WTF?

What the hell is wrong with me? I mean, besides my back, which tolerated some weightlifting this morning. I wasn't comfortable but I wasn't screaming, either, so I'm going to call it a success.

Anyway. I need to get out more. The closest thing I've had to a social life lately is replying to craigslist ads. Wanna feel like a loser? Scan through what's available on your local craigslist personals.

I actually replied to one titled "Cute, Cuddley, and (not so) Innocent (seaking LTR FWB) - 32" that read, in part:

Date: 2007-02-23, 6:24PM EST
32, openly married, sweeet n petite female full of sass and just enough class seaking outgoing, somewhat cocky, yet very charming counterpart for friendship, fun, and excitement... I am 5'3 `107 auburn, and love singing, dancing, fishing, football, theatre, fine dining,clubbing on occasion, and partying in moderation.. I drink, i smoke, I SMOKE!! I recently split up with my steady side ride and have re-entered the married yet dating world.

I included a picture of me swinging a golf club. And Lexi wrote back, "Well hello there Jack... lets start wityh that swing... first off your putter is a lil short..." She went on to recommend that I visit her myspace page, titled apparently very appropriately "sassylilbittch."

I replied:

I dunno. No girl has ever complained about the length of my putter before. They seem to like its shaft -- strong as steel not bendy like fiberglass. And it always gets me to the hole.

I'll check out your myspace when I'm not occupied by this necessary evil called work. I'm gonna guess there's a chance that your site is not work safe. There's a chance that you're not safe, either, but so far that's the attraction.

Her myspace page says she has more than 1300 friends yet she's advertising for an extramarrital lover on craigslist? And her husband is cool with that? What's wrong with him?

I replied to another ad and the girl wrote me back asking how old I was. Twice. I replied (honestly, even) the first time in plainly legible numerals and she couldn't grasp the concept? Anyone with this much attention deficit disorder is not going to last with me. Oh, and when I replied to her ad (with pictures) I asked for pics in return if she wrote me. She didn't. Either time.

I need more hobbies. I have the freelance work I do which keeps me busy in spurts but I need something recreational that puts me in contact with fun, creative, smart and engaging people. My job is no help. I work in an office with five other people and, while I enjoy their company well enough at work, they're not people with whom I share a lot of interests. I like that about them because I get to hear about things I wouldn't normally hear about (like comics and messianic Judaism). But not what I want to surround myself all the time.

I don't think sassylilbittch is, either. Gotta go find what is.

Personals

It's that time again, fans. Time to peruse craigslist for interesting personal ads and reply. It's a good writing exercise and I hope some fun for the women to whom I reply. Perhaps I'll meet one of them someday. The one below I particularly enjoyed reading and responding to.

seeking eclectic, erudite, soul-stirring guy for adventures in life - 41

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Reply to: pers-192620995@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-08-10, 7:38PM EDT


I am: feminine but not fake, cerebral but not stuffy, petite but not bone thin, adventurous but not reckless, open-minded but not psychotic, independent but not aloof, introverted but not shy. I like moonlit road trips to nowhere, meandering in the book store, coffee and sunrises, Coke Slurpees, frayed jeans, lacy lingere, Bonham's bashing drums in When The Levee Breaks, and Bukowski's gritty romantic poetry.

I also like men -- as people, as friends, as a species. I'd like to find a single, laid-back, intelligent, kind-hearted, free-thinking, unafraid, solid guy to stir my soul...to laugh with me...to together create various life-intensifying escapades. And if you happen to look sweetly, hopelessly sexy in faded flannel shirts or overwashed jammie bottoms, well that'd be great, too!

I don't think there's such a thing as a "perfect" man or an "ideal" woman -- rather, it's more about how a man and a woman and all the parts of their respective psyches intertwine in zany beautiful intriguing passionate ways. Do you agree?

I'm not real comfortable posting a picture here (of course I have one), but I sincerely appreciate you guys who will nevertheless trouble yourselves to include a photo with your thoughtful personal response. Thanks for understanding!

I reply:

Call me Ishmael. It's not my name but if it was a good enough opening line for Melville, it should work for me. I don't mean to imply that I'm that literate. People who know me credit me with far more intelligence than I have. I credit myself not enough.

Your ad was terrific. I confess that I have never read any of Bukowski's gritty romantic poetry. Will you settle for Vonnegut's bare bones prose? I'm re-reading his last novel "Timequake." It's his last as in both his most recent and his final one. He said he retired from writing novels after that one and I'll take him at his word. Sure he made his living making up stories but I've never known the man to lie.

I recently unpacked "Timequake" and the rest of my books after moving to a new town, where the county tax collector claims I own a new townhome and where the cat that lives with me claims that she does. The cat is my only dependent and I am hers.

Other than that, I don't have the "I am" list that you offered. I tend to think in terms of what people do rather than what they are. You are what you eat. And what you play and what you think and you create. My new piano arrives next week. I do not read music but I write and play it. One of the attached pictures, if I remembered to attach it, shows me with a video camera. I've made short (5-10 minutes) documentary films on things ranging from a small rural town to a musical group to insects. And I write long letters.

I have no idea what impression, if any, these things make on the people to whom I send them. If I never meet anyone out of them, the exercise my brain gets from creating them makes it worth the effort.

Psycho?

Why is it that as I get older things I crave are never as good as I imagined them when I craved them?

I bought doughnuts this morning. There's a Winn-Dixie right next to my office building. I had skipped breakfast and decided that once I got to the office, I'd run to the WD and pick up some low-fat yogurt to eat with the bagel I still had in the office refrigerator.

I turn on the computer at my desk and check my e-mail. Nothing urgently pressing to work on. I check my personal e-mail. Nothing from "Write2Dawn." I wonder if she liked the picture. I wonder if I've heard the last of her. Oh, well. Time to grab some breakfast. Priorities.

When I walk into the store, I realize I'm closer to the bakery side of the store than the dairy aisle. I usually walk that way because the deli and bakery are in the same area and I often pick up lunch there. That's when it hits me. Doughnuts! I need to get some doughnuts. I love doughnuts. Or at least I used to. Now I seem to like the idea of doughnuts -- the sweetness, the softness, the decadence -- much more than I enjoy actually eating them. Maybe they would taste just as good as I remember if I weren't so concerned about the consequences. So much fat and sugar in one shot after so little exercise in my abbreviated workout this morning. Maybe that's guilt not a greasy gut-bomb sitting in the pit of my stomach after I eat them now.

Even simple pleasures aren't so simple any more.

I sent that to Dawn this morning. Not long after, I check my e-mail again to find two messages. One includes the long awaited picture. She took it holding the camera in front of her with her left hand. No one photographs well from that close up. But the breasts inside the bikini top were enough to distract me from the distorted view of her face.

Then 13 minutes later, according the time stamp on the e-mail she follows up with this:

hey jack,

write back,

OK?

Donuts will not change the fact that you like me and I like you.

That gave me a chill. And not the good kind. But I do write back after I get home from work:

That last line scares me more than a little. It smacks of the kind of obsession detailed in that movie starring Glenn Close, Michael Douglas and a dead rabbit. I have no idea whether I like you. You've told me very little about yourself. Read over the e-mails you've sent me. What are you giving me to go on here? I do appreciate the picture you sent but as far as having any real sense of who either one of us is, all we can safely agree on based on the available evidence is that we both have pretty good racks.

Your assessment that I like you also happens to touch one of my pet peeves. Other pets make my cat jealous so I try not to keep too many of them but this is one: People who think they know what I'm thinking. Trust me, you have no idea. And you'll have to know me very well for a very long time before you can even begin to figure it out.

Remember the rock group Heart? I was driving home from work today when a song of theirs called "Barracuda" came on the radio. Heart is a fantastic group and this is one of the signature songs of their early days. If a panther made noise as it sprinted after it prey, the guitar riff of this song is what it would sound like. As I listened I remembered back to junior high school. Heart wasn't cool at the time and once when a friend who DID like the band asked if I liked it too, I denied it, even to him! I still remember his incredulous look as we stood on the school's front patio where we gathered before the first bell rang. "You don't like Heart? He asked.

"No," I said.

I was a dumbass. Worse than lying to my friend, I was lying to myself. Every time I hear a Heart song now, I remember that incident and my promise to myself that I will never pretend to like things I don't or deny liking things that I do. I'm still a dumbass but I'm a more honest one now. For one thing, it requires a lot less effort to keep my stories straight.

In that spirit, here are some things you need to know about me: The woman I seek is not clingy and desperate; she is strong and independent. She's going to have a full and fulfilling life before I enter the picture. She's going to look forward to seeing my face, hearing my voice and reading my letters but if I don't write, call or see her immediately she's going to be too busy doing other things to worry about it. She's going to be smart and funny and thoughtful and it's going to come through in our conversations and letters. And she's going to like writing because we're going to trade a lot of e-mail before we ever meet. I've never met a date through an Internet want ad and I'm going to make quite sure of what I'm getting into before I do. I look forward to making time for the right person but I have no time to waste on whack jobs, idiots or jerks. (Or some true things of beauty who are combinations of the three.)

While I needed to see your picture, I need to see more of what's inside you. Show me. You're a writer? Show me something you've written. You're funny? Send me something that will make me laugh. Something original. Something YOU. Show me.

Let's see how she handles that. She does have nice breasts, though.