Happy VD Everybody. Here’s a gift from my mental illness to you.

This was supposed to go up for Valentine’s Day 2010, but I managed to procrastinate enough to where I decided I might as well wait until Valentine’s Day 2011.  (Yes, I realize that it is now Valentine’s Day 2013 — sorry you had to wait this long for so little payoff.)  I apologize, but I assure you, we’re open.  I’ve been working on some behind-the-scenes stuff to improve this site (stay tuned for some big changes) (that happened in 2011, no less), so I’m really excited to make this stuff happen.  So here’s a deluxe post that I started on the 15th of February, 2010…

In honor of one of the stupidest Hallmark Holidays (and I actually took a trip in 2011 to Punxsutawney, PA to see a groundhog see his shadow while surrounded by men in top hats, so I’m not unfamiliar with random-ass holidays), I am going to post a letter I sent to a woman I actually went on a date with before never hearing from her again.  Let me recount for you, in as close to a detailed recollection as I can muster, since I have never in my life gotten so drunk on a date.  It was kind of epic for that reason.

So this happened:

I got messaged by this young lady who was physically up my alley (Irish, redhead, green eyes), drinks like she’s breathing, sarcastic in the same way I am.  Naturally, we hit it off after a couple of toe-in-the-water messages became 4 hour instant messaging chats that seemed to end like those barf-inducing phone calls where it devolves into both people taking turns saying:  “No, you hang up.”  Come to think of it, there may have been a couple of those phone calls as well.  The biggest disappointment for me was that she had been in New York City for half of her life, so she sounded more like a New Yorker than a girl from Ireland.

So, finally, after about two weeks of this intensifying behavior, we were to meet up for dinner.  We decide to make the magic happen at a byob Indian restaurant in Murray Hill.  She was running a tad late while visiting her 96 year-old grandma in the hospital.  Said grandma is apparently Evan Dando’s landlord.  I should have asked my friend who is Evan Dando’s cousin if this was true.  Naturally, I get a drink at the closest bar while waiting for her.

She shows up with a bottle of wine and a big bottle of Le Fin Du Monde.  So, two hours later, we’ve polished off all of the booze and eaten some of the food, and we decide to walk down to St. Mark’s Place, because The Continental has that 5 shots of anything for $10 special.  Because right before the holidays (this was around Thanksgiving of 2008, and we even managed to have some winter weather), this kind of thing seems like a good idea.  So we get our five shots (each), and proceed to down them like it was a race, just so we could get the hell out of douche central station (ever since they stopped having live music and started catering to bro-dudes, that place went to hell, and it was a pretty sketchy dive to start with).  We then decided to hit up yet another bar on St. Mark’s Place.  I ordered us each a beer and a shot, and this is when the night got weird!

So, I remember we were still having great conversation, when she mentioned that Revolver was her favorite Beatles record.  And I remember telling her “mine too,” which has been true for many years, but I can’t remember if I mentioned the US version of Rubber Soul in the same breath, which is what I always say when asked about my favorite Beatles albums (if you don’t know the difference, look it up…when I was a kid before CDs, you could only get the US versions unless you knew what imports were, and at 5, I did not.  The CDs that eventually came out were all the original UK tracklistings (except Magical Mystery Tour), and a lot of people who grew up with the US versions freaked out).  Aside from that, I remember that I started to get super aggressive (for me) and suggested that she should kiss me, etc.  She was taken aback a bit, I’m guessing, because she suggested that I was being a little obnoxious or whatever, but I said that this approach worked for a good friend of mine, so I was going to try it out.  And she did kiss me, so there’s that.  What happened next, I’m still not completely sure of…

We get to the Astor Place subway stop and go underground.  She sprints through the turnstile and is on the other side of the fence, while I’m panicking because I can’t find my Metrocard.  I usually keep it in my front pants pocket, but it wasn’t there so I was freaking out.  Meanwhile, Mary starts saying things like “So, I’m sorry our date had to end like this.” And I was so confused, I just said “End like what?” Which she followed with “I suppose you hate me now.” And I’m standing there, more perplexed than I’ve ever been, yelling “End like what?  End like what?”  And suddenly, she was gone into the tunnel, and I was scratching my head like I was a monkey and it was my junk.  In a state of freakout, I texted her “Really?  My Metrocard?”  Because I couldn’t think of any other scenario that she would say those things unless she took it and then ran onto the subway to avoid discovery.

So I bought a single ride card, got on the L train to head back to Brooklyn in utter confusion and despair, stuck my hand in my jacket pocket, and wouldn’t you know it, my Metrocard was in my jacket pocket all along.  I must have moved it walking down the stairs but was too drunk to remember.  The next day, I was eating sushi with a friend and telling her all of these details, and she asked if I had attempted contact since then.  I said I hadn’t, but I should do that now…So I text her “Hey Mary, hope you got home safe, I’m a little fuzzy on how our date ended last night.”  SHe didn’t text me back.  I waited until Monday, and called her from work on my lunch break.  Left her a message.  She IM’ed me a little later, saying she saw that I called, but was at the hospital with her grandma, so she didn’t listen to the messages.  Nothing was really uncovered, and this was the last I heard from her until…one day, I get this email from OK Cupid which made me laugh hysterically….

4 or 5-Star Match!
Match Message from MaryMajella
18% Enemy 78% Friend 79% 
Sep. 11, 2009 – 4:50am 


Time to organize a date!

You and MaryMajella rated each other 4 or 5 stars. Congrats on the match. Reply to this message directly to contact MaryMajella.

We let you both know as a courtesy. You can turn this off if you’d like, on your settings page.


So, naturally, I had to say something.  Maybe I should have said something better than this:

sent to MaryMajella
Sep. 11, 2009 – 4:53am

ha ha ha. this is great. we both rated each other highly, AFTER drunkest date of my life ever.

hope you are well…

(match robot thingy says): I think you both like mazzy star, sushi, spoon, cake, and teenage fanclub.

Needless to say, we never did organize another date.

I think I’d like to try and make you almost pee*

So, I was getting ready to post this letter, when I realized a dreadful typo.  The downside to writing messages drunk is that there is rarely a thorough proofreading (and I make it my duty to publish these letters complete with all typos, in the interest of truthiness) involved before sending.  This can backfire, as I think it did in this particular case.  The opening line was supposed to be what you see as the title above.  What I actually sent, however, was missing two important letters in the middle of a word, and the fact that I only now discovered this a year later is particularly embarrassing.  I think that it now means something completely different and might explain why I didn’t pass the audition, so to speak.  The egg on my virtual face is a total benedict, replete with a thick, creamy hollandaise.

And just in case you, the internet traveller, were wondering why I would start off with such a bold statement in the first place, I will present you with the part of her profile I was responding to, from the heart of the “You Should Message Me If:” section, which clearly states:

You have a great sense of humor (and if you possess the ability to make me laugh so hard that I almost pee, you’re golden; if I actually pee however, it could make for an awkward first date so please proceed with wit and caution).

I therefore thought that such a ballsy statement of intent would be not only refreshingly delightful and whimsical, but met with an enchanted smile and perhaps with a beverage shot out from her nose onto the computer screen.  Of course, that was all before the shocking discovery of the typo.  I was all prepared to present this letter, touting it as perhaps the best one I’d ever written to a woman on OK Cupid, and bemoaning the fact that she claims on her profile to be oh so funny and charming, yet she can’t reply to a message from a guy who not only sent this message, but whom I rated five stars AND favorited.  So, as a result, there have been many times I would log in and see that she was logged in, and yet, we’ve never interacted, beyond this one (technically two, as there was a postscript message sent a little later) message I sent, missing two letters, and perhaps that made all the difference.

I wonder what would happen if I were to send another message, explaining the typo, and adding something about how I once thought I had found the one when I made her shoot beer out of her nose via an instant message, but it was sadly not so, and perhaps I had taken my grandmother’s story about meeting my grandfather too literally.  Even though this blog is always open to comments, I’d like your opinions as to whether I should indeed write her once more, noting the awful typo.

Sent to missmeta
Jan 2, 2012 – 12:22am
9% Enemy  85% Friend  92% Match

I think I’d like to try and me you almost pee  (That would be the subject line if they still had a space for a subject line. I really preferred having the option of thinking up a supposedly witty subject line only to epically fail.)

And now, on to the body of the message:

Greetings and salutations! I’m Jake and I thought you should know that I really enjoyed reading your profile (I had enjoyed reading it before, but I think it was around the time I was leaving for Austin, Texas, where I thought I was moving), and I think it’s great that you’ve finally discovered grilled cheese. I, too, mention grilled cheese in my profile.

Also, I myself just finished reading Talking to Girls About Duran Duran. I would have read it sooner, but I was afraid it would be as sad as Love Is A Mixtape, which I read in September, and upon finishing, decided I needed to read something lighter, such as a Johnny Cash biography. When I finished that, I REALLY needed a pick-me-up, so I read The Bedwetter by Sarah Silverman, which was hilarious, although it disturbed me that my brain thinks similar things to hers, yet I have too much anxiety about performing.

I don’t know of Ruth Reich, but my great-grandmother’s name was Rae Reich. Feel free to insert your own non-sequitur in a follow-up message.

Anyhow, I hope your New Year’s was fun, but not too much fun, since you haven’t met me yet. Hopefully this message piques enough of your interest so one day I can meet your tiara.

— End of electronic message —

Jan 2, 2012 – 12:24am

PS I am almost disappointed that you are not a floating head. Almost.

*this was the intended subject, so therefore I am using it as the blog title.  In real life, however, I fucked up and made a typo.  You may have noticed that since I mentioned it a lot.

sausage fest in cougartown

So, lately I’ve been working on getting back into writing poetry and prose again, and maybe stepping away from these kinds of posts.  We’ll see if I can get them to co-exist in my brain.  It’s just that I’m getting more and more intent on trying to finish the book I’ve been writing for like ten years, and sometimes I feel like I’ve been purposefully procrastinating.  This is part of that procrastination, but maybe it’s a necessary outlet?  I don’t know.  What I do know, is that it’s nice to finally start going out and reading my stuff in front of people again.  I’m getting pretty good reactions and meeting new people (you know, networking) who are part of the poetry community and learning that there are all these real contests and places to submit works that I hadn’t known about previously.  And there are cash prizes, as well as speaking engagements.  So, I’ve been setting about working up to reading some polished pieces that I can hopefully start getting better at, and then when I feel comfortable enough, I can perhaps start reading in the city again.  For now, I’m content to read on this particular sandbar until I get my confidence back completely.

In the meantime, I’m going to delve into this week’s installment with a fairly recent post.  From this past summer, and it’s safe to say that now that this lady doesn’t have an account (or at least not THIS account), I won’t get a reply a year from now.  In fact, there is very little I can say about this particular message, because, frankly, this is the kind of message that makes women delete their accounts.  I admit my guilt in this most public of platforms.  It was summer, I was drunk and lonely.  At least I wasn’t caught naked with a bowl of Jello.    But I digress (as I usually do).  I’m just going to get on with it and present you with a crude message I sent from my phone.  Pretty self-explanatory.  And for those of you who have self-respect, I apologize.  And re-reading it, I admit it doesn’t really make any sense, either.  Oh well.

Sent to PaperTiger75
Aug 18, 2012 – 12:03am
Sorry, PaperTiger75 no longer has an account.

This is a horrible first impression to make, but I’m at last call in setauket for a friend’s birthday dealy and it’s like a sausage fest in cougartown and I browsed the locals on okc and you looked like someone I wished was here.


Sent from the OkCupid app

just dropping a line

Dear readers,

Is it too nitpicky to decide someone isn’t worth your time when they claim ee cummings is a favorite author, but they write “EE Cummings?”  Or does it balance out when they also say they have kids?  Shouldn’t one expect a certain calibre of self-awareness and attention to detail?  If I say that Kurt Vonnegut is one of my favorite authors, wouldn’t I be remiss if I spelled his name wrong?  Or if I somehow intimated that I was unaware that Kilgore Trout was his alter-ego he dreamed up when he was feeling all self-deprecating and that he was just a hack writer in the science-fiction ghetto?  Or like saying my favorite band is The Descendants (if you don’t know why that’s wrong (because it’s spelled correctly), you need a musical education…just like if you think your favorite band is Train – because that means you hate music) or Motley Crew (that one makes me giggle for multiple reasons).

Okay, so we’ve established that I’m a bit of a curmudgeon.  I claim to be a hopeless romantic, yet I tend to look for excuses to push people away or keep them at a distance if they express interest.  Of course, I have no problem laying it on the line when I feel like I have no shot whatsoever, or that my intended feels no attraction to me whatsoever.  I’ve been instructed by my horoscope to not talk about my whatever it is that is happening, so I won’t, because I tend to talk about things too soon and ruin them.  So I’m not gonna do that.  I will, however, also mention that two completely different horoscopes mentioned that this week I’m like a super-stud or something and their may be heavy flirtations and extra-curricular activities and whatnot.  Now, I’m not saying one way or the other, but I did comment on the Facebook horoscope that said that with a “ha ha ha” because I find it ridiculous.  Mostly because I find ME ridiculous.  I DO think that I am handsome and funny and often don’t understand why I’m single, aside from the fact that I have a big mouth, a bad attitude and a tendency to become an asshole if someone gets too close to discovering my heart.  For more on that, I refer you to the story about that time I did something stupid again.

I’m sorry that it’s been over a month and a half since the previous entry, but I’ve been blocked.  I haven’t been writing.  At all.  A real writer is supposed to write at least a little bit every day to keep the mind active and the language flowing through the bloodstream.  I have been neglecting this calling.  I’ve been watching too much television and leaving the house when I’m not at work (I work nights again), because I feel cooped up if I stay in.  Although, now that winter is here, I am trying to lock myself in my room (hard to do without a lock on either side of said door) and get used to writing in it.  I actually did manage to get the big green chair up to my room and it is at the desk.  However, my desk is covered in CDs.  MANY CDs.  Oops.  Am I a borderline hoarder?  Depends on where you draw the line.  Also, the internet.  The reason why typewriters and word-processors are better for writing is lack of internet.  I am so easily distracted that I need 4 hours to do a half-hour of writing due to all the distractions I am not only susceptible to, but seemingly seeking out.  None of this has anything to do with the exchange below.  Aside from the fact that I tend to spend a lot of time trying to psyche myself up to write to a stranger, who by most counts will not reply back.  So I either try harder or not at all in a knee-jerk attempt to fix the problem, but if the problem is me, that won’t work.  And, conversely, if the problem is the woman at the receiving end, I can’t fix that, either.  The ol’ “fucked if you do, fucked if you don’t” scenario, the veritable Schroedinger’s Cat of human attraction/interaction.

So, for better or worse, I will keep myself up past 4 in the morning to write this drivel, so much ado about nothing.  In what is either a desperate bid to make connections, or a self-aggrandizing bid for internet immortality/infamy that will magically fix my psychic wounds with approval from friends and/or strangers.  Maybe it’s best if I don’t self-psychoanalyze about it.  Be more funny!  Damn blog, be more funny! Oh well, tonight, this is what you get.  This is all you’ll ever get.  I do promise that the next entry will be a return to the pure format of a letter that never got a response.  I just think it’s good to stray sometimes.  Also, I worry that I will eventually run out of material, since I NEVER expressly write a letter so it won’t get a response.  That would be dishonest.  Any letter I write has to be genuine and in the moment.  And there are gaps, either because of times I was seeing someone and inactive on the site, or because I felt so bad about myself and my situation that I wouldn’t dream of reaching out to anyone for any reason.

At least this girl messaged me back.  Sadly, we were living so far from each other in terms of navigating the subway and other forms of public transport that it was doomed to failure before anything started.  I thought it was cool that I referenced her journal post (now lost forever to the midsts of time since she no longer has an account) as an icebreaker.  Sometimes I do show a glimmer of hope when it least matters.  Although, she never said that my original message wasn’t “whatnot” – which may be an admission it was weird and/or uncomfortable, even if brief.

just dropping a line
Sent to thesinginsort
Nov 20, 2008 – 8:43pm
Sorry, thesinginsort no longer has an account.

Hi there!

How goes it? I saw your journal entry and thought you made a good point. I still haven’t written one on this site, mostly because I have to forgive others’ trespasses or else be a hypocrite, as one of the topics I would post about being “If someone sends you a message, how hard is it to respond, as long as the guy/girl doesn’t seem like a creep?” But I’ve been guilty of not responding, or of never contacting someone again after meeting them in person. Then again, if there was a spark there, I would think that the other person might make another effort. So yeah, so I haven’t written a journal entry yet.

Anyways, after reading that, I checked out your profile and you seem pretty cool. I live in brooklyn and am always looking for someone to hang out (or hang in) with. Nothing serious, except for the fun. But yeah, I kind of feel the same way about marriage as you stated in your private thing box. My closest uncle is gay and if he can’t get married, then I don’t want to. Not that I’ve been threatened with marriage or anything, but that’s how I see it…
I hope that wasn’t too long and whatnot. Stopping now.

take care,


Sent from thesinginsort
(date lost)

Hi J,

Thanks for the message. I have thus far avoided the journaling on here for that very reason, but I will contain myself from making such entries. (BTW, if there was a spark there, the girl is probably waiting for you to call – just FYI – it’s girl fact.)

It was not too long, your message, no worries. I live all the way up in W. Harlem, so I don’t frequent Brooklyn, though I do have both friends and family there.

Hope your day is great!



RE:just dropping a line
Sent to thesinginsort
Nov 23, 2008 – 3:25am

You know, I still haven’t even been that far north in Manhattan yet! Tonight I went to see Robyn Hitchcock at Symphony Space on 96th & Broadway, which is now the furthest uptown I have ever been (and in my 35 years, I’ve spent all but ten years in and around NYC)…and I can see why you wouldn’t get to BK often. It takes forever by subway.

I work in Times Square, so I’m in Manhattan all the time if you feel like getting a drink or something sometime. We can talk about Real Genius.

Hope you’re having a fun weekend!


mystery match? What is this?

Hey there, fellow travelers!  It’s 4:30am on a Tuesday morning, and I’m still awake after my closing shift at work.  I should be fully wound down by now, but the brain, it doesn’t work the way you want it to (paraphrasing the song I’ve been obsessed with for a couple days now, “Maps” by The Front Bottoms – thank you, Insound, for those digital mixtapes that help me pretend to still have my pulse on what the kids are hip to these days, now that I’m like old enough to be their dad, so I can play this stuff on my radio show).  And now that I’ve written an introductory paragraph that has nothing to do with the post it is prefacing, let’s get to it, shall we?

So, one downside to posting these OK Cupid correspondences, is that the website itself is fluid, and the content is ever-changing, and ultimately, membership is not static.  Unlike the millions of abandoned Myspace profiles cluttering up the service roads on the information superhighway, many OKC profiles get deleted or are de-activated once a member either finds happiness (however briefly, the cynic in me wants to iterate) or gets creeped out by the amount of inappropriate come-ons sallied forth by shirtless men in boxers with barely enough writing skill to finish a sentence without abbreviating the word “you,” and decides it is time to try and meet people the old-fashioned way — by getting liquored up and going home with the first guy at the bar who treats her like her daddy would (I make no judgments, I just observe and report).  Of course, there are those of you who would argue that they deleted their profiles because I sent them a message.  But is it really arguing if the other person kind of agrees to the possibility of the other party being correct?  Nevertheless, some of these women I’ve made attempts to commune with have erased all traces of their OK Cupid lives from cyberspace, leading to nothing but broken links and depriving us of a “Broken Flowers” denouement (not that I could act well enough about my own life to compare to Sir Bill Murray in that fine film (I know he isn’t British, but he should be knighted anyway).  Sadly, the exchange that follows (and it actually was an exchange, not even initiated by me, as hard as that is to believe) falls into that category.

So, as 5am wheels around and I have listened to a CD of b-sides and rarities by the Cowboy Junkies, followed up with a collection of songs by the Walker Brothers of dubious legitimacy on a European label, I give you a glimpse into the fun that was had once upon a time, when mystery match was still a feature of OK Cupid, which still had subject lines for messages, and our nation still had an innocence about us that has since been shed like  last year’s bathing suit fashions (even I have no clue what I mean by that).  To try and make it easier to follow, I’ve indented my replies to she who no longer has an account.

Message from Joilene
Mar 28, 2010 – 5:49pm
Sorry, Joilene no longer has an account.

mystery match? What is this?

Sent to Joilene
Mar 28, 2010 – 6:00pm

apparently it’s some crazy game ok cupid likes to play. it takes random words from a profile and says “message person x because he likes something you mentioned in your profile.” the funny thing is someone wrote me because it told her I liked ice skating, when in actuality, my profile mentions that i’m afraid to ice skate because I know that I will fall, and I’m scared that someone will skate over my hands and I’ll have to have a hook for a hand.


Message from Joilene
Mar 28, 2010 – 11:37pm

aaaw that’s funny!

Message from Joilene
Mar 28, 2010 – 11:57pm

P.S. You’re adorable, even though you wrote a flippin’ novel for your profile.

U’m yeah, that’s snarky, right?


Sent to Joilene
Mar 29, 2010 – 1:36am

that might be the best reply I’ve ever seen. snarky and accurate. ha ha.

thanks! I keep going through my profile to edit it and then I give up. I know that I tend to zone out when I see profiles that long, and yet there’s mine. If I spent as much time writing my book as I did writing all that malarkey, my book would be published by now.

your eyes really are striking, and if one can see that through low res photos, they must be something in real life.

I love this paragraph, and the Steve Martin paraphrasing. His books are awesome.

“Writing, words, kissing, what makes a good story, time travel, and moments of delusions, amongst valid moments of inspiration…ha!”

I’m constantly sifting through my life to sort out what makes a good story. For better or worse, it’s mostly a good story. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so much…

Oh and I’m Jake, btw. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Dear Ms. Lovetolurk

I have lots of friends who have found that significant otherness – be it a person who loves them infinitely, or just a place where they can feel free to be themselves without too much hassle.  People who have found their bliss.  I’m so jealous.  I’ve been searching, and it’s like that scene in “Spaceballs” where they’re combing the desert and the one guy says “We ain’t found shit!”  I suspect that I’ve been looking outside of myself for these things, and clearly the search needs to be focused inside.  But maybe that is just clap-trap and hooey.  All I know is that some people seem to just find their path right away, and some of us can think we’re on it, have the rug pulled out from underneath, and then spend countless lifetimes trying to recapture that point in time when things actually seemed to be going right.

I’m not trying to absolve myself from blame in all of this.  I’m just trying to work out the whys and wherefores of my soul being crushed and trampled like so much cereal that got dumped on the floor when someone’s dog managed to get the cupboard open.  Trust me, there are several specific moments in the past that I can pinpoint where I made a choice to zig instead of zag, and I wonder “what if…” and then it just makes me wonder if even stooping to ponder theoreticals is worth the energy I should possibly be spending making new choices to improve my situation.  Ouroboros in full butterfly effect mode.  Instant rabbit hole, just add self-doubt of a crippling intensity.  Kind of like the Wonder Twins of grief:  form of bucketful of self-doubt; fill with potions of a depressant nature!  And why do the Wonder Twins have a monkey named Gleek exactly like how the two kids that hang out with Space Ghost have a monkey named Blip?  Substitute the transformative uselessness of vaguely asian twins turning into some kind of water and vessel with which to transport said water for aryan space humans turning invisible.  What if they got drank?  What then?  How is that a super power?  At least being invisible has advantages.

But I digress.  I came across the above paragraphs recently, having originally written them in August, when I was still mired in my previous dead-end job in a warehouse.  Lately, I’ve not been writing much, because I’ve been trying to adjust to my new job and its slightly different schedule and its different effects on my body and mind.  It’s mostly good and I’m happier than I’ve been for a long time.  I no longer dread going to work and I’m actually enjoying working most of the time.  Sure, I miss having my nights free, but mostly it just keeps me out of trouble on some nights, although on other nights, I tend to try to overachieve in my intake of libations to somehow make up for it.  Not the best plan.  I’m working on leveling it off.  Don’t worry too much.

Which brings me to this week’s installment.  I’m going to continue with my shake-up of the timeline, and present you with another “freshie” that was actually sent the same night that I published the last post.  I think that a month is enough time to elapse to declare this a letter never responded to.  This particular letter makes me laugh a lot, and I hope it makes you laugh, too (but with me, and not at me, but I might be okay with you laughing at me, because I know I am a silly man).  I think I should point out at this time, that sometimes I DO get responses, and in fact, I recently did meet up with someone from OK Cupid for a lunch date. And I should be meeting up with someone else from OK Cupid for sushi soon, if the hurricane doesn’t destroy us all.  I merely share these letters with you, dear loyal readers, because I am an attention whore, and I require validation for my self-perceived wit on a constant basis, because I am still insecure about it, even though I believe myself to be a talented writer, and my writing friends actually talk positively about my writing to each other without me knowing about it.  But mostly, I just like to laugh at myself.  Here’s another opportunity to join me as I laugh at myself.  I’m proud of this one.

Dear Ms. Lovetolurk
Sent to lovetolurk
Sep 24, 2012 – 3:21am
7% Enemy  82% Friend  78% Match

Dear Ms. Lovetolurk,

I’m not sure at the present time if I actually believe that you are a real woman who exists, and not just some Kelly LeBrock in “Weird Science” experiment, put together by two horny teenage nerds. Or at the very least, something akin to those fake profiles from Russia that have sent me messages. I mean, there’s the Snark Factor (set to warp snark), the air of mystery, and the promise of being such a party monster that someone would obviously have to die. Definitely seems to good to be true. Back when Myspace was in its infancy, my brother was fooled into developing feelings for a girl from the midwest who wasn’t really real. I mean, she herself was a real person, but not the person she represented herself as being. She had stolen the photos from a girl she didn’t even know from California.

Sadly, I am missing one of your valued qualities – ie, happy feet. My feet are grouchy. Although last week, when pre-gaming for my birthday, somehow I had so much to drink that I did actually start dancing for no reason. But the week before, on my radio show, I even went on a rant about dance music, and how it and I have never really had a good relationship. I think it has something to do with a complete lack of rhythm on my mom’s side. Hell, even my gay uncle can’t dance!

Well, moving right along because I clearly haven’t done enough to get you to click the delete button yet, I am going to sign off now so that I can try and post to my blog before going to sleep. I am so 2002. Goodnight, and good luck in your bid for total OKCupid dominance.

Sincerely yours,
J (not a robut)

Hey there! (well, that will have to do, since there are no longer subject lines)

Dear loyal readers (and perhaps a few of you random internet lurkers who managed to click on my page by accident),

It is my goal to reward you all (or at least the 90 of you who bothered to tune in this week to my first post in two months, no big deal, really.  I don’t mind if you forget me…) for your patience with a second post in one week.  Also, this one is a freshie!  Just in case you all were wondering if I have written anyone since 2011 (the answer is “not as many as in 2008-2009, but I have written some, and many of those did not receive responses).

Apparently, I have started sending messages from my phone whilst drunk (and seemingly only at the Velvet Lounge), using the OKCupid mobile app.  I have set my “broadcast” a couple times, hoping that some random OKC girl nearby will show up at whatever bar I’m at in the 180 minutes that the broadcast is set for.  Needless to say, that hasn’t bore any fruit at this juncture, but it’s fun(ny) to plant those seeds nonetheless.  So I will probably keep doing that until I have a girlfriend, or at least something more than the occasional random drunk makeout that leads to platonic misery (I’m a viking at those – especially at eliciting responses that would send amateurs with thinner skin than mine to the hardware store for rope.  And 2 out of 3 lesbians that I have drunkenly made out with immediately ran to the bathroom to puke after – true story).  So what follows is one of those supremely drunken messages sent by me via phone while out drinking too much.  I actually debated posting this because it’s not even been a whole month since I sent the message, but one glance and you’ll come to the conclusion that I did once I sobered up:  this woman is never going to respond to this letter.  In fact, if she sees me on the street or on the web in other forums, she will look away or click “block” or whatever people do when they want to avoid contact (I once hid in the Classical section of the Tower Records I worked at when a girl form high school walked in the store).  Of course, that’s really too bad, because I totally gave her the best opening to tell me something awesome about herself.  Oh, well.  So now, without further ado, here is a recent letter I sent into the abyss via technology…

Hey there! (well, that will have to do, since there are no longer subject lines)
Sent to tj21-79
Sep 7, 2012 – 3:17am
14% Enemy  86% Friend  87% Match

Hey there!
So, most times I log in when I’m out (usually at the velvet lounge), you pop up. And honestly, you’re a lot cuter than most of what else pops up. I am sure there used to be more in your profile, but I can’t imagine it’s gotten so bad you had to strip your profile of your personality. Tell me one thing awesome about you.

Also, I just heard will arnett and Amy poehler broke up, so I’m feeling vulnerable right now.

Sent from the OkCupid app