Mr. Poetry Man?

While perusing craigslist earlier this week I stumbled upon this posting addressed to “Mr. Poetry Man”:

Where did you go Mr Poetry Man? (okc)

I miss your sarcastic attitude…your sweet smile…and the way you always think its all about you…I want to go have drinks and dance…but i guess i wasn’t a hot enough mess for you…lol..anyway lets have a drink…its harmless right?…

Here were my thoughts upon reading that:

• Sarcastic – Nooo, I’d never.
• Sweet smile - Deceivingly innocent maybe, but I wouldn’t call it sweet.
• It is all about me so… – Check
• Drinks and dancing – I do that – Check
• Involved with “hot messes” – Check
• But poetry? Perhaps someone finds my plebeian prose poetic? No, probably not. Does someone know about my secret obsession with reading and writing poems? Can’t be. I keep that locked away in the deepest parts of my being right next to my secret love for Mandy Moore and my secret joy at rereading all of Nicholas Sparks’ work while crying into a t-shirt that belongs to my ex-girlfriend.
• Could this be about me? Who’s the author? Maybe if I reply I can gather enough information to deduce their identity…

Here’s my reply and amateur attempt at phishing:

Re: Where did you go Mr Poetry Man? – m4w – 23 (Oklahoma City)

Your writing seems to hold a tinge of melancholy and disappointment. I have no way of knowing whether you wrote this about me or if there is some other person out there making relationship decisions as obviously bad as mine have been of late.

I’ve always been a curious person, ever since I was a kid. One time, when I was in grade school, My dad (who worked in communications for the Navy) brought home a big case that looked ‘kinda like the ones that mobile DJs use to carry their equipment. Inside the case I found all sorts of boxes with digital readouts and miscellaneous cables and antenna. Now let me pause here for a second to explain that during this stage of my life it was a common occurrence for me to take apart any and every household appliance on which I could lay my hands in a vain and puerile attempt to learn about their inner workings then, once I was surrounded on the kitchen floor by every singular nut and bolt of what had once been the blender, I’d lose interest and leave everything where it lay. This is when I first learned that it is much more satisfying to destroy than to create. At this point you’re probably thinking; “But, how were you to learn how anything worked if you never put it back together?” Well, I’ll tell you how every one of those things worked after I was finished with my dissection, they didn’t. Which brings me back to that treasure chest filled with fascinating and possibly Top Secret communications equipment. I assembled the device in my dad’s box by connecting wires to random plugs and repeatedly pressing the power button until something lit up or made noise. It was later that evening, at dinner, when the house was raided by what seemed, to my seven year old mind, to be ninjas and spacemen that I learned that the device was an emergency transponder made for ballistic missile testing. While curiosity killed the cat, it only placed me on house arrest for the remainder of the third grade.

Other than reinforcing your impression that it is “all about me” I have another a reason for telling you that compelling and completely true story; I thought that it would make it seem a little less startling when I ask you out. As you’ve already noticed my attraction to damaged/emotionally scared/crazy/unstable/girls with baggage or, as you call them “hot messes”. Based on the slightly emo flavor of your ad I’d have to say that you’re just one emotional disaster away from becoming my dream girl. And that brings me to this proposal; I think that we should go out, fall in love, and have a tragic break-up involving cheating and much slandering (because we’re so modern), only to get back together and spend the rest of our lives resenting eachother and pretending that we actually had a chance to be happy.

P.S. Do you like red wine with fish? I only ask ’cause that would be a deal braker.
P.P.S. Here’s a joke I like:

A preacher went into his church and he was praying to God.

In his prayer, he asked God, “How long is 10 million years to you?”

God replied, “One second.”

The next day the preacher asked God, “God, how much is 10 million dollars to you?”

And God replied, “A penny.”

Then finally the next day the preacher asked God, “God, can I have one of your pennies?”

And God replied, “Just wait a sec.”

• Location: Oklahoma City
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

She misses my missed connections

I seems that my hiatus has not gone unnoticed:

You make me laugh. (CL)

Even though you said it couldn’t go further than CL, I miss you funny posts. Your jokes were lame but paired well with all of your missed connections. Could you and the Denny’s man be the same poster? I love to laugh. Please don’t let this be a missed connection any longer.

She misses me my funny posts! Awww, how sweet. This short ad contains a surprisingly large amount insulting points, It’s almost as if the author was running out of ribbon for her typewriter and needed to cram in as many ignorant points as she could before her type faded away into a light reverse-embossing. I almost don’t know what I should find the most insulting, the fact that she thought my jokes to be lame, that a post about me apparently didn’t warrant a quick proof-read, or that anyone would think I’d have written that tasteless post about the fat girl at Denny’s (I mean, a fat person at Denny’s is not really a surprise. One or two of those Lumberjack Slams would certainty push my B.M.I. above twenty-five.)

Putting aside my hurt feelings for a moment, I feel a duty to reply, but not directly:

Time machine – m4w – 23 (A Temporal Rift -AKA- the Southside)

I met you next week if today is thursday. Let me explain.

About a month ago in your time I completed my goal of converting my ’86 Chevy Van into a time machine. I know what you’re thinking, “Why not a DeLorean?” Well, I’ll tell you; first of all that was a movie, because of said movie the price of a DeLorean in decent condition has become more inflated than the dollar (U.S. or Canadian).

Secondly, If you’re going to travel through time you should have some cargo space for all the awesome stuff you’ll be bringing back, for example I was recently tasked with a writing assignment on the topic of Antebellum America. In order to attain the utmost historical accuracy, I consulted with President Andrew Jackson, at gunpoint, and he agreed to write my paper longhand on the back of a wooden plank that I pulled off his desk (This is how he earned the nickname “Old Hickory”). Needless to say, I totally aced that class.

Thirdly, what’s the saying “If this van’s a rockin’ don’t come a knockin’ or else I’ll go back in time and take a photo of that Christmas when your grandma bought you all of those dresses and made you model them for her while she called you Tina even though you were crying that your name was Tom.”

Anyway, I think I’m getting a little off track here. Next week I saw you at Kohl’s buying an umbrella to protect yourself from all the ash caused by that volcano that popped up around I-40 and Portland (B.T.W. next week a volcano will pop up around I-40 and Portland). I was (will be?) behind you in the check out line and you asked me for the time. Normally my go-to reply to this type of query is; “It’s sexy time!” but I could see that you were a very serious person (based on your perma-scowl and cigarette stained fingers) who wouldn’t be amused by my Sacha Baron Cohen reference so instead I said; “its half past one”. I really must apologize for that grevious error on my part, you see, when you bend space as often as I do it becomes difficult to keep your watch set correctly. The actual time was two-fifteen.

I sincerely hope that the misinformation I provided didn’t cause you to be late for any important matters such as your next nicotine fix. I wish there was some way I could give you back that time…

I feel that any apology I offer will be inadequate; however, I have heard that laughter can cure anything so here’s a joke to lift your spirits:

A guy walks into a bar, sits down next to another guy and immediately notices the guy has a very large Bic cigarette lighter.
The first guy says “Wow, that’s a huge lighter…where did you get it?”
The guy replies “A genie from this bottle granted me one wish.”
“Great, can I try it?”
“Sure.”
The first guy rubs the bottle and the genie appears. “You are granted one wish” says the genie.
The guy says, “I want a million bucks!”
“Done” says the genie and disappears.
A few minutes go by and suddenly the bar door swings open and pouring in come ducks. Thousands and thousands of ducks falling all over each other through the bar door.
“I can’t believe this,” says the guy who had just placed his wish, “I asked for a million bucks, not a million ducks!”
The second guy then says, “Do you really think I wished for a 12 inch Bic?”

P.S. Any requests for a ride in the time machine will be granted as long as they’re received before 12:45 pm Tuesday
P.P.S. Antiques for sale! Great condition! Like new!

• Location: A Temporal Rift -AKA- the Southside
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

[Insert... Me?]

Not long ago I wrote an enticing personal ad for my friend “Dom”. The ad was written as a joke so it was a bit surprising to me when she received over thirty replies from interested suitors in less than a week.

This peaked my curiosity. I began to think; “If I can lure in this many men for ‘Dom’ how would I fare if I wrote one for myself?”

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

Your best prospect for an enjoyable night. -Or- 2009′s last date – 23 (OKC)

I go out pretty often; however, not being a follower, I think I’ll leave the bars and clubs to the rookies tonight. I feel they will get more enjoyment from the overcrowded dance floors and watered-down champagne.

This plan of mine leaves me in a strange position. You see, normally if I wanted to stay in I would be happy to occupy myself with work; but, due to my competitive nature it will be difficult for me to stay in knowing that the rest of the world is out having fun.

This brings me to the point of my writing here today. I’m looking for someone to hangout with tonight. If you’ve already said to yourself; “I’m really not feeling the whole club scene tonight.” and you are around my age, fun, and attractive-ish, then I propose that you e-mail me with a brief message telling me a little about yourself and a pic. When I receive your communication, I will reply, in kind, with a pic of my own.

If we seem compatible, maybe we could go see a movie (Up In the Air? Sherlock Holmes? Avatar?), or grab a bite to eat, or just go down to Bricktown and laugh at all of the people who are standing in line outside a place where they will spend the rest of their night standing in line at the bar to get a drink.

In reciprocation for your company, I promise to be entertaining, polite and honorable, chivalrous even, but possibly a little awkward in a nerdy way. I’m not quite as cool in person as this ad may lead you to believe. I am however, better looking than the average Oklahoma twenty-something

I look forward to any replies that I may receive and to thank you for reading my rather last minute ad, I’ll leave you with this joke:

Jemima was taking an afternoon nap on New Year’s Eve before the festivities. After she woke up, she confided to Max, her husband, ‘I just dreamed that you gave me a diamond ring for a New Year’s present. What do you think it all means?’
‘Aha, you’ll know tonight,’ answered Max smiling broadly.
At midnight, as the New Year was chiming, Max approached Jemima and handed her small package. Delighted and excited she opened it quickly. There in her hand rested a book entitled: ‘The meaning of dreams’.

P.S. I frequently write joke missed connection ads here on craigslist and it has come to my attention that these can be rather crude and insensitive. Therefore, I have diceded to take some time off and this will be the last ad I write this year.

P.P.S. THIS ad is not a joke. The above sentiments are honest and from my heart (or lack there of).

• Location: OKC
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Mom? – m4w – 23 (Under a grey sky)

In the short time I’ve inhabited this body, it’s taken me many places. From California to Florida and even to Asia on the other side of the of this space rock we call home. During all of this time, in all of those places, you’ve always been tolerable, if not kind, towards me. Even when I thought I was seeing you at your worst, I’ve known that things would turn around soon and whatever dark mood you were in would soon be forgotten. No matter what, I’ve always been able to wait you out, but your crazed moods have only gotten worse since I moved to Oklahoma.

I don’t understand how you could possibly have so much power over me when I don’t even live with you. Who can say which is more ridiculous; that you still think you can ground me when I’m twenty-three years old, or that I still bend to your will.

You’ve shown me all of your extremes, from the cold shoulder to the most heated words, but never anything like this. You just dumped so much on me at once that I hardly know what to do. It was like I couldn’t clear it away as fast as you were unloading it on me. I could tell you’d been saving it up and the conditions must have been exactly just right for you to vent it all.

My point is, this was really a surprise to me and I hope we won’t have to do it again. seriously, this has to be some kind of record for you. Because we’re stuck with each other, I’ve decided against holding a grudge. It will; however, take some time until I can trust you again.

Mother Nature, I hope you read this. I’m not angry, just disappointed.

P.S. Can I leave the house yet? I think most of the snow has melted.

P.P.S. I have always said that you’re unpredictable even though some people claim to have a pretty good read on you. Here’s a joke that seems to expose how meteorologists really work:

It was autumn, and the Indians on the remote reservation asked their new Chief if the winter was going to be cold or mild. Since he was a new Indian Chief in a modern society, he had never been taught the old secrets, and when he looked at the sky, he couldn’t tell what the weather was going to be. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he replied to his tribe that the winter was indeed going to be cold and that the members of the village should collect wood to be prepared. But also being a practical leader, after several days he got an idea. He went to the phone booth, called the National Weather Service and asked,
“Is the coming winter going to be cold?”
“It looks like this winter is going to be quite cold indeed,” the meteorologist at the weather service responded.
So the Chief went back to his people and told them to collect even more wood in order to be prepared. A week later he called the National Weather Service again.
“Is it going to be a very cold winter?”
“Yes,” the man at National Weather Service again replied, “it’s going to be a very cold winter.”
The Chief again went back to his people and ordered them to collect every scrap of wood they could find. Two weeks later he called the National Weather Service again.
“Are you absolutely sure that the winter is going to be very cold?”
“Absolutely,” the man replied. “It’s going to be one of the coldest winters ever.”
“How can you be so sure?” the Chief asked.
The weatherman replied, “The Indians are collecting wood like crazy!”

• Location: Under a grey sky
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Your Eyes Were As Red As Your Dress – m4w – 23 (Flying J Travel Plaza)

It’s not often that a woman will aggressively pursue a man and when it does happen, it isn’t normally the type of woman who a man would like to be pursued by. Last night; however, I met a woman who seemed to be very taken with me. Why? I do not know.

After delivering a friend safely to her current place of residence at the end of a night of drinking, I set off toward home. I had a very dry mouth and a taste for some culture so I pulled off I-40 at Morgan Road. Looking around, I selected the Flying J as my pit stop because we share an initial. I parked my foreign car within sight of the door and went inside. After sighting the soda fountain, I poured my self a large Dr. Pepper and went to the check-out, thats when I noticed her. She was wearing a skimpy red dress and matching high heels, her jewelry looked as if it had been chosen randomly from a sale bin at Charlotte Russe. She was wearing a little too much make-up and leaning heavily against the door frame as if she were responsible for keeping it from collapsing.

I gave the clerk some money and ignored my change. My eyes were stuck on her as if my pupils were attached to hers by elastic bands. As I neared she said; “hey good-lookin” and her sultry voice reverberated down my ear canal, onto my ear drum, and into my cochlear nerve which carried it directly through my blood-brain barrier and into the temporal lobe brain where it ignited a chain reaction like a good hit of drugs. At this point I was close enough to notice that, though she was not older than thirty, she had lines around her mouth and smelled like a combination of stale cigarettes and the kind of perfume that says “inspired by” on the bottle and is most often purchased from the trunk of someones car. She looked tired, like she’d had a long night at a dance club (which would also explain why she was dressed as she was). She was asking me if I knew “where the party’s at” and if I wanted to “have a good time” with her.

Needless to say, I was both alarmed and intrigued by her very direct approach. Being that it was past 2:00am already, I replied that I regretfully did not know “where the party was at” and that I’d love to “have a good time with her” if she’d give me her number so we could set up a date. I knew immediately that I’d hurt my chances when she said; “whatever” and rolled her eyes. I continued to try to talk her up in an attempt to regain her interest. I was able to learn that she is trying to pay for college but “money is really tight right now” and that she just doesn’t know what she’ll do if she can’t find “someone to help”.

She said she had to go “to the bathroom” so I said that I’d wait, but I saw her approach a big guy in a flannel shirt and her body language toward him told me that I’d lost the game.

If you the woman I’ve described, please send me a message to tell me if I still have a chance. Tell me the color of your wig so I’ll know it’s you.

P.S. I noticed that you have some needle marks on your arm. This is a happy coincidence because I also have type one diabetes. If you want, I’ll show you some tricks on how to inject your insulin without leaving any mark at all.

P.P.S. Since you mentioned that you’re a broke college student, I thought you’d enjoy this joke:

After the college boy delivered the pizza to Bud’s trailer house, Bud asked, “What is the usual tip?”
“Well,” replied the youth, “this is my first trip here, but the other guys say if I get a quarter out of you, I’ll be doing great.”
“Is that so?” snorted Bud. “Well, just to show them how wrong they are, here’s five dollars.”
“Thanks,” replied the youth, “I’ll put this in my school fund.”
“What are you studying?” asked Bud.
The lad smiled and said, “Applied psychology.”

• Location: Flying J Travel Plaza
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Baby on Board= Bad Idea? (Updated)

When I’m standing in queue at Wal-Mart I like to say ridiculous things to the person in front of me. Sometimes I just mumble to myself about where I’m going to hide the bodies, or tap them on the shoulder while slipping into a ski mask, then, when they turn around I’ll whisper; “now would be a good time to leave”. As soon as they show understanding or fear I take a picture of their facial expression for a photo essay I’m doing for National Geographic called: “Pardon Me? The Moment Before I Flee From Security”.

As fun as all that can be, my favorite thing is to ask a question. It’s normally something like; “I just love meth! Don’t you?” or “Did you see that sexy, white and brown goat outside? I’d like to take it back to my farm-yard if you know what I mean”. Most of the time I just get an emphatic shake of the head “no” but sometimes I’ll find someone who thinks they’ve found a kindred spirit, a fellow drug-addict, or someone else who loves goats a little too much.

What I didn’t expect to find when I wrote “The Alarm Clock Blues” yesterday was that someone actually was missing their baby; however, that seems to be the case:

Re: Alarm Clock Blues

Man! I thought I was getting away with free babysitting! I wondered why there was some Polish guy talking on the radio when I got in!

P.S. It’s ok about the Mint Milanos. I like the Girl Scout Thin Mints better anyway

Obviously, this necessitated that I reply:

Re:Re: Alarm Clock Blues – 23 (OKC)

I’m so relived to have found you! You’ll be happy to hear that your baby and I have been getting along great. Since I didn’t know her name I’ve been calling her Baby Gaga and dressing her in wigs and strange hats. we spent most of the day yesterday learning the choreography to “Poker Face” and I must say, I’ve gotten pretty good. She, on the other hand, can’t even remember the steps for one eight-count. As punishment I told her to clean the kitty litter but she kept eating it and now my cat is so afraid of her litter box that she’s learned to use the toilet.

Let me reassure you that Baby Gaga is perfectly safe here, at the apartment above my mom’s garage. She’s currently wedged under the leg of my piano, keeping it level. With this extra stability I think I’ll finally be able to learn a very difficult piece of music called “chopsticks”.

I am rather anxious to get Baby Gaga back to you, but I’d rather we avoided meeting in person due to the fact that I may have spilled some coffee in your car and I’m worried you’ll be angry. Here’s how I propose we handle the trade: Drive my car to the new Holiday Inn on S. Meridian and S.W. 15th St., go to the front desk and ask rather they’re holding any packages for room 420, it will a small box wrapped in red and green, plaid, foil wrapping paper. Inside the box you’ll find a Garmin Dakota™ 10 handheld gps unit. Follow the directions to your car and you’ll find Baby Gaga in her child seat, wearing one of her new outfits and watching music videos on her new Verizon V CAST phone.

P.S. I’m relived to hear that my cookie solution was acceptable to you and have thrown in some Girl Scout Lemon Chalet Cremes™ as well.

P.P.S. I collect old joke books as a hobby and, for lack of bedtime stories to read, I used these to lull Baby Gaga to sleep. Here’s her favorite:

A pirate was talking to a “land-lover” in a bar. The land-lover noticed that, like any self-respecting pirate, this guy had a peg leg, a hook in place of one of his hands and a patch over one eye. The land-lover just had to find out how the pirate got in such bad shape. He asked the pirate; “How did you lose your leg?” The pirate responded; “I lost me leg in a battle off the coast of Jamaica!” His new acquaintance was still curious so he asked; “What about your hand. Did you lose it at the same time?” “No,” answered the pirate; “I lost it to the sharks off the Florida Keys.” Finally, the land-lover asked; “I notice you also have an eye patch. How did you lose your eye? The pirate answered, “I was sleeping on a beach when a seagull flew over and crapped right in me eye.” The land-lover asked, “How could a little seagull crap make you lose your eye?” The pirate snapped; “It was the day after I got me hook!”

• Location: OKC
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Update! This morning I discovered this response:

Re: Re: Re: Alarm Clock Blues

I’m glad to hear that Shelby has taken so well to you. (That’s her name, by the way, Shelby) She doesn’t normally care for strangers so it’s really quite a shock! I thought she was growing out of her cat litter eating phase though. She hasn’t done that at my house in a week or so. Maybe your cat litter is different than ours? I don’t know what that’s all about, but if she ate alot of it I’d be happy to replace it for you. I’m also glad that she was able to provide your piano with the stability for you to finally learn how to play Chopsticks. It IS one of the more difficult tunes to pick up.

By the way, it’s OK about the coffee, I accidentally spilled some fish sauce in your car (well it’s actually a mix of fish sauce, rice wine vinegar, ginger, soy sauce and honey that I dip my eggrolls in). I went for Chinese takeout last night and realized by the time I got home that the sauce leaked out all over the seat! I apologize for that! I cleaned it out as best I could and saturated the seat with Febreze but I’m afraid there’s still a faint smell of fish permeating through your car. To show how sorry I am, I will leave 2 bags of Mint Milanos in the glove box.

Well I expect that you’ll be glad to have your car back and I know that I’m thrilled to be getting back my little girl! This will eventually be a memory we can look back upon and laugh about! Thank you for taking such good care of my little girl!

• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

The Alarm Clock Blues – m4w – 23 (OKC)

Have you ever woken to find the alarm going off and you have that feeling of mild panic that tells you its been going off for a while? That’s how my day started. So I jumped out of bed and launched myself into the shower before the water could warm up. Shocked into awareness by my the winter mix spewing forth from the shower head I gathered my resolve and began to shampoo and shave simultaneously.I completed this task without cutting myself, which is surprising because my lack of coordination leads me to believe that I am the opposite of ambidextrous. I fixed my hair and dressed in record time and was out the door less than fifteen minutes after waking.

Driving to work I wanted nothing more than a cup of coffee but I had to choose between that and picking up my dry cleaning. Since my lackadaisical habits regarding laundry had necessitated my leaving the house wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt showing a hand pressing an alarm clocks snooze button underneath the slogan “Keep the Dream Alive” (an unintentionally ironic choice), I decided that I’d better pick up my suits rather than try to explain how my current outfit was acceptable at my business-casual office.

Without getting a speeding ticket, I arrived at the Best Cleaners on NW Expressway and ran inside holding out my ticket and credit card and leaving the keys in the car. The woman behind the counter seemed to be moving in slow motion as she gathered my few articles and swiped my card. Outside, I located my car, a tan 2001 Toyota Camry (being such a rare car it’s always easy to spot in a parking lot). I got in and started to dress in my unofficial uniform which serves to tell the world that I have a boring office job, I might as well wear a cubicle, at least I can decorate that.

Then a funny thing happened, on the way there I was listening to my Rosetta Stone language learning cd (I’m trying to learn Polish before I go on vacation in February) but, when I started the car the radio was set to 104.1, now nothing against soft rock, but that station will never be one of my presets.

Ignoring the washed up crooner singing his own, overly stylized version of a classic Christmas carol, I raced to work to find an empty parking lot. Getting out of the car and looking around I had a terrible thought; “No!” I exclaimed into my vacant head; “I can’t be that stupid!”. I fished in my pocket for my iPhone, looked at the screen, and sure enough, Sunday, my day off.

Smiling and shaking my head at my own stupidity I consoled myself by thinking that at least I was up in time to get Macdonald’s for breakfast, nothing soothes away a stupid mistake quite like a sausage McGriddle. I get back in the car and immediately heard a noise that I couldn’t quite place but I knew I’d heard it before. Instinctively, I turned my head toward the noise in the back seat to find a baby(!) in a car seat(!). Investigating further there was a lot of stuff back there that I didn’t recognize. It was the same story in the glove box (minus the baby, it wouldn’t have fit in the glove box). I checked the licence plate and discovered that this wasn’t my car, oops. I must’ve taken the wrong one form the dry cleaners. What are the chances of someone else having a tan Toyota Camry? Right?

The solution seemed clear, I’d just go back to the dry cleaners where I’d find a very worried mom and explain what happened. The problem was, that when I got there, there was no worried mom to be found. And my car was gone.

If you drive a tan Camry and are missing a baby please send me a message so we can trade back. I can’t even take care of a goldfish (still a tender memory) so I think the baby would be better off with its mother, plus, I’m falling behind on my Polish.

P.S. I looked though your car in a vain attempt to find your identity and I found half a bag of Mint Milano cookies. Those are my favorite so I ate them, but I replaced them with some Girl Scout Thin Mints that I had in my freezer, I hope that’s okay.

P.P.S. I know that losing track of your child must be stressful and upsetting; therefore, I’d like to tell you a joke to lighten your mood.

A woman got on a bus holding a baby. The bus driver looked at the child and blurted out, “That’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen!”
Infuriated, the woman slammed her fare into the fare box and took an aisle seat near the rear of the bus.
The man seated next to her sensed that she was agitated and asked her what was wrong.
“The bus driver insulted me,” she fumed.
The man sympathized and said …
“Why, he shouldn’t say things to insult passengers. He could be fired for that.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I think I’ll go back up there and give him a piece of my mind!”
“That’s a good idea,” the man said. “Here, let me hold your monkey.”

• Location: OKC
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

The best week ever!

A good friend of mine came up with the idea that she would see how many dates she could accrue in the span of one week. This would serve as a test to see how desirable she is and a measure of her general awesomeness.

As everyone knows, I’m a very caring and generous soul who will jump at the chance to help a friend (plus, this might give me an opportunity to ridicule her later). I racked my brain, trying to concoct a plan which would yield both the highest number of dates for her, and the most fun for me. After stewing on the subject for at least forty-five seconds, I had the perfect plan, I’d write her a craigslist ad. I know this is a strange and unprecedented move for me, but like I said, anything for a friend.

[Insert clever and intriguing title] – 24 (Oklahoma City)

People always speak of the importance of having goals in life. I’ve decided to take that advice to heart. My mission is to see how many dates I can have in the span of one week. To be clear, I’m not looking to find a relationship, or to fill some hole in my heart, what I’m looking to do is have a lot of fun and switch up my routine a little.

Now I know that this proposal sends up more than a few warning flags in your head. You must be saying to yourself; “why would she want to do that?” I’ll tell you why, because I can. For all the talk of equality between the genders you can’t deny that sometimes one gender is just better at something, i.e. women are better at color coordination (exception: gay men), and women don’t have to work very hard at finding a date. I’m almost surprised that there aren’t ads like this all the time. I mean, admit it men, if you had this kind of power, you’d be all over this idea, it would be like a dream come true for you.

Now I’ll shamelessly self-promote: I’m a charming, fun, good-looking young woman with an effervescent personality, great social skills, a more than adequate sense of humor, and a sharp mind. You’ll actually be able to have an intelligent conversation with me (!), when’s the last time you did that on a first date?

Things you should know about me: If I laugh and you didn’t say anything funny; that means I’m nervous. If you disrespect me, I’ll lose respect for you. I’m not the best driver, but somehow my car remains undamaged.

What I’d like from you: Please be between the ages of 24 and 40. I’d like to enjoy myself so please be a fun guy. I tend to be attracted to creative people. And, for the sake of my self-respect, please be good-looking and well-groomed.

I’m looking to begin the selection process today, so if this seems interesting, send me a message with a pic and tell me a little about yourself. If you seem like the kind of guy I’m looking for I’ll get back to you in kind, with a pic and a number. I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon

P.S. Due to the serious nature of this ad and my affection for symmetry, I feel it’s necessary to end with a joke, just to even things out.

Deep within a forest a little turtle began to climb a tree. After hours of effort he reached the top, jumped into the air waving his front legs and crashed to the ground. After recovering, he slowly climbed the tree again, jumped, and fell to the ground. The turtle tried again and again while a couple of birds sitting on a branch watched his sad efforts. Finally, the female bird turned to her mate.

“Dear,” she chirped, “I think it’s time to tell him he’s adopted.”

• Location: Oklahoma City
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

I love oral… (A eulogy) – m4m – 23 (Oklahoma City!)

Oral Roberts that is.

Oral, I don’t know very much about you, but the little that I’ve learned since your passing leads me to believe that you sir, were awesome. I know that some of you who are reading this are probably thinking: “Why?”. Well, I’ll tell you.

First there’s his job as a Televangelist and faith-healer. Now, I know what you’re thinking, you’re saying to yourself; “that’s been done before, that’s nothing special”. In any other case you’d be right, but not only was he a pioneer in televangelism but took it one step further by offering to broadcast his god-given, faith-healing powers over the airwaves and into your t.v. as long as you’d call in, with your credit card handy, to make a donation he called “seed faith” cost: twenty dollars. Then he’d place his “healing hand” on the camera lens while you placed your hand on the t.v. and suddenly your cancer or hemorrhoids or AIDS or whatever would be cured. It wouldn’t really, that’s kinda’ the beauty of the whole thing. I mean, nobody in their right mind actually believes that they’ll be healed if they just pray really, really hard. Knowing that, Oral must have realized that he could just stand in front of the camera and let the suckers phone in, this demonstration of bold and clever marketing was good for $110 million a year in “donations”. What did he do with all the money, he built Oral Roberts University, noteworthy for it’s over abundance of fashionably dressed, made-up, attractive young women. The chronically fat risked expulsion. So, just to recap; he got rich by convincing people that he would make them all better if they’d use their credit card to buy some faith, then he built a school and populated it with a practically hand-picked harem. I’m really liking this dude.

Second, and most importantly, we have his name; Oral Roberts. Now this was quite fitting since the man talked for a living, but it’s hard to overlook the irony of a man of god being named for a fun and satisfying sex act. His name made him a walking double entendre, a Freudian slip just waiting to happen. Dont believe me? I’ll give you an example; I love Oral, that phrase, spoken to a prostitute, is clear in its meaning, but if Oral’s own wife uttered those words, you’d have to wonder if she was being sweet or flirting with her husband or just explaining her favorite part of foreplay. If a regular person were blessed with such a name as “Oral”, it would still be funny, but not as funny as when it’s the leader of a church who has spoken out against putting ones sexual organs in a place that god did not intend for you to put them (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61_rPgitFmc). The only way it could be better is if his last name were Johnson and his middle name was My.

The awesomeness of his name makes me a little envious (a sin, I know). It’s got me thinking that I should change my name to something like: Mike Rotch, Ben Dover, Mike Hunt, Al Coholic, Heywood Jablome, or Dick Wiener.

P.S. Hey Oral, since you’ve already made your ascent to the pearly gates to be judged by St. Peter, Here’s a joke you should appreciate:

Three young women in their thirties are on a road trip and are tearing down the freeway. unfortunately, they lose control, the car flips over the guard rail on to the opposite lanes and gets smashed by an eighteen wheeler.
Up at the pearly gates, all three of them are greeted by St. Peter. He tells them. “All of you led very good lives down on earth, so all of you will be admitted into paradise. The only rule: “DON’T STEP ON THE DUCKS.”
Confused, they all ask “Um … what?”
St. Peter says “If you step on one duck, it quacks. If a duck quacks, other ducks will start quacking, and … well … you’ll see.”
With that, the gates opened and the three waltzed inside. And, sure enough, All of heaven is covered with ducks. there is almost no room to walk with the millions of ducks.
A day of careful stepping later, the first woman steps on a duck. Seconds later, every single duck in heaven is quacking. It’s so loud the women aren’t surprised if earth could hear it. Hours later, when the quacking ceased, an angel appears with a very ugly man and chains him to the lady and tells her this is her eternal punishment for the duck-stepping.
Not wanting the same fate, the other two women become very cautious for the next week, but sure enough, the second lady steps on a duck.
She gets the same punishment as the first lady.
The third lady becomes so careful that, a year-and-a-half later, she is still duck-free. Then, an angel appears next to her with a very handsome man and chains him to her.
Thinking that this must be a reward for her good-doing she asks the man gleefully “What did I do to deserve this?”
And the man replies with a grimace, “I don’t know about you, but I stepped on a duck.”

• Location: Oklahoma City!
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Say it. Out Loud. – m4w – 23

The scene: A dimly lit bar

You came as if you were riding on a wave of blustery winter wind yet you seemed warm. You had someone with you, a man. Your impossibly pale face and sharply contrasting dusky, red hair caught my eye the moment I saw you approaching. It was almost as if my eyes were a compass and you were their magnetic north. As you entered the hip, trendy bar which I was helping to populate on Monday night and took a seat at a table across from your apparent beau, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, you were so uniquely… you.

I’m not sure what it was about you, but you had a certain “je ne sais quois”. Could it have been your vampiric pallor? Your possibly blood stained hair? Have I gotten too far into this Twilight thing?

Regarding the man you were with, your prey for the night? Did you bleed him dry, or do you only take what you need so that you can come back again, sort of like the vampire version of sustainable agriculture? Do you really sleep in a coffin, or do you not sleep at all?

I know that a beautiful vampiress probably has better things to do then read these ads, but on the off-chance that you regularly peruse craigslist while the daylight traps you in your crypt (or apartment, what do I know?), please send me a message. If you’ll change me into a powerful, immortal, nocturnal, blood-addicted being such as you, then we could act out our vampire fantasies which will be so awesome that they couldn’t even be thought of if you asked a focus group which included Stephanie Meyer and Anne Rice.

P.S. I’ve started carrying various flavored body sprays in my pocket when I go out at night so that if you decide to make me like you, you’ll have the option to flavor my neck any way you should like.

P.P.S. I know that vampires aren’t traditionally known for their sense of humor, but here’s a joke I think you might enjoy:

Three vampires went into a bar and sat down.
The barmaid came over to take their orders. “And what would you, er,
gentlemen like tonight?”
The first vampire said, “I’ll have a mug of blood.”

The second vampire said, “I’ll have a mug of blood.”

The third vampire shook his head at his companions and said, “I will
have a glass of plasma.”
The barmaid wrote down each order, went to the bar and called to the
bartender, “Two bloods and a blood light.”

• Location: OKC
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests