or You've Got Mail? I didn't see either) Tom Hanks–Meg Ryan fake internet romance based on the most important factors in any relationship: Humor, Sarcasm, Sex and Junk Food.

And I still kinda need a job.

7 Rappers With A High Probability of Teenage Teasing, plus How I've Become One of "Those" People

A few weeks ago I stumbled across an amazing vintage turntable at Housing Works and decided to buy it. I know what you're thinking: How did you not have one before now? Aren't you a part-time barista, freelance editor and Brooklyn resident? You write a blog. Two blogs, actually, and one is about Maury Povich. Don't they hand those things out at the Bedford L stop? I get it. Stop yelling.

(Oh, also: If you're unaware, Housing Works is a well-curated thrift store whose mission is to end homelessness and AIDS, global problems that need every bit of funding they can get. But ... and I'm sorry for saying it, but am I the only one who finds it odd that in doing so they've created an orgy of discount-priced designer clothes, modern furniture and whimsical art? This seems counterproductive to the cause. Throw in a nice martini list and a tapas menu and you've got a Chelsea nightclub. Or why not just get those cool clothes on some hobos? A briefly sobered-up wino wearing a Valentino suit is ready for his Wall Street interview, and who wouldn't prefer their local flasher to reveal not only his hook-shaped penis, but also show off that soothing tan-red-black-white plaid from inside his newly donated, gently used Burberry trench? I know this is going to count against me at the Pearly Gates, Angelic Saint Peter pausing briefly to leer at me over his reading glasses then saying, "Remember when you wrote that thing on your blog? The thing that insinuated stereotypical prejudices about certain types of people?" I'll say yes and *poof* I'll be in the 'other' place roasting like a marshmallow. It's just that I need to know if I'm the only one who notices real-life irony.)

But back to the story for the zero of you who haven't quit reading: So although I have probably the most ostentatious stereo system to ever grace a 10'x10' shared college dorm room (at high volume, it could be heard 4 floors up), I didn't have a turntable until recently. As my preference in pant legs gets narrower and I patiently await my FleaBay'd leather jacket so I can finally emerge from my fat winter cocoon blob into a spring-weather-loving alcoholic unemployed stereotype, I have been repairing and restoring this turntable. I disassembled it, cleaned everything, put it back together and it works like new. Pat on the back for me. One of the biggest draws of my new hobby/obsession is that I live only a few blocks from the largest selection of used records in NYC, a junk store with — no joke — at least 100,000 records; I think it's way more than that but I'm being conservative. The guy who owns the place makes up arbitrary prices and I've never paid more than $2 for a single item in the shop. It's great, because I don't think he cares if he makes money, he just likes people coming into his store. He sold me this oil painting, in its frame, for two bucks.

it's like a stained glass window on acid

I always find a few great records rooting through milk crates full of vinyl. Yesterday, however, I stumbled upon a treasure from my early high school days:

luv 2 luv my nostalgia for this album

This album was the jam back in the day, and I believe "Luv 2 Luv Ya (Remix)" went on the very first burned CD I ever made. (In 9th grade, my buddy and I went halves on a CD burner because they were really expensive and we were really cheap, which is why we were buying a CD burner in the first place — to download music illegally from Audiogalaxy or Napster and burn CDs.)

Listening to this for the first time in probably 12 years got me to thinking about being a freshman in high school. I have a, let's say, "distinct" sounding voice: deep, slightly nasal and with a twinge of Southern accent. I didn't know I had a distinct voice until I was about 15 years old and guys on my baseball team did an impression of me, for me. When I was still writing for magazines, I showed up to an interview with a famous hip-hop/pop/R&B producer who, surprised to see Saltine cracker me waiting in the studio lobby, said, "When I talked to you on the phone, I thought you was a brotha." So I apparently sound a little bit black on the phone. I guess. But this is where I was going before I started asking questions bound to send me to hell: Was Magoo ever teased for his voice? Were any other rappers? I mean, Magoo's real name is "Melvin Barcliff", which sounds like the kind of name that could get you beat up while waiting for the school bus.

So here's my list of "7 Rappers With A High Probability of Childhood Teasing" who, in no particular order, also happen to be some of my favorites:

MAGOO: Timbaland & Magoo, "Luv 2 Luv Ya (Remix)"

CEE-LO GREEN: Cee-Lo is just more fun when he's rapping, not singing. His verse in Goodie Mob's "They Don't Dance No Mo" is the part I look forward to every time I hear the song.

CHALI 2NA: The deep-voiced dude from Jurassic 5, my guess is that kids would've been holding him down at recess and making him recite James Earl Jones quotes. He's the first one to rap on "Thin Line" and his voice juxtaposes nicely with the sweet-sounding hook.

ODB: A man who needs no introduction and a voice that cracks like a teenage boy going through puberty and eating animal crackers at the same time. ODB was great.

BIZZY BONE: I know for a fact that Bizzy gets made fun of for not only his voice but also his effeminate mannerisms (see comments here), but he is/was part of Bone Thugs and this song makes him manly.

KRAZIE BONE: Can't talk about Bizzy without his balancing act Krazie Bone, who also has a deep voice with a little country twang like me.

EAZY-E: Last but not least, Eazy has a high-pitched almost Urkle voice. I actually had to stop listening to Eazy's sex-laden lyrics for awhile — I had been listening to him a lot and thinking about sex constantly then had one of those "scares"... luckily she got her period and now I can listen to him again.

Maybe the world is ready for another white rapper: I'm calling myself Roscoe Listerine.

Tuesdays With Maury: Now Even More Depressing

i actually took the time to make this. but why?

 Some people have jobs that don't allow them to watch The Maury Show everyday. Other people don't have jobs and watch The Maury Show everyday. I'm somewhere in between. I record both episodes daily. If you want to know what you've been missing (sex for cheeseburgers, for example), I have created "Tuesdays With Maury", a horrible tumblr page with a tiled background and images that will give you nightmares, daymares, schizophrenia and irritable bowl syndrome.

For those of you who don't know, this title was inspired by "Tuesdays With Morrie", a (probably) depressing, sappy book by Mitch Albom, who I think sucks because he made me cry when I stupidly read "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" right after the death of a close friend, thinking it would make me feel better. Well, it didn't. I cried even more. For making me cry, Mitch Albom, I give you this tribute and hope that if you somehow find my crappy website, it will make you cry, too. 

I once went to a Maury taping and it felt like being in a four-hour line for a new roller coaster at Six Flags, but without any ride at the end. Except for a horrible bus ride at the end. I'm convinced that some of the people at the taping took the hour-and-a-half long bus ride from the Old Navy near Port Authority to Stamford, CT, for no other reason than to be "discovered" by a producer and get on the show. Their bus conversations were worse than what actually happened on stage. The guy across the aisle from me on the bus was on his cell and told the person at the other end, "Hang up, call the cops, and call me back. She can't take the kids from you like that." I couldn't escape.

The best part of the whole thing was watching to see if I would get on TV, which meant that I watched more Maury in those following months than ever in my life. But there was a payoff: My right arm, cocked in a "boo", was made famous by the producers when they chose it, along with some other peoples' "boo faces" (who I doubt received and compensation for the use of their likeness), for a pivotal crowd shot at a highly emotional moment of the show.

my 15 seconds of fame

There is so much I could tell about that taping, such as the line at the metal detector and the TSA-style security checkpoint (that didn't even bat an eye when they looked in Carlen's purse and, presumably, saw the water-filled fake boob she found at some bodega) but I think it will have to wait. I am exhausted just from uploading photos to the tumblr page. Maury is exhausting.

P.S. Here's a tasty Jimmy Dean Sausage link that's worth sharing, and a parenthetical explanation of how I found it lest you think I'm a crazy person:

- this site is like reading a Dr. Bronner's soap bottle about paranormal activity. I think a ghost groped or soaped me or both in the shower this morning. Even the sitemap makes me feel like an autistic tarot card reader in the West Village made it using Geocities, Microsoft Word 97 clip art and a surprising, almost otherworldly knowledge of SEO. (T-shirt design idea > Image search: "Rhyme of The Ancient Mariner Etchings" > spooky pentagram etching > this web paradise)