Fat topless guy at bar

#1. The Girl From the Bar

I saw you last Saturday at that bar, “The Darkroom,” but when you told that guy your name, I was just out of earshot and missed it. Lauren? Christina? I don’t know. I tried to steal a glance in your purse when you were paying your tab, but I didn’t see anything and next thing I knew, you were gone for the evening. Ugh! I should’ve just introduced myself!

Oh well. The next day, I managed to obtain a printout of the names scanned into the ID reader by posing as law enforcement. Using that, I plugged the female names into a Facebook search, which yielded several hundred results. I scoured thousands of pictures on there, but didn’t see anyone that looked like you.

Is it possible you have an icon as your profile photo? Are you listed as a skateboard, a baby, a cake, a shoe, a silhouette of a lamp, Miles Davis, a pear, or “Theodore” from “Alvin and the Chipmunks?” Let me know.

I went ahead and sent a friend request to everyone listed in the search results so if you got a strange request, no need to worry! It’s just me! Say “yes” so I can get on there and look at your Halloween pictures! Just kidding! I love to do jokes like that – where they sound serious. But let me know if you say “no” so I can think of other options.

I also ran the list of names through MySpace and then I went ahead and did a general White Pages search online. The returns included only the most rudimentary information so last night, I was able to carve my way into a sewage pipe located down the road from the census office. Armed with a few laminated printouts, I infiltrated the grounds by crawling undetected through about a half mile of human waste, Shawshank Redemption style.

From there, it was pretty easy. I hacked into one of the computers and printed coordinates for every name listed in my search efforts. I’ve since marked the coordinates by affixing pushpins to a large map of Los Angeles that I keep in my trunk. In the next few days or so, I’ll be sure to walk around those neighborhoods in hopes of a “chance” encounter.

That is, unless you contact me on here first. I had on black jeans, a forgettable shirt, borrowed shoes, a hairnet tucked under a baseball cap, a fake mustache and gloves. You had on a long blue dress w/ red underwear. If you’re reading this, give me a shout! Otherwise, sit tight. I will find you.


Photo CC Dion Gillard on Flickr

#2. When You Know, You Just Know

It’s true. “When you know, you just know.” I think it was either Jesus or Bob Vila who said that. Definitely someone with a beard. And definitely a carpenter. In fact, the quote might’ve had to do with something carpentry-related like mortar consistency, but regardless, it works for the ways of love as well. And I think we can both agree that the statement is the perfect way to explain what transpired between us during our Dallas to Los Angeles flight just two days ago.

There was nothing magnificent in the way that it started: I shook you awake to ask if we were at the right gate and you said that we were. (Our first words!) A couple minutes later, I shook you awake again to ask if you were sure that we were at the right gate because sometimes they change that stuff on us. You pretended to be irritated and it was so adorable. Convincing too!

However, it wasn’t until we were standing in line and able to actually have a conversation that I knew something special was going on. It was all so effortless! We were like two old friends who finally reconnected after one friend became lonely and unemployed enough to really dedicate some time to the search. Once we got going, it was hard to stop us. Back and forth and back and forth! I’d tell some really graphic sexual joke and then you’d tell a story about how seriously dead tired you were. Then, I’d say something about how easy it is for a plane to crash and you’d fire back in with another funny little thing about being super tired. I honestly think that was the only time that I really wished for a line to stop moving.

So how wonderful then, when that elderly woman was kind enough to trade seats with me so I could sit next to you?! Even though you insisted, practically begged her not to inconvenience herself, I could see it in her eyes that she could sense the chemistry between us and wasn’t about to take “no” for an answer.

The rest of the flight was a blur of you dozing, me talking, you listening to headphones, and then me lifting those headphones to whisper, “Helloooooooo….” into your ear.

We landed and were both so lovestruck that we completely forgot to exchange information. You’re single, correct? When you were sleeping, I unfolded your hand to see if there was a ring and it didn’t look like it, but I thought I’d ask. Anyways, you know what to do. Email me and let’s give this love story the Hollywood ending it deserves.


#3. Wrong Room

You: The gorgeous receptionist at the sperm bank

Me: The guy who was arrested for masturbating in the lobby

I can explain. When you directed me to the room that I now know is considered the Lobby, I thought you were directing me into the room where I was supposed to make the donation. At my dentist’s office, the lobby is that handful of chairs right in front of the reception area so naturally, I thought the chair where I was doing paperwork was the lobby. I guess it wasn’t? What do you call that then? Maybe just a chair? Hmm.

Thinking back, I did find it a bit odd that a donation room would have a window looking out at the parking lot, but I thought maybe that was there to discourage donors from taking their sweet time with it. Oh well. Live and learn I suppose.

I’d also like to go ahead and explain my choice in magazine. Again, the selection of magazines should have been another sign that something wasn’t right, but what’s done is done. Just know that it wasn’t really my choice to masturbate to a “Highlights” magazine. I mean, if you want to get all technical, then Yes. I had a choice. But choosing between that, a National Geographic, and a placard for Claritin isn’t really a choice. For your info (and please relay this to the arresting officers) I was looking at an advertisement for Sunny Delight, featuring an attractive, young mom in a tennis skirt. Perfectly normal stuff.

Unfortunately, when the security guard tackled me, the magazine fell off my lap and opened to a word search that was displayed on a fat clown’s belly. I could see that you saw that and I wanted to tell you to flip to the advertisement so you could see that I wasn’t some sicko, but I guess when you get hit with a Taser, it numbs your ability to speak. So to clarify: I’m not sexually aroused by word searches or clowns.

Anyways, I just wanted to set the record straight here on the off chance that you check this website. I’m not sure what your status is, but if you are single, maybe we could grab a drink sometime? Let me know. Also, who do I talk to about getting paid for that first batch?

Top photo CC Jason Lengstorf on Flickr

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