Missed Connection:
It was Thursday night. You saw me from across the room at the bar, but alas, I did not yet see you. As I walked to the bathroom you made your move. And WHAT a move you made! I can almost picture you at your desk, staying up nights, pouring over your composition books and coming up with incredible line after incredible line. "What's up, Betty Crocker?" Is the one you honored me with. No doubt you were paying homage to my blue dress with ruffles at the bottom. How naive of me; I honestly had NO idea that she had the same dress! I am forever in your debt for my newfound knowledge. It never ceases to amaze me that despite all the romantic prose and poetry (for how else can I describe your delicate words??) I have been seduced with, I remain single. ...This must be due to my own folly! For what other woman would not fall down at the feet of these Romeos? Foolishly, I said nothing. Though you probably knew from my vacant stare that it was love at first sight. And then, simultaneously affirming my apparent infatuation for you and setting back gender equality 100 years, you asked me if I was going to "cook you biscuits." No, my love. I am not going to cook you biscuits. Your fervent interest in my choice of clothing caused me to notice your own. Your Great Gatsby shirt that was clearly a recent purchase from Urban Outfitters and donned in an attempt to boast your unparalleled "intelligence" to the world screamed out to me: "Scholar!" "Provider!" "Everything you've been waiting for in a man!". You wore it so proudly. So when I commented on it and you told me it was your favorite book and that you "studied it in college," I refrained from telling you that I read and "studied" said Great American Novel in 5th grade. And then in junior high school. Again in high school...and then about 3 more times in college. However, I held my tongue as I want you to be proud of your accomplishments! Isn't that what proper women are supposed to do? I would have said let's talk literature, but I suppose I should leave the learning up to you and get to work on cooking those biscuits. Until we meet again...
Sincerely,
Betty Crocker
formerly, Zooey Deschanel's cousin
Monday, July 7, 2014
Missed Connection 6/11/14
Missed Connection:
It was about 9 pm on a Wednesday night and I was in the middle of hosting trivia at the Costa Mesa Tavern and Bowl. I had ordered some food earlier, but foolishly did not allow myself enough time to finish my food before starting trivia. Distressed and disappointed wholly in myself, but committed to my obligation, I moved my half eaten wedge salad with no bacon to the edge of the table. My plan was to slowly eat this as the night progressed and eventually when trivia ended, finish it. When we meet, I can go into more detail about how I was going to try to save most the tomatoes for the end because those are the best part, etc etc. However, I did not account for you and I must say you caught me off guard. While I was on the microphone you approached me. Your 50-some years of wisdom must have told you this was a good idea - nay; that this was the ONLY idea. "...You gonna finish that?" You asked, making direct eye contact - well, kind of direct. I'm pretty sure there was a lazy eye situation. Your words reeked of whiskey and broken dreams; the kind where you take one look at someone and just go, "I get it, man, and I'm sorry." Your opening line made me momentarily forget everything I have ever known. When I asked you if you were actually asking me if you could eat my half eaten salad, you unapologetically replied yes. I said no. I was too hasty. You weren't though. You lingered at the edge of my table for a full minute, staring lustfully at the salad, hoping for a miracle - or at least for my ice cold heart to melt. It didn't. Also, I was working. Maybe it was simply the rejection, or maybe it was the fact that you noticed there was no bacon on the salad. Either way, you gave up and stumbled away, dejected (or perhaps just extremely drunk at 9pm on a Wednesday). Give me another chance. You can have your own salad, or we can share. I'll even save the bacon on the side for you.
Sincerely,
The chick you don't know whose half eaten salad you really, really wanted.
It was about 9 pm on a Wednesday night and I was in the middle of hosting trivia at the Costa Mesa Tavern and Bowl. I had ordered some food earlier, but foolishly did not allow myself enough time to finish my food before starting trivia. Distressed and disappointed wholly in myself, but committed to my obligation, I moved my half eaten wedge salad with no bacon to the edge of the table. My plan was to slowly eat this as the night progressed and eventually when trivia ended, finish it. When we meet, I can go into more detail about how I was going to try to save most the tomatoes for the end because those are the best part, etc etc. However, I did not account for you and I must say you caught me off guard. While I was on the microphone you approached me. Your 50-some years of wisdom must have told you this was a good idea - nay; that this was the ONLY idea. "...You gonna finish that?" You asked, making direct eye contact - well, kind of direct. I'm pretty sure there was a lazy eye situation. Your words reeked of whiskey and broken dreams; the kind where you take one look at someone and just go, "I get it, man, and I'm sorry." Your opening line made me momentarily forget everything I have ever known. When I asked you if you were actually asking me if you could eat my half eaten salad, you unapologetically replied yes. I said no. I was too hasty. You weren't though. You lingered at the edge of my table for a full minute, staring lustfully at the salad, hoping for a miracle - or at least for my ice cold heart to melt. It didn't. Also, I was working. Maybe it was simply the rejection, or maybe it was the fact that you noticed there was no bacon on the salad. Either way, you gave up and stumbled away, dejected (or perhaps just extremely drunk at 9pm on a Wednesday). Give me another chance. You can have your own salad, or we can share. I'll even save the bacon on the side for you.
Sincerely,
The chick you don't know whose half eaten salad you really, really wanted.
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