So... last week I was going to work. As I may have mentioned before, often times I will take the subway to Hollywood from my place in NoHo - partly because it's better for the environment, partly because I need the exercise, but mostly because I am cheap and I don't believe in paying $5 for parking, which is irrelevant to this story, so anyway...
So I go through the motions: I board the train, jamming out to my iPod as we travel the 6 miles underground through the hills from the Valley. I arrive at my stop, step onto the platform, and prepare myself for what is most likely going to be another BS day at the J-O-B. And, seeing as it was a Monday, we would be opening an extra 30 minutes later, which meant I could take my sweet-ass time and actually enjoy my morning.
At this point, I think I should mention that I had brilliantly stepped on and successfully broken my sunglasses the night before, so I was traveling without them which, as my fellow Angelenos may know, is potentially dangerous by allowing people (i.e., weirdos) to look you directly into your eyes and use that as leverage in their quest to harass and otherwise annoy the shit out of you because, well... I guess because they don't have anything better to do and it gets them off to see you all weirded-out like that. But I digress...
Anyway, so I get on the elevator, and begin my journey to the surface, and I didn't have my sunglasses, which at first was a concern to me, but then turned out to be a blessing, because - drumroll, please - I saw the CUTEST boy EVER. And he saw ME TOO.
(At this point, I would like to thank any male audience members for reading this far; yes, this is actually what I am writing about today. No kidding. But it'll get better, I swear.)
Really, he was that cute. And we kinda did that thing where you see someone, and you make eye-contact, and then you think to yourself, "oh no, I just looked at him, what if he's creepy?" But then you kinda second-guess it, and your curiosity gets the better of you, so you do it AGAIN, and then you look away really fast, until you keep looking and looking until all those little glances become one continuous gaze, and you realize how freakin' gorgeous this guy is, but it's a damn shame because you happen to be going up the escalator to go to work, and he happens to be going down the escalator to wherever it is he goes at 9:30 on a Monday, and you will probably never see him again, let alone get the chance to talk to him for five minutes.
Seriously. It was A-MAZING. And just as we were at the end of our field of view of one another, he waved at me. I laughed like a schoolgirl, and I think I even started blushing. In fact, I'm blushing right now as I'm writing about this. God, I'm so pathetic, I can't even handle it.
But really, I was tickled pink. I couldn't stop thinking about it all day. I wanted so badly to tell someone about the amazing fleeting-moment experience of meeting someone for a split-second who could potentially be your knight-in-shining-armor, but whom you will most likely never see again, I thought I would burst. I ended up gushing about it to a male coworker of mine, who suggested - albeit jokingly, I'm sure - that I write a Missed Connection about it.
Now, for those of you who don't have the pleasure of knowing what a Missed Connection is, click here. That's right, in addition to iPods, furniture, and Nigerian Wire Scams, Craigslist.org also boasts a slough of Personals and Dating ads. You can look for anything and anyone through these online public forums, from platonic companionship to casual sex. There's even a little section up there called "Missed Connections" in which millions of losers around the globe post charming little vignettes about actual people they have come in contact with, felt some sort of attraction toward, but didn't have the opportunity (or the huevos) to ask them out. Every once in a while, these two people in question actually find one another through this awkward and grade-schoolish means of communication, fall in love, and then get married, which makes for really interesting and awkward conversation when people ask, "so, how did you two meet?" Kinda like those eHarmony commercials... only, it's Craigslist.org...
And this is the sad part. I know, the coworker who suggested this was probably joking, and if you are in fact, through some cruel twist of fate, reading this, please do not judge. But yeah. I did it. I posted a Missed Connection. And I quote:
October 5, 2009
"Love On An Escalator" - w4m - 22 (Hollywood Vine Metro Station)
I really can't believe I'm doing this... but you made me smile and laugh like a schoolgirl :-)
I was coming up to the surface from the Hollywood/Vine Metro Station. I saw you on the escalator, making your descent into the station, off to wherever it is you go at 9:30 on Monday morning, and we made brief eye-contact... again and again and again. You had such a strong gaze, I couldn't help but look back at you. There was just something about you, I can't even describe it.
You probably will never see this, but hey, a girl can dream. So on the off chance you do read this, drop me a line... and so I know it's you, tell me three things:
1) What I was wearing,
2) What you were wearing, and
3) The last thing you did as we were both looking at each other from the escalator... before I ran off blushing and giggling, anyway...
Hope you are having a good night, wherever you are. Maybe we'll talk soon.
Now, if that isn't poetry, I don't know what is! In fact, after reading that, I'm sure my audience either quadrupled, or is now completely non-existent. Either way, it still doesn't change the fact that, yes, I am now one of the aforementioned losers.
But on a more serious side, there is actually an art and even a method to posting these things properly. First of all, the nice thing is they don't post your actual email for the whole wide freakin' world to see, so that cuts down on a lot of the psycho and spam mail you may or may not get from posting in the first place. Secondly, as you can see, I left absolutely no indication of who I am in the post, again to help reduce psycho-spam and narrow the odds of actually finding this guy. So I ask specific questions, because dammit, I wanna make sure I have the right boy. I'm a busy woman, I don't have time to be dealing with all these pathetic wanna-be posers. Good thing I'm smart enough not to put a picture up there... just sayin'...
Now, I didn't expect to actually get a response. Like, a real one. Sure, I thought there might be a chance that I'd get the occasional spam email offering me ways to make money by filling out online surveys, or maybe even a harebrained sob-story from a priest in Kenya asking me to give him my bank account number (which really wouldn't help him at all, as there is nothing in said bank account anyway), but those really don't count, as far as I'm concerned. So a couple days went by, and nothing happened. But then one day, I checked my email, and found this:
Hi,
I am not the guy on the escalator, but I AM a producer on a very high profile television show. We would love to use your Craigslist ad in an upcoming segment. Basically, we would be creating a music video based on your story.
I promise that the final product will be funny and it may even help you reunite with the dreamy guy on the escalator!
Please reply ASAP, as we are talking to a lot of people about this project.
Thanks,
Jim Wise
Seriously. Wait... seriously? For real?
Well, after I recovered from a crippling and uncontrollable bout of laughter that I was for some reason suffering, I decided to do a little recon work and find out if I was being set up. Thank God for IMDB, that's all I'm sayin'. Yeah, there's a guy named Jim Wise, who works for NBC, but still, the whole thing seemed rather fishy. But the ball was in my court, so I went searching for more information, and asked him for a telephone number. I thought for sure I would come up empty-handed, but to my surprise, I ended up with not one, but two telephone numbers.
Wow, I thought. Either this guy's for real, or he's really desperate. But, what the hell, I'll give him a call. Well, ol' Jimmy and I had ourselves a real nice talk. It turns out he not only produces, but writes for, the Jay Leno Show, and it was at that point, dear reader, I knew I would never, ever, EVER live this one down.
So he pitches to me: they're looking to create a segment, along with The Dan Band (look 'em up here), that satirizes and reenacts posts from Missed Connections, which in the end would be hilarious, because (as he told me), "have you seen some of the stuff people post up there? It's sad." They would interview me, and put me on the show, on national freakin' television, and tell my tale of a failed Craigslist romance.
Well, as you can imagine, I had no idea how to feel about any of this. Frankly, I couldn't believe it was happening, and apart from being both thrilled and horrified, I was now thoroughly confused. Was this how one made it in Hollywood? Seriously? Immediately I began backpedaling, saying things like, "Well, actually, it was all a big joke" and "I was drunk." (Okay, I didn't say that last part. But I denied the seriousness of the matter completely.) And even though he probably didn't believe a damn word I was saying, he did extend an offer to me to stop by and meet him at his "office," which actually turned out to be a Starbucks in Toluca Lake.
And I might have done it. Maybe. But I didn't, because I had to work.
I know I would've chickened out, and just gone to the Starbucks to meet him, and tell him thanks, but no thanks, because the way I saw it, I didn't want to be known for that. I instantly had visions of William Hung, that wacked-out Asian guy from American Idol who was so disillusioned about his own capabilities as an artist that he cut himself a record deal and got his 15 minutes. Just because he acted like a total dumbass, and acted that way all the way to the bank with a big fat check in his pocket. Or like the "Leave Britney Alone" Kid, in his eyeliner and girl-pants that are 18 sizes too small. I mean, sure, I might have attracted some bigshot producers, and landed myself future work, and retired in the blink of an eye. Or, I could've just been laughed off the streets of Hollywood, mercilessly ridiculed by a city of 6 million people. But I don't want that. Maybe I don't want fame, and I sure as hell don't want to be a joke. But I know what I do want: respect.
I want respect, dammit. And I don't want just 15 minutes. I know that's what they say, that everyone gets their 15 minutes, but if that is in fact all we get, I'd like mine to be issued in small amounts rather than just one lump sum, thanks. I wanna savor it.
But no matter where I end up, no matter what I do, no matter how rich and famous and snobby I may turn out to be, I will always maintain the plain and simple fact that my life is really, really, really strange. And I love it.
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