Let’s talk Craigslist.

Lauren Pettigrew Online - Craigslist Hot Women

W4W?

Craigslist. I know you troll it, in fact, you’re probably trolling it right now. Personally, I have a nasty habid of looking through missed connections, especially when I know there’s no chance of me being there (see vacations, scrabble tournaments). While I was browsing through the posts of people other than myself, who are looking for people, again, other than myself, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend.

Let me set this up properly; let’s say you’re in the middle of adopting five disabled kittens and you see a girl, you make lasting eye contact but never speak. What do you post on missed connections?

First, are you in Women seeking Women?

Good. That will probably help you to find who you’re looking for with more precision.

Now, here comes the tricky part. How do you reconnect with this woman?

Was your answer write obscure, vaguely-sexual poetry, or nothing of substance at all? Well, this post is for you, then.

How does anyone expect to find someone when you post something like this? Moreover, even if you aren’t looking to find someone, and merely purvey a message, you can’t tell me someone is reading this saying “oh my, she really does love me!”

This poster was, unfortunately, looking for me. I can tell because the last time I went on a date we ate a meal compromising of, among other things, the things that she had listed. Coincidence? I think not. Do you know how hard it is to candy coat a butterfly? It’s hard. And thus, it’s romantic.

I don’t mean to be ripping on people who try to find people through Craigslist, not at all. I do, however, mean to rip on people who are wasting my valuable lurking time. Like this lovely girl:

Lauren Pettigrew Online - Bad at Craigslist

This post above, as you can clearly see, was about me. Anyone that knows me knows I get weak in the knees for a stand alone ellipsis. In fact, I’m weak in the knees right now just thinking about it. Oh, mysterious poster, could you be the one? Could you be trying to find me? How could you possibly know me so well as to know one of my mortal weaknesses is grammar. Comment with a properly executed Oxford comma, baby.

But seriously, ladies, it’s hard enough to find someone you have a real connection with. If you think that the connection was so strong that you must resort to Craigslist to find that person, well, don’t waste your post. Unless you’re trying to lure me in with that Oxford comma – I’ll be lurking, stranger.

Wine-o? Blogger? Same thing, neither look good on a resume.

Dearest readers, I am drunk on really expensive wine, so I am going to tell you all of my woes. Granted, I write the same while drunk as I do sober, which, I suppose, is a talent.

Here’s the thing, I have so many blog posts in the works right now, but I’m having issues.

What issues, Lauren?

Thanks for asking, dear reader, I am thinking of changing my name to something a little more gender neutral, you see. So I need ideas, because I am not a very good chooser-of-names (which is the technical term, possibly Latin). Send me your name ideas, please!

As I have just caught this, I apologize for the two sentence paragraphs that this post will be made up of. Remember, drunk disclaimer.

While I, or should I say we, pick a name, the new layout, and official website name, is on hold. I know, it’s hard for me too. Upon login I make a very disturbed face, something similar to Lil Wayne drunk .

Stellar, I know.

What else is on the docket? Well, I don’t know if you follow missed connections or not (if you don’t, leave this blog, straighto… p’cha), but I have recently come across my favourite person, quite possibly ever, going off on a very eloquent rant about Faggity Ass Fridays. If you have yet to read this, you can check it out here. Whomever you are, you had better just confess to being, um, awesome, now. I am putting out a reward of three scandalous photos of myself and daily icanhascheezburger highlights for a week to whomever can give me names and locations. Send out the dogs. And by “dogs”, I mean gays.

What else can I update you on? What else can top that picture of Lil Wayne? Liz fucking Feldman. While her middle name is not fucking, at least not as far as I know, it should be. Why? Because I’d get with that. Also, she’s hilarious, dear reader, and you must check her out. Most recently, she’s been working on The Jay Leno Show to come up with gems like this:

Who doesn’t want a Twittering grandmother? I certainly want one, all of my family drama on Twitter? Follow that.

I feel like I’ve exhausted myself at this point, but “keep it locked” for upcoming music posts, and lesbian lolcats. Oh, you just wait.

Have I had any hot chick pictures yet? No? Here you go:

Oh, Im cheeky while drunk.

Oh, I'm cheeky while drunk.

My imagination wanders

If only road-stencils could talk.

If only road-stencils could talk.

I like to imagine some things are real when, in actuality, they are simply a figment of my imagination. For example, I imagine every road has an imaginary bike lane, to which I feel entitled, regardless of the fact that it does not exist. And even when my bike lane is slightly more than depressing optimism, and slightly less than a clearly visible line on the ground, I feel as if my space, real or not, is being invaded. Sure, taxis do it, delivery trucks do it, people who have just recently left a blissfully unaware life of suburban living do it, but never before have I been cut off by a cyclist I couldn’t deal with.

     I will understand if your straight across bars don’t allow you to fit between the streetcar and the Chinese tours coach bus, really, I will. But when you cycle the wrong way up a street and play chicken with me, I have very little tolerance. Such little tolerance that I took one hand off the handlebars, did the “I’m seriously questioning your mental capacity” hand motion, and yelled “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” And as you have been previously informed, usually I cycle off for fear of retaliation, but this guy decided to imitate my hand motions and say something which was either; a) “just coasting,” b) “going smoking,” or c) “I live in a land of purple unicorns, and you, madam, are our queen!” I’m pretty sure it was the latter.

    Today I also made my first post to Craigslist, I’m selling my electric guitar, because lord knows I’m an acoustic kind of girl. So if you want it, you can take it (and by take, I mean buy). I think over the next day or so, I will be selling many things on Craigslist, in an increasingly futile attempt to have enough money to finish building my fixie. Yep, the old girl is still in the proverbial shop. And by shop, I mean the spare bedroom propped up on a guitar amp. Another reason I am selling everything that isn’t so near and dear to me, and also has some degree of monetary value is that I am moving, and we are taking the kind of small van. While I have few assets, I have enough to fit the van. And since I don’t want my worldly possessions, and organic cotton tea towels, to be crowded or damaged on the way to Montreal.

    In closing, buy all of my possessions from Craigslist. Maybe we could do a you scratch my back, I scratch yours, sort of deal. In which you respond to my post with money and I respond to your casual encounters post with, well, you know.

(First posted: 19/08/08)