Missed Connection

Today I decided to post a missed encounter on Craigslist for the first time.  So far, it has elicited one response that was riddled with the overuse of commas (which irked me).  Anyway, here's a baby step towards sharing my vulnerability and human nature more publicly in effort to better my writing.

Crazy Coffee Shop Girl Seeks Bi-Lingual Blonde Man

You walked into the Bougeois Pig Cafe with a confidence that melted my iced chai latte. Was your white v-neck a little too tight? Maybe, but that didn't stop me from questioning my attraction to your childlike cheeks and kind eyes from across the room. We shared a moment when a crazy man walking aggressively with a terrifying purpose huffed his way into the corner to fidget with some wires. Moments later you answered a phone call and proceeded to hold a broken discussion in Spanish that both startled and intrigued me given your Aryan charm. 

You may have mistaken me for just a batshit crazy woman at a quirky coffee due to one of the following reasons:

- I was audibly and relentlessly trying to convince my friend to throw caution to the wind and drop $500 on an Orca whale kayaking trip. 
- Mentions of Orca whales being aliens.
- Mentions of drugs being planted in my rice krispie treat as the catalyst to my outlandish mood.
- My current battle in fighting off a rather persistent UTI.
- The non-discreet gchat discussion me and my friend were having about you.
- The manic laughter attacks that ensued a midst all of the aforementioned things.
 

As I packed up to leave, I saw you fold up your Wi-Fi receipt. A little part of me hoped that piece of paper held your number and you, by some fate of the universe, found my behavior endearing enough to get up and casually slip it into my possession. I took my sweet ass time packing my shit up waiting for this fanciful scenario to play out.  You unknowingly shattered the theatrics of my momentary dream.

So as a last gleam of hope in my endeavor to find out if there is a man out there who finds the real me captivating, I am posting this missed connection. 

The Scent of a Desperate Text

View the original post on Zoku & Juice.

Ladies, if you think you can hide the smell of desperation behind a nonchalant Marilyn Monroe quote in your dating profile, you’re mistaken. This particular stench permeates all the elements (even the abyss between two cell phones exactly 3 miles apart) and is stronger at scaring men off than aggressive bangs and red lipstick.    

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*These conversations were created specifically for Zoku & Juice. If you have had a real life conversation that resembles this to any degree, please, share it.

Jurassic Park > Beyonce

^I would probably win every pool with the choices made in this bracket.

I felt really left out during 2012 Fantasy Football season and promised myself that in the name of sports I would put all my NCAA hoops knowledge (which is nothing) together and join a bracket this March.  But the truth is that I gave up on basketball a long time ago.

There was a time when I lived for basketball.  That time was called Michael Jordan and Dennis Rodman’s hair.  Was it going to be pink? Green? Tie dye?! The anticipation before each game was thrilling for a girl who loved nothing more than a box of 94 Crayola crayons WITH the crayon sharpener in the rear compartment.

My skills on the neighbor’s non-regulation size hoop were deceiving as I quickly learned after joining the park district league.  My coach sent me into a corner, alone during our first practice, where I was to shoot free throws until I made 3 in a row. I don’t recall making a single shot.  Needless to say, I quit the team after that excruciating experience.

Surprisingly though, this scaring exposure didn’t deter me from the sport all-together.  I attended middle school basketball games, mostly because all the cool kids were doing it, but my lack of interest was irreversible.

I have vivid memories of walking the hallways during passing periods, hearing the words “March Madness” and assuming that people were referring to the hodgepodge of Chicago weather we get during the month of March – what madness!

“Hey, can you believe that tomorrow we’re supposed to get 4 inches of snow and today we’re all wearing tee shirts?!”

“Fuck off, Eileen”

Okay, I don’t think that conversation ever happened to me.  But it definitely could have, with the level of my nativity at the time.

I’d see boys carrying around these mysterious papers during this time of year.  Wondering what on earth those cooky boys were passing around.  I had no working clue as to what “a bracket” was until high school.  When I heard the word “seeds”, the holes in my comprehension of this foreign subject grew larger.

The final straw with me and basketball fell my sophomore year of high school.  It was a Friday night; there was a home game.  Everyone was going, including this boy I was currently AIM flirting with at the time. I arrived late and alone, and found said boy in the crowd of my peers.  My interest in the game was lost shortly there after and upon attempt to leave, I was forced to kiss this boy in front of the crowd.  I later found out that this kid was both intoxicated and baked, which my innocence at the time didn’t notice.  Moral of the story is that I never attended another school basketball game (without severe bribery) ever again.

Now, let me be clear.  I’m not a fluffy idiot.  I now know how basketball works just as well as any gay man trying to “fit in with the guys”.  But will I ever be inclined to throw money down on an activity that requires me to, at the very least, pretend that I care about basketball?  Not without severe bribery. So I’m gonna wait for football season to roll around and save what little sports enthusiasm I have for a game that’s only played on Sundays and Mondays.