Note from the Missed Connections Chief Bottle Finder: I must say, finding this comic posted to the San Fran MC was a real thrill. I felt like a prospector from days gone by discovering a gold nugget. Whoever this is (I do know but my lips are sealed forever and ever 🙂 I really hope they post more! Hint hint hint…
Her Two Cents: Geriatric Barbie Seeks Miniature Rodin (San Francisco)
The Lovelorn Poet from San Francisco wrote:
“That’s going to be a missed connection,”
you murmured as the guy you’d been flirting with sauntered out of Ritual.
Within minutes—seconds even—you were checking your computer to see if he’d posted.”
It does seem that communication via anonymous online messages has become a desirable, almost coveted component in the dating-mating dance. In keeping with the Pollyanna-ish expression of “there’s someone for everyone” it’s heartening to know that two of the inhabitants of San Francisco’s Island of Misfit Toys may just find a home. Dear poet, hopefully you will too (once Barbie packs up the laptop and relinquishes her seat).
Gentle Readers: In reviewing the actions witnessed by our San Francisco poet-anthropologist, what is your opinion of such behavior? Are online messages an exciting addition to the euphoria of meeting someone new or have them become a crutch that limits our ability to do things like give our phone numbers, exchange emails, or ask the simple question, “Would you like to get together some time?”
Missed Connection San Francisco: Geriatric Barbie Seeks Miniature Rodin
“That’s going to be a missed connection,”
you murmured as the guy you’d been flirting with sauntered out of Ritual.
Within minutes—seconds even—you were checking your computer to see if he’d posted.
You: Geriatric Barbie; a leggy blonde with grapefruit boobs, forever legs, Brady Bunch hair and leathery skin.
Him: a miniature Rodin, dark corkscrew curls bouncing in eyes like black olives; a good six inches shorter and twenty years younger than you.
I was the woman sitting beside you at the table, although you barely tossed me a glance after asking if the seat was taken, blue eyes tunneling into your laptop.
Never really looked at me, even after he left, once you started checking to see if he wanted to connect—refresh, refresh, refresh.
All (San Francisco)
All the things I am not.
All the things I am.
I am not the grass is greener.
I am just grass.
I am not the chosen one.
I am rejection.
I am not dark.
I am light.
I am not the other woman.
I am just a woman.
I am not refractions of beauty and sexual draw that the lights in your eyes refract and reflect.
I am abstract and pheromones and good aroma.
I sm not a sexual deviant.
I am sexually charged.
I am not of my own will.
I am of his.
I am not the grass is greener
I am just grass
I am not to be pitied if his next choice.
I am to be celebrated and revered if his next choice, or not.
I am not out to hurt you or yours.
I am love in perfect trust for all.
I am not a wrong or a right.
I am a moment, a commitment, an ease into life.
Fish Tank Blues (San Francisco)
Wish you weren’t swimming away, beautiful one.
Can’t see the video soundtrack?
Here’s the link: http://youtu.be/w2D_4ODZ6DE