Best Best Missed Connection EVERRRRRRRR

Where to begin....This is seriously the greatest craigslist missed connection I've ever read. EVER. And I've read a lot. I even read one once that went like this: "I farted and you said it smelled like the time you pooped in your pants while shopping. I told you I like a women who doesn't waste time going to the bathroom." Yeah that's for real. I'm pretty sure this tops that, though...Each sentence somehow is better than the last; just when you think the author has written the greatest thing ever, he outdoes himself. Now I know why I always get skeeved out when I go to this Walmart...

Walmart Shopper drinking Gin - m4w - 45 (Elsmere)

I saw you at the Elsmere Walmart. You were drinkin Gin, that was hidden in your bra. I axed for some, and you pulled your electric cart in the corner near the 99cent DVD's. You told me that your husband beat you and we laughed cuz he was in the Fishing section. He had an Oxygen tank, and hole in his neck to breathe. We hid in the bathroom, and your two kids helped me get you out of your chair so we could get frisky while they bloged the door . I still have the perfume and nail polish that you asked me to hide in my camafauge pants, and you still have my hart. I just can't get that Tattoo of yours off my mind, and I need to see it again. You wanted to go to NASCAR but it was rainin. I went instead of followin u home If you are still serious about leaving the old airbag, I'm right here waiting for you.

• Location: Elsmere
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2396789972

Ok, so WOW, where to begin...Here is how I imagine this missed connection going down...First of all let's make sure we're all on the same page: this event took place at Walmart. Could it have taken place at Target or Macy's? Probably not. The players in this scenario are the man who wrote this missed connection, let's call him Prescott (I think you'll agree he sounds like one), and a special lady, I think her name is Lady Bird or something like that. So Prescott was just wandering around the $.99 DVD section looking for a restored, unaired Looney Tunes double episode DVD, when all of the sudden this major hottie on an electric scooter buzzed by him and smashed on the breaks because a $.99 Mary Tyler Moore DVD caught her eye. Lady Bird picked it up, looked at the picture of a young, independent Mary Tyler Moore, thought it reflected her, and threw the DVD in her basket. Excited about her new DVD, Lady Bird pulled the fifth of gin she had slyly hid in her bra (well except for the odd, bottle shaped, extra large boob it created) and went to drive off to find some nicotine patches. Prescott, however, stopped her. He had noticed her right away because he thought she was going to grab some of the the $.99 DVDs he wanted. Once he saw her reach for Mary Tyler Moore and swig some gin straight out of the bottle from her boob, he knew they were meant to be. He wanted to toast to his newfound love, so he axed to share her gin. She agreed, but suggested they move further in the corner of the $.99 DVD section.

They started talking and realized they had so much in common, and laughed and laughed at the stories of her husband beating her. "That darn kook with the hole in his throat and the oxygen tank." she said, "He just loves to fish. It's his favorite hobby...Well aside from beating me up. HAHAHAHA. Isn't that a riot?!?!?" Prescott was laughing so hard at this point, he couldn't breath, and wished he had his own oxygen tank. "Why don't we go get frisky in the bathroom," he suggested. Lady Bird agreed that it was a great idea; she heard the bathrooms were extra clean at the Elsmere Walmart. She yelled for her kids to come help her go to the bathroom. Prescott and her children lifted her out of the electric scooter and helped her walk into the bathroom. "Blog this door!" she said "So no one comes in here while I'm getting frisky with this man."

They came out of the bathroom to find a long line of people waiting outside of the bloged door. They didn't care though, they were in love. They strolled the aisles together laughing and talking about domestic violence and stealing. Prescott sat on Lady Bird's lap as they drove through the aisles at .5 miles per hour. Lady Brid asked Prescott to put a Revlon nail polish and a knock-off Obsession perfume in the pocket of his camouflage pants. She told him his camo pants would probably hide her stolen goods better than her tight bra and t-shirt, also the gin bottle was taking up enough space already. He agreed and asked for another sip of warm chest gin.

They decided to look at the $.99 CDs to see if there were any good new releases. Nothing good though, only classical crap and kidz bop. They conversed about NASCAR; she said she wanted to go, but didn't want to get wet in the rain. Her personal appearance was messed up enough by getting "frisky" in the Walmart bathroom--she still had toilet paper blowing in the wind behind her scooter. Prescott told her he didn't want to miss the beginning of the race, so he left--even though he knew she was his true love. Prescott said goodbye to Lady Bird. They laughed once more about her husband's throat hole and anger management issues. He thanked her kids for "bloging" the bathroom door. He decided not to follow her home because he feared he wouldn't make it to the race in time to place his bet on Dale Jr.

Days later, Prescott just couldn't stop thinking of Lady Bird. "What a gal," he thought. "She raised two courteous and helpful kids, she loves a classy cocktail, and loves a quality $.99 bargain DVD. I just need to see her and that amazing tattoo again." And even though he doesn't know her name and she doesn't know his, he is "right here" on Craigstlist waiting for her, whenever she's ready to leave the "old airbag."

I really hope God brings these two together again. Clearly they are meant to be, and it's just not fair for the universe to keep them apart...

veet street shark meat

It's been a while since I've hit up the missed connections on craigslist; they are, by far, my favorite part of the internet. Today I found a great gem:

Blue Eyed Tattooed Man with Mullet - w4m - 25 (Wilmington)

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Date: 2011-04-20, 9:40PM EDT

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I met you last year at the beach a couple weeks after you got attacked by a shark. Your friends call you Veet Street Shark Meat, I think? Wish I knew your real name bc I can't stop thinking about you. Your mullet, tats, and eyes are so sexy. Thank God the shark didn't eat any of those things. Would love to talk sometime.
IF ANYONE KNOWS A VEET STREET SHARK MEAT, PLEASE OH PLEASE CONTACT ME! THANKS!

• Location: Wilmington
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

When I first read this I was like "wow, did I have a dementia spell and forget that I posted this as a joke?" I'm pretty sure, though, that I did not post this. I was initially drawn to click on this wondrous post from the title "Blue Eyed Tattooed Man with Mullet." It's like someone knew exactly how to pique my interest. I almost fainted when I read the rest of this post. A SHARK ATTACK SURVIVOR, AN AMAZING NICKNAME, TATS, A MULLET, AND BLUE EYES!?!?!? CAN THIS MAN BE REAL? Veet Street Shark Meat just sounds too good to be true, and my mom always told me "if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." I don't know, though, there is something about this that makes me want to believe Veet Street Shark Meat is real. He sounds so great, he has to be true; you can't make something that good up.

I really hope these two get back in touch. Based on Veet's physical description, I imagine their relationship would play out like a grocery store romance novel. She would gaze into his amazing blue eyes while running her hands through his flowing mullet all night. He would serenade her with stories of of his shark attack, and tell her how he punched it right in the head and rode his boogie board to shore to get away. She would tell him how glad she was that the shark didn't eat his hair, his face, or his tattoos. He would agree because he also thinks he looks amazing. The cover would look something like this.

Susan Johnson, if you are reading this blog, I think you've just got your next idea for a romance novel--you could use that same image, just place the lovers on a beach and re-title the book Veet Street Shark Meat: One Man, One Mullet, One Shark, and One Passionate Night.

memoirs: first day of kindergarten

I've decided to start a reoccurring "memoirs" section in my blog. I've also decided to stop being a dirtbag and try to update this brilliant literary feat more often. That being said, let me start my memoirs with a story about my earliest school memory. Since I've been in school for more than 20 years, I pretty much know the deal now (god, that sounds horrific, but even though I'm not becoming "the right kind of doctor," (apparently according to Italian grandmas studying anything in the humanities is useless "shit") one day I'll have COMMA PhD after my name). On my first day of kindergarten, I'm pretty sure I felt as prepared then as I would visiting a kindergarten classroom today. Oh I was ready, I had been prepping for that day all my life. I blew through nursery school like it was for babies. Why wouldn't I rock kindergarten my first day?

All morning I listened in disgust as the other kids asked to "go potty." I was horrified that anyone there was immature enough to say "potty." Clearly, I was much more cultured than the other kids because I used the term "bathroom." Yeah, so what if it was a bigger word with more syllables--my vocabulary could totally handle that. I can't remember exactly what I thought, but it probably went something like this: "O...M...G...I cannot even believe these little shitheads use the word potty. How old are they? Do they even know how stupid they sound? Geeze, at lunch we'll probably have to talk about crayons or TV because no one here has probably ever heard ofVersace." Yeah, I think that sounds right...

So when I actually had to use the bathroom for the first time that day, I just got up and went. I saw no reason to interrupt class to ask permission to use the bathroom; I was obviously more mature than everyone else for being able to decide this on my own. I got into the bathroom and my early-onset germaphobia kicked in. I decided it would be very dangerous to use the toilet without lining it with toilet paper. For some reason, though, I didn't see the toilet paper, so I opted for paper towels. After a few minutes I had crafted a cushy paper layer perfect for both comfort and germ protection. I pulled down my pants and got ready to sit down when, all of the sudden, my teacher busted in (I guess the door locks are pointless in kindergarten). She started yelling "I didn't know where you went, and I got worried! You need to ask before you use the potty! And what are you doing with all these paper towels? You are going to clog the toilet if you flush those!!"

My great reaction? I started to cry. Apparently my super-maturity didn't prepare me for getting yelled at bare-assed with my pants at my ankles, all because I didn't want to say the word "potty" and was afraid of germy toilet seats. And that's what I remember from my very first day of school. Thank god I actually don't have to ask to go to the bathroom anymore, that I've learned the art of hovering, and that I reserve crying for more important issues (like every-other-week "why am I in graduate school?" crises)...

my new life calling

A couple of weeks ago, I came up with the greatest idea I have ever had: I've decided to become a professional tambourine player, you know, in my free time. I'm pretty sure that by specializing only in tambourine (and awesome dance moves) I will become the greatest band accompaniment ever...EVER.

The first week of my new dream consisted of dancing around and playing "air tambourine" on a daily basis. I'm not trying to brag or anything, but I'm probably the best air tambourine player ever. I'm thinking of posting my skills on youtube, but I don't want to make anyone feel bad since they will never be as good as me. That's just bad karma.

This week, I came one step closer to my dream: I BOUGHT A TAMBOURINE. Yeah that's right, I went to a music store, tested a few tambourines, and bought an awesome one. I've never bought anything at a music store before, so I asked the guy working behind the counter for his advice on tambourines. I take it not many people ask about tambourines (once I become a musical sensation and every band ever wants me to play with them, I'm sure like thousands of people will be asking for tambourines, though). I'm not gonna lie, the conversation was pretty awkward; I was trying to fake him out and pretend I'm a musical prodigy, he was trying to hide the fact that he could tell that I had no idea what I was talking about. After our discussion on tone--yeah that's right I told him one tambourine sounded more flat than the other. I finally chose the more popular half-moon version because as I told the music store guy it had "a better sound." Twenty dollars later, I walked out of that store with a new tambourine, and one step closer to my new life dream.

Now it's time to post my own ad on craigslist: "Professional tambourine player for hire: awesome dance moves included." And if that doesn't work, I'll just start taking my tambourine to live music shows, standing in the front row, with my back to the band, and tambourine-ing my little heart out. Hey world, watch out because the world's greatest professional tambourine player has just emerged.

I'd like another...taco?

We all know I thoroughly enjoy catching up on Craigslist Missed Connections. There is something really special about people looking for love. Something about this post caught my eye--it's just so sentimental, so real. I really hope the poster finds his missed connection, clearly he is looking for something meaningful.

Taco Bell Monday at lunch - m4w - 39 (Wilmington)

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Date: 2010-08-25, 10:12AM EDT

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You were wearing pants that really showed off your ass, your top was showing a nice amount of cleavage, and I think you caught me checking you out a few times! I've found I've been thinking about what it would feel like to wrap my arms around you, reaching behind to grab your ass in both hands or press up close behind you, reaching around to take your breasts in my hands. If you're interested, write back & describe the circumstances at lunch (which T.B., was I alone or not, were you alone or not, where'd you sit, etc)

First of all, I'd like to commend this poster for the correct use of "your" and "you're." For some reason, I really did not expect such polished grammar from this post.

I do have a word of caution, however to the poster. I'm not sure he's really going about finding his missed connection the right way. I mean perhaps he should have suggested just talking first. Let's be honest here, that is clearly the more sensible way to go about establishing a future with this woman. Seriously. You both just ate at Taco Bell for lunch. Do you really want to be pressed up against her ass? I think the answer is no, unless you want to be farted on.

For someone who knows the difference between "your" and "you're"(which apparently is a very difficult thing to learn), you should also know that you probably should sit alone for at least 24 hours after eating Taco Bell, and you most certainly should NOT suggest that someone who also just ate Taco Bell "press" her ass against you. That, my friend, is stuff you don't even have to go to English class to learn.

well i've found a new hero...

All it took was one look at this...woman(?) to know that I found a new hero for my list. Perhaps I should know have known who she was before I saw her photo tonight (am I just too concerned with reading like a thousand books a week?). I still don't know who Michaela Romanini is--well aside from being one of my heroes.

Hey now, stop being so judgey. Just take a good healthy look at this person. Yeah, soak it in. This is a beautiful person and when Cher and Peter Gallagher decided to have a baby, they probably had no idea it would be so striking. Why, you might be asking yourself, is this--let's just call her a woman (at least her name suggests she is)--a hero of mine? Well, I think it's really important for people to care about their public appearance. Michaela has obviously made great attempts to better herself and put on a "good face." Unfortunately, apparently no one ever told her what a "good face" looks like, and the extra heavy eyeliner she wears distorts her reflection in the mirror. Maybe I can send a pigeon to deliver this message to her: orange is not a natural complexion, caterpillars shouldn't be used as false eyebrows, and you should not model your lips after a baked potato. Also, if you look like you eat babies, there is something wrong with your face.

But hey, at least she is trying, and as we all know, it's the thought that counts, right? At least she didn't roll out of bed throw her hair in some rat nest, put on sweats with a "cute" word on the butt, and show up in public expecting to be taken seriously. If only everyone had her ambition, maybe the world would be a prettier place. However if everyone had her sense of style and love for cosmetic surgery, the world would probably have a lot more nip slips and nightmares...

some smart people are also cool.

Following a day of intense professionalism at an academic conference I have come up with ways to judge the level of coolness of people in the scholarly community. Sidenote: Yes, I actually whip out the big guns when it comes to being professional. In fact, I'm so awesomely serious it actually shocks people, and they say things to me like "wow, you were so professional up there" to which I reply "yeah thank god I let all my farts out before I got on stage." Just kidding. I don't say that to people, I wouldn't want to give away my secret.

Ok so being in a room full of studious academics is sometimes tough--while I am one myself, it is sometimes hard to talk to these types of people. Many are so interested in their own damn research that they rarely talk about other things, sometimes I just want to scream "Look buddy, you are the only one who gets a hard on about the crap you study, so just shut up already and talk about baseball or something." These people are not cool.

The other thing that happens is what I like to call a "research love connection" in which two or more scholars become obsessed with each other and their shared research interests. Basically they end up alone in the corner of a room full of people, seemingly unaware of all the others around them, as they passionately discuss their work--I call this a "verbal make-out session." Just like real make-out sessions, the more they drink, the sloppier and touchier they become. If they have a real connection, they will move to the couch, exchange business cards, and desperately hope the other calls them soon. These people are not cool.

So how do you know who is actually cool? This month's Elle magazine suggests in order to be "classy," a lady "only makes inappropriate jokes in appropriate company, and if she's not sure if she's in appropriate company, she waits." Let's face it, the only people who actually describe themselves as classy are actually incredibly trashy--if you don't believe me, just watch an episode of Jerseylicious. Who wants to be "classy" anyways? It's basically just a synonym for "girl douche." I'd rather be smart and funny any day of the week. That being said, I have a slightly different view on inappropriate jokes: use them as testers to find out who is cool and funny.

It's always easy to tell who will not find those jokes funny: the people mentioned above, people with circle glasses and bowties (separately they are fine, but combined they signal a total douche who has a lame sense of humor), people who have throaty voices and don't move their teeth when they talk, people who are orange, and people who have what I like to call "baby fetus muscles" (you know, big bulging muscles that look like there are little babies growing inside them). Don't even waste tester jokes on these people. Tester jokes are for people who could go either way. Good tester jokes must be hysterical and slightly inappropriate. Casually let one out, and monitor the crowd's reaction. The people who don't laugh are not cool. The people who smile are also not cool. The people who laugh are cool. Ignore everyone else and only talk to them.

a hero

I know when you all read my blog you think, "Wow, this person is my hero." It's tough to be a hero, but somebody has to do it. To offer more inspiration to my readers, I thought I'd start a reoccurring series sharing some of my own heroes. Let's start with someone who made the news a long time ago:



Mary-Kaye Laterno
Why wouldn't this woman be a hero of mine? She saw something she wanted, and she didn't let "socially accepted practices" get in her way. Oh yeah it's fine and all when men want to date younger, but MK tries to do it and she gets a bad rap. I mean come on SHE WAS IN LOVE with that little boy (hehehe). I think Justin Bieber proves that 15 year olds can be sexy too. I mean look at this picture of him--that helmet hair, that big smile, those scrawny little arms; and his voice has the melodic ring of a baby female gnome. That kid screams sexual energy. He is clearly a statutory rape target. (yes, I also threw up in my mouth a little bit just then) I heard it's really easy to know when he's touring because there is a fleet of windowless vans that follow him around--the drivers even offer FREE CANDY!!! I love free candy.


Mary-Kaye is an inspiration to women everywhere. She proves that you can find love anywhere. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder and offer to tutor math for free.

i always show my appreciation by showing my boobs

I was trolling c-list (that's what cool people like me call craigslist) today when something compelled me to look at this missed connection. I'm not sure why I was drawn to click on it, but I'm pretty happy I did because it is the sequal to the mc I posted about a while back...

Sexy on DuPont Rd - m4w - 40 (Elsmere)

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Date: 2010-04-13, 5:07PM EDT

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A few months back in the middle of what seemed like hell, I plowed your driveway. You showed me your breasts in appreciation of my efforts. You made my day. I saw you yesterday morning near your home, you gave me a very flirtatious grin. I would love to continue our little game. I look for you every day. If you are interested in some fun let me know....I am game if you are.

Yes, that's right, he's still looking for her. Except, he's found her again and knows where she lives. "Is that really a missed connection?" you're probably wondering. In his defense yeah, it is. He missed the opportunity to make a "connection" with her boobs when she flashed him, so he's trying to find a way to touch them. Geeze, give the poor guy a break.

I just want to reply to this guy and say "look, it's obvious that this chick is easy. WHY DON'T YOU JUST TALK TO HER." Perhaps he could start the conversation by mentioning something about her breasts. Something like "Hey, I think you have a perfect boob to nipple size ratio." Or maybe even "You know, I didn't really get a good look at those babies when I was plowing. Mind if I take another gander, maybe even give 'em a squeeze or two. Oh yeah how about I take you to Denny's too for a nice dinner." Or he could even use the classic i'll show you mine...

Now I don't want to be judgy or anything, but I'm fairly certain it will not be too hard for him to see her boobs again. I'm also certain she has an upper-boob tattoo (sometimes you just know these things), which he could ask to see. I have a hunch that he might not even have to ask to see 'em again if he drives by on a hot summer day--yes, what I'm getting at here is I subject Miss Thang suns topless in her yard on the days she doesn't hit the tanning salon (how else could she keep her lovely complexion?).

However, maybe our "gentleman" poster is a bit shy, so let me offer him some more advice on how to go about additional boob sightings/perhaps advance to touchings. If she showed her boobs "in appreciation" for plowing the driveway, maybe he should just knock on her door and offer to do other household tasks such as polish her floor, steam her carpet, change a few light bulbs, or polish her stripper pole. Surely one of those tasks will equate to some more "appreciation." I wonder what cleaning the gutters would get him?

In conclusion, I would like to discuss "the game" Mr. poster would like to continue to play. WHAT GAME? The I-drive-by-your-house-everyday-like-a-stalker-in-hopes-you'll-show-me-your-boobies-again game? Oh yeah, I love that game. I play it all the time; it's almost as good as Monopoly.

a guide to making friends.

Once you hit a certain age, making friends is not as easy as it used to be. I mean think back to 1st grade, all you had to do was walk up to someone and say "I like your bracelet." That was pretty much instant friendship. Making friends as you get older is a lot harder. You always seem to be dancing a fine line between friend and creepy weirdo. To help you make friends, I've complied a test. Each question has a right and wrong answer with an explanation, in case you are not sure why the answer is correct.



1. Observe something about the other person to start a conversation such as:
A.) "Your pants are riding up on you and it looks like you have a camel toe. I bet that hurts a little bit."
B.) "Your watch is neat."

Correct Answer: B
This might surprise you, but the correct answer is "B." Hear me out before you call this test a farce...You see, while "A" is very observant and has your potential friend's well-being in mind, it's actually a little weird to look at someone's crotch region and then acknowledge that you looked at it--especially if you don't know them. Just stick with observations on clothes, hair, or jewelry to be safe.


2. Find ways to slip something really cool about yourself into the conversation like:
A.) I just saw a really cool local band, The Spinto Band.
B.) Once I went pee in a cup in the backseat of a car in New York City, and I didn't even spill any of it.

Correct Answer: A
Well this seems obvious, some of you might be thinking "peeing in a cup in a moving vehicle in NYC is an incredible skill and super impressive." Yes, that's true. Anyone who can do that is clearly amazing, but regardless it will probably just make your potential new friend jealous that he/she does not have that skill.


3. Respond to what the other person says, for example if they say "My sister just had a baby," you say:
A.) I find that shaking a baby makes it stop crying.
B.) Babies are so cute. I like to buy them toys.

Correct Answer: B
While everybody loves a well shaken Martini, shaking babies is not a joke. Everybody knows that the real way to get a baby to stop crying is to give it a puff of your cigarette--after all they are probably just crying because their nicorette gum wore out.



4. Once you've decided you think friendship might be in your future, ask the other person for their phone number like so:
A.) I go to this great place. I'll give you a call next time I go...[exchange numbers]
B.) I would like your phone number so I can call you at weird times and just breathe into the phone without saying anything.

Correct Answer: A
Again, this is so obvious but sometimes you just need to put it in writing. You never actually tell the person that you are going to call at weird times and breathe into the phone, you just do it once you get their number.


I hope this test helps you make new friends. I think it will.

craigslist missed connections

Perhaps this is the second best craigslist "missed connection" I have ever seen. Only in Delaware?

I Plowed Your Driveway You Showed Me Your Tits - m4w (NCC)

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Date: 2010-02-18, 3:25PM EST

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Well the headline says it all...It was early Sunday morning you were shoveling an enormous pile of snow. I plowed you out and was amazed at how sexy you were. As I finished and to my complete amazement you lifted up your sweatshirt to expose two perfect breasts. Your smile has been on my mind since then. I can't wait for it to snow again so I can see you again....

•Location: NCC
•it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1606929327



Ahhh where to begin...The first thing I would like to say re: this ad is that I really, really wish I had seen this happen. I am dying to know what this woman looks like--dying to know. The dude who wrote the ad is easy to imagine; obviously a Larry the Cable Guy look alike. The "sexy" lady however, is perhaps, a bit more difficult. There are two things we need to keep in mind when constructing her image: 1. we are talking about a woman who voluntarily showed her boobs to a stranger during a snowstorm and 2. "sexy" is in the eye of the beholder. That being said, I am fairly confident in saying this woman has all of the following traits: bleached blond, stringy, wavy hair with major roots showing, heavy blue eyeliner, a smoker's voice, an orangish complexion with heavy pancake foundation, a fairy tattoo, and some rampant STD. I think the ad poster neglected to mention that she was wearing a sweatshirt with Tweety Bird on it, acid washed jeans, and chunky high-healed, black boots.

My favorite part of this posting is the ending, "your smile has been on my mind since then." Come on, is it really her smile he can't stop thinking of? Yeah I'm about 97% confident this gentleman would not have posted this ad if our lady friend had simply smiled at him. Ladies, let this be a lesson: if you really want to get noticed by a man, show him your boobies, and he will remember your smile.

the response!!!!

After days of waiting my response from Starbucks is finally here. I'm not going to lie, I was a little (EXTREMELY) disappointed with it. Really, Starbucks? That's all you want to say?


Hello Alessandra,

Thank you so much for taking the time to write to us. I am very sorry that your latte was made with regular milk instead of soy.

I want to assure you that I will be following up with the store and its management team in order to ensure that we are making these beverages correctly. Unfortunately, I am unclear at which store this happened. If you could please respond to this email with further information about the store location (such as cross streets), this would help us greatly. Please also feel free to take a look at our store locator at http://www.starbucks.com/retail/find/default.aspx for store information.
What I would like to do, is to invite you back to our stores to have a drink done right. I would be happy to mail you some beverage coupons so that your next drink will be on us.

Thanks again for giving us the opportunity to fix this situation. I am sorry you were caused discomfort during your seminar. I assure you that we take feedback from our customers seriously and will use this as an opportunity to improve the experience for you.

If there are any questions or concerns that I have not been able to address, please don't hesitate to call us at 800 23-LATTE (235-2883), we are here Monday through Friday from 5:00 AM to 6:00 PM (PST).


Thank you,

Natalie Y.

Come on, Natalie Y! Don't you want to address any of my concerns other than "discomfort in my seminar?" I guess I was expecting a response more like this:

Dear Ms. Wood,

First of all that is the greatest letter I've ever received. I'm really sorry that you did not get a soy latte. Sometimes the workers in our stores are a-holes and don't listen to customers, but we still get business anyways!

This situation is way worse than ordering a non-fat latte and ending up with a 1%. Those people are practically complaining for no reason. I can tell by your letter that you are really pretty--it's totally worse for pretty people to fart in public. It's really an unfair standard. Seriously, why can fat people fart any time (or old people for that matter, but that's another topic) but pretty people have to suffer?

If I were you, I probably would've stopped by that Starbucks after class and let all my farts out in their store as I proclaimed "YOU DID THIS TO ME! Breathe it in, bitches!" I, however, understand that you wanted to handle the situation with tact.

In addition to giving you free latte coupons, we are going to try to change the social stigma against farting in public. We have discussed it with headquarters and are beginning the campaign to start a new law called "The Alessandra Law." This law, if passed by congress (make sure you call your congressman to tell him to support it), would allow all lactose intolerant people a sort of "free public fart." Basically, next time you let one slip out in public, you can just call out "Alessandra Law" and it will be illegal for anyone to make fun of you or laugh--if they do, they will get arrested. Of course, we need to make sure that the law isn't abused by people like Artie Lang or 14 year old boys, but we will work that all out because we are Starbucks, and yes we can.

You are so awesome, you should contact us anytime with your ideas.

Thanks,
Starbucks

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what they should have said to me...

why i drink soy milk.

Last night I ordered a soy latte from Starbucks, that's not what I got. Unfortunately I didn't realize it until it was too late. Today I sent a letter to their customer service department to complain. This is what I said:

Dear Starbucks,
I am a frequent patron of your establishment. I very much enjoy ordering a double short soy latte, and sometimes I add a shot of toffee-nut syrup. Honestly, other coffee shops never make a soy latte as good as Starbucks--most don’t even offer soy milk as an option. Last night, on my way to class, I stopped to get a latte, an essential drink for a 7-10pm PhD-level seminar.

If you are wondering why I drink soy milk, it's because I’m lactose intolerant--not just some yuppie a-hole. You see, when I consume dairy products, I develop certain traits usually attributed to older, overweight, men--that’s right, I have extremely audible and horribly fragrant farts. Since we live in a culture where farting is frowned upon and very unacceptable, especially for an intellectual and pretty gal like myself, I avoid dairy products at all costs.

Well, last night I realized that my latte was not, in fact, a soy latte. Unfortunately the way I came about realizing this was not by tasting it, but rather the after effects of consuming it. Sometimes, you just can’t taste the difference, especially with the addition of a flavor shot.
As I sat in my graduate seminar, I developed a horrible stomach ache as gas bubbles floated inside of me begging to see the light. Unfortunately, it was neither the time nor place to let one rip, so I waited. Instead of paying attention to class I sat there in agony, waiting for the feeling to go away, knowing full well the only way to feel better was to let out a giant fart (and then a few more). As great of an idea as it seemed, I’m a smart cookie and I knew I’d never get away with it, so I just sat there holding in all that dairy-induced flatulence. Needless to say, I didn’t feel better until I finally arrived home to a judgment-free zone.

On behalf of all patrons who are lactose intolerant, please advise your Baristas to be extra cautious when filling soy milk orders. Sometimes it’s not just about how a drink tastes, but how a drink makes you feel. Lattes should make you feel great and not like you belong at a sleepover party with 14 year old boys or hanging out with Artie Lang. Until farting is socially acceptable, I will continue to drink soy lattes from Starbucks. I just hope next time I place my order I actually receive a soy latte.

Thank you,
Alessandra

I feel lucky for the person who gets to field this complaint. I can't wait to get their response...

wine actually isn't that cool...

That's it. I'm just going to say it. I don't care what the world thinks of me. Wine is STUPID. There, I said it, and I meant it.

People (and by people, let's face it I mean women) are so obsessed with wine. They're all like "Oooo let's drink wine." "I love wine." "Wine is the greatest thing ever." Well, actually, it's not. Wine is not your friend (see earlier post), it pretends to be cool and fun and then cuts you. Drinking a couple of glasses of wine or a whole bottle is usually the worst idea ever.

Wine is like juice but the bad kind that comes in those little plastic barrels with the foil tops (yeah you know those ones that are basically sugar and water). At first you are like "Oh my god this is so delicious, but then after a while it's like, why did I drink that?" Because wine is like juice, you keep having more, and that's usually where the problem comes in. It is especially a problem with middle aged women; they have a special tolerance for wine that, frankly, I just don't have.

The only time you should ever drink too much wine is when you are looking to practice the Not Hollywood Miracle Diet. It's actually really easy you just drink a LOT of wine, have fun, and wake up the next day. Guaranteed to make you loose weight (it also works with beer, FYI). Other than that wine is lame and actually makes you fatter.

From here on out next time someone says "let's drink wine." I will say "No. You drink your stupid wine, and I will drink my Jack Daniels." Because Jack Daniels never made me cry; he is a gentleman.

the gentrification of the douche

Over the past few years the douche bag has developed into a lovable buddy character. He represents a dude slightly too into himself who frequents the gym and lingers at the mirror. People excuse his actions because he's a douche--that's just who he is. I believe psychologists call this "enabling." Essentially as a society we are allowing for this gentrification process--we are encouraging the rise of the douche as a standard member of a male entourage.

Frankly, I am not happy with this for many reasons. First of all who even likes a douche? Exactly, no one. No one actually wants to be friends with these guys, but for some reason they keep inviting them to hang out. I can't really explain that phenomenon so I'll use a canned answer: it's obviously an effect of modern movies and music videos that glorify the douche and make kids these days want to A.) be a douche or B.) be friends with a douche. Doesn't anyone realize that the douche will NEVER become a core member of the standard American friend group? The DB will never replace the token Asian or wheelchair kid as a member of the "perfect" group of friends. So seriously society, stop trying so hard to include him.

But more importantly the gentrification of the douche lessens the verbal impact of the word. When I call someone a douche bag, douche, or db (or scream it while driving), I do not want it to have the same effect as calling my girls whores. I want it to cut. I want it to offend. I want it to mean something bad.

All I'm asking is that as a society, we stop and really think about the effects of letting the douche rise into popular culture. Keep the douche down, keep him friendless, and you will save the douche bag. (and by "save the douche bag" I obviously mean the offensive connotations associated with the words.)

I wonder why this company no longer exists...

Take a good, hard look at this advertisement. (Yes, this is my life. I don't go out of my way to find these things, they just come to me.) This ad grabbed my attention as I was flipping through a mid-century design magazine. I honestly can't think of one reason why this elevator company is no longer in business. Who wouldn't want to ride the Porn and Dunwoody to get off on a higher level? Or wait, maybe it's the Porn that elevates you, and the Dunwoody that descends you--yeah that makes sense.

It's a good thing that the "Kleenex syndrome" didn't occur with elevators, or you'd say to your friends "I'm gonna go ride the Porn and Dunwoody now." Or "I shared the Porn and Dunwoody with a really creepy guy this morning." Or even "Wait, hold the Porn and Dunwoody, I need it!" Or as my friend, Tony likes to tell people while pressing the call button rapidly, "If you press it like this, the Porn and Dunwoody will come faster."

Yeah, so maybe it's a good thing Porn and Dunwoody went out of business. I don't know, but maybe...

like they really don't know...

I might as well continue the old person streak I have going here. Today's topic of concern: old people and farting. How are we supposed to act when an old person farts in public? Old people claim they have no idea when they let one rip--and maybe they really don't know, but come on I find that a little hard to believe. Just because their hearing is bad doesn't mean that they cannot feel an air bubble exiting their anal cavity. So when you are in a store and an old person squeaks out a fart, are you just supposed to pretend it didn't happen? Obviously my first reaction is loss of self control and hysteria to the point where I must leave the area in order to compose myself. Sometimes, in certain situations, you can't laugh at all though, like if the old person is with a non-elderly family member, or if you think the old person might be self-aware that they just farted, or if you are with someone who is too mature to laugh at farts (p.s. those people are lame).

Today I was out shopping and this old lady bent over to look at something. Apparently the pressure was just too much. What I'm getting at here is that she farted; it was very audible, and since I saw her bend over at that moment, it was even funnier. Just as I started to smirk and laugh, the younger woman she was with caught me. I quickly erased the smile off my face in order to help protect the old lady from her own shortcomings. But, do we really need to coddle old people like this and let them lead a life of lies? If you farted in public, wouldn't you want to know so you could laugh too?

If you happen to encounter a self-aware elderly farter, you cannot react at all. Because if you laugh, somehow you become the person who is rude. How do old people manage to turn the table on that one? I mean they initiated the rude act via farting in public. It's like shoving someone out of your way and calling it rude when they fall--yeah it doesn't make sense.

We need to shut this system down. Next time you hear an old person fart in public, I think you should call them out on it. Let them know, since they claim they don't already. Then, next time an old person tries to make a comment about how terrible and rude younger generations are, you can be like "well at least they don't fart in public and try to pretend like they have no idea they did." Or maybe this is just all part of the beauty of being elderly--a life of freedom and never having to hold in a fart again...

Old people and the anti-express lane

Not to bash on old people again, but let's face it, they pretty much ask for it. I think that all establishments should have a designated "elderly person" line--similar to the 15 items or less lane, except it wouldn't really be faster. The thing is old people always have at least one problem when they need to exchange money for goods/services, and so they inevitably hold up all the people waiting behind them.

Just this weekend, I was in line at the Amtrak ticket counter. There were three agents working with customers, all of whom were elderly. The line continued to grow as the old people attempted to work out all of their problems at a molasses speed. I'm not really sure what their problems were; I assume that they were trying to apply every discount card in their wallets to lower the already reduced ticket price, figuring out if it would be possible to be seated next to a doctor who could listen to all of their medical problems, or questioning if the cafe car stocked prunes or raisins--followed by disbelief and anger upon learning neither are available on the train.

As the minutes passed while I stood there waiting for my turn, I wondered why all of these old people couldn't have just one line. We all know that they arrived about 2 hours earlier than their scheduled departure, just to be safe (and probably to ensure they had enough time to cause problems at the ticket booth and figure out ways to get free coffee vouchers).

Perhaps an even more useful venue for "old person only" lines is the grocery store (or at least Shop Rite, the elderly mecca). Maybe if the grocery store created a 65+ line, the old people would feel like it was a special perk, and wouldn't realize that the sole purpose was to speed up check out for everyone else. You see, old people go to the grocery store just to stock up on sale things and put them in the pantry, basement shelving, or ice chest. They have a special network that monitors and informs them of the good sales at all the surrounding grocery stores (see earlier post on the "old person chain"). The only problem is they can't read the fine print because it's just too small, so they always have a problem when it comes time to check out. The grocery store thinks that they are going to dupe the elderly writing "limit 5" or "must buy 2" in fine print, but in fact it is the eldery that will inevitably dupe them. The checkout process for old people is a very special production. Even though these people forget the names of their own grandchildren, they somehow remember exactly how much each item should cost. When something rings up incorrectly, or when they think it has, that's when the problems and line hold ups start. Old people have great strength when this sort of thing happens and usually end up getting their way, simply because it's easier than continuing to argue with them.

The thing is, all old people act like this, so they don't mind when they see someone holding up 17 people because a box of jello rang up 4 cents more than it should have. In fact they support their peers, offer advice and 30 year old stories about the other times the grocery store took their hard earned money.

In conclusion, old people should be restricted to use certain lines. Then, they will only hold up each other (it's not like they work), but also they will have more socialization with their kind, be able to retell old stories to new people, learn where the pasta is on sale for $.88, and band together to wear down the price check kid.

Slutting it up, Halloween style...

I love Halloween. It is, perhaps, one of the greatest holidays ever. Not only do you get to dress up and pretend to be someone else, but people give you candy. In the past few years, there have been about a thousand pop culture references and tired jokes about girls dressing like sluts on Halloween. Yes yes, we all get it. On Halloween many girls unleash their inner slut and turn just about anything into a slutty _______.

The blank is most commonly filled in with animals or popular professions. Instead of masking the fact that you are dressing up as a slut by wearing a booty-short rendition of a cop's uniform (as if a police woman's ass would ever peak-a-boo with each step taken), why not dress up as a plain ol' slut. After all isn't that the ultimate goal anyways? Then when the men ask you what you are supposed to be, you can say "I'm a slut" instead of saying "I'm a cop." I'm pretty sure upon uttering those words, you will have all the male attention in the bar.

Now, if you need to be a slutty _____ because regular slut just doesn't do it for you, let me suggest a few excellent costume possibilities. I like to try to think of the least sexy person and then make a slutty Halloween costume, just to prove that anything goes for slutty _____. Take, for instance slutty plumber, slutty garbage collector, slutty grandma, slutty clown, slutty crack addict, slutty toddler, slutty Madeleine Albright, slutty porta-potty cleaner (rated #1 on Monster's grossest jobs), or slutty chicken sexer. These ideas are all like 10,000 times better than sexy nurse, cat, cowgirl, cop, or probably anything you can think of. Basically what I'm trying to say is: I have just compiled a list of the greatest Halloween costumes ever and anything you think of will be pitiful in comparison.

Wear one of my costume ideas and everybody will be happy because you get to dress like a slut and make a social commentary on modern Halloween practices.

What's on your iTunes playlist?

Wow. Just wow. At the moment I am supposed to be working on a paper, but I have just been blessed with something so great I couldn't help but share. I am sitting at my desk, here in my apartment, working on my paper with my iTunes open. I got very exited when I saw that a playlist had appeared under my shared tab. I imagined all the great music that this person might have for me to listen to. I was wrong.

When I first saw this list, I was shocked by how short it was. Who has that few songs on their iTunes? Second, I wondered why anyone would have so many Nickelback songs; 1/3 of the list is populated by one of the crappiest bands (yes offense). Third, I was struck by the NASCAR song. I was unaware that NASCAR produced music. But yeah, I guess it makes sense for them to try to captivate the Nickelback audience.

At this moment I realized the playlist was shit and should be deleted from life. Just as I went to click back into my music tab, I thought I saw the word "milf." So I looked back at the list once again, and yes, I did see the word milf--in the title of the 45 minute video "Milfs Like it Big." I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped to the floor. And look closely at that list, because there are more special videos on it.

When you have iTunes, and you are part of a network shared by an entire apartment complex, it's probably best that you don't keep porn in your shared playlist--especially when you only have like 9 songs on it. Yeah I think that's a good idea. But seriously, what really appals me about this situation is the fact that this person has such bad taste in music. Perhaps he needs to stop watching porn and listen to the radio a little more. Then maybe his iTunes playlist will have more music than porn on it. What happens when someone asks him what kind of music he likes, or what songs are on his ipod? He probably just instinctively just touches his wiener. But seriously...Nickelback, that's just gross. Well now I know next time I see a dude with a Nickelback shirt and a NASCAR hat, I should definitely avoid him. Hah who am I kidding, I would've avoided him anyways...Nickelback AND NASCAR: LINE DRAWN.