Splish splash...I was annoying all the good swimmers in the pool.

Word to the wise: deciding that you're just going to "pick up swimming" is difficult.

Way difficult.

I am not a thing of beauty in the water. Not. Even.

No puns! NOT EVEN ONE!

As my last day as a 22 year old winds down, I am contemplating how little I made of being 2-2.

I chewed no double mint gum. I...did no other things in duplicate! Why, I treated twenty two as if were just another age - an age with no punning potential! How could I have let this happen, how?

Truth: 23 sounds a lot older than 22. For serious.

Lolthulu strikes again!

My life is complete.

My craigslist post, and my sushi chef's response caused THIS to appear on craigslist.

I am always happy to increase the number of Cthulu reference opportunities in the world. It makes me want to respond to the poster with lolthulu, but I don't know if that's taking things a little far.

Dear Richmond Craigslist: you now own my life.

It's education, yo.

In true form, I kind of don't like writing about Things That Are Actually Important.

But I say this: I will always, always remember what 9/11 looked like on TVs in my Center classroom. And, I imagine, similarly, I will always, always remember watching Obama get sworn in from the back of the marketing classroom in Fleming.

I remember these two similarly, not because they evoke similar emotions, but becuse there is something about watching history unfold in the classroom itself that is singular.

When I get famous, someone's going to find this on the internet and write a fanfic about it. JUST YOU WAIT!

So, after reading the craigslist fine print, I realized that posts go away after 30 days. My no-longer-missed connection, however, needs to be preserved for posterity. FOR POSTERITY.

Proof, my friends, that people are awesome and being an internet creeper sometimes pays off.

My post:

To the Sticky Rice sushi chef who knew a thing or two about octopi (Sticky Rice: the take-out portion)

Sure, maybe missed connections are an awkward medium. Sure, maybe if you (or a co-worker) stumble across this ad responding to it would be FAR too weird for any normal person to do, so you won’t do it. Sure, it’s pretty likely that you’ll never read this so it won’t make a difference either way. Still, at the end of the day, who doesn’t secretly want a missed connection written about them? I’ve decided that the potential good a missed connection can introduce into the world outweighs its impractical nature. To make this totally legit, I’ll try to write it in standard missed-connections speak.

You: the hipster-beautiful sushi chef working in the take-out part of Sticky Rice Friday night.

Me: the girl in the red coat who tried octopus for the first time.

We connected when you pushed adventurous eating and I awkwardly found myself unable to use the word “octopus” and, instead, really needed to identify the entire class – “cephalopod.” When I say “connected” I really mean, “chatted briefly” but, you seemed friendly, nice, and fun.

I was actually only in Richmond for the weekend (I live almost 3 hours away) – so I can’t really say something like “hit me up for a coffee and maybe we can continue that conversation about cephalopods and the way oxygen is carried throughout their blood streams” but, you know, I guess…good job? Good job being really friendly, interesting, and (as far as I can tell) good at your job. My sushi – with and without the octopus – was delicious. Yes: good job. Good job knowing interesting things about octopi, and rolling a mean sushi, and being (you must know it’s true) really amazingly handsome in a seemingly not-conceited way. Good job on that one.

We have hundreds of small interactions with people daily, and I just wanted to let you know that this one made a difference in my evening. Thanks for introducing me to octopus, and for being nice to a loud and giggly group of 20somethings, and for being part of what looks like a really friendly and wonderful dining establishment. Good job, in general – and good luck in work, life, and other octopus-related endeavors.

His response:

Re: To the Sticky Rice sushi chef who knew a thing or two about octopi

hello. i'm that sushi chef to whom your missed connection was in regard...

i'd just like to say that i do have a girlfriend, but your missed connection was the best missed connection that i've ever read about anyone, so good, in fact, that it has (obviously) generated an overwhelmingly positive response from its subject (me).

i would also like to say that i am honored to have received it, and although you live 3 hours away, if you ever end up at sticky rice, or of course its takeout franchise while i'm working, expect more sushi and conversation.

Oh. Em. Gee.

OMG.

OMGOMGOMGOMG.

O.M.G.

So, let's just say: thank you Amy for seeing this before I did.

It's all about connections

My name is Meg, and I post on cragislist missed connections.

Want proof? Go here.

Ways I justify posting a missed connection in a city I don't even live in. (1)Everyone I love dearly already knows I'm an Internet creeper. Proving it to the world, via craigslist, was really the next step. (2)At the end of the day, I think we'd all appreciate a good missed connection. I know I want to some day stumble across a quality MC about myself - how awesome is that? A really great missed connection is someone saying, via craigslist but saying none the less, hey you - you influenced me. You made enough of a difference in my day that I am going to take the time to go home, sit in front of my computer, and compose a coherent though about it. Something about you was striking, unique, and touched me. You win at not illustrating the principle that all people at all times have the opportunity to be influencing the lives of those around them. (3) That dude was really breathtakingly gorgeous and...I mean...you just...he was, okay? (4) Whatever, we totally had a connection. Totally.

While this weekend brought connections of the unrequited-type, I spent last weekend in connection-contemplation as well. Last weekend I traveled down to Austin, Texas for my cousin's wedding.

George is the first of our generation to Take The Plunge and, let's just say, I was bawling. Heather (his now wife) is, as far as I can tell, pretty much amazing, hilarious, fun, intelligent, and drop-dead-gorgeous. Even beginning to think about planning a wedding stresses me out beyond all piratical measure, but if I ever find myself planning a Traditional and Classy Celebration of Matrimony - I am keeping both Heather and my roommate Cor (who was married over the summer) on speed-dial. She baked cookies and wrote personalized notes for all the gift bags. Yeah. Yeah. She's a freaking phd candidate and she baked us all cookies amidst planning this complicated and gorgeous and perfect wedding. I get the distinct impression that standing in Heather's way is probably a poor life decision.

I still have some difficulty believing that a boy I associate most closely with Ninja Turtle themed birthday parties is now a ring-wearing, waltz-dancing, real-life Somebody's Husband. To be fair - the groom's cake was decorated with the Star Fleet Federation symbol. That's the Gorge I've always known and loved.

The wedding, overall, was less awkward than I'd imagined. Our family heald it together, I discovered family-in-law I adore, and I'm pretty psyched at being loose-in-laws with Heather's family now too. I think I'd really love the opportunity to spend some serious time with them and understand all of the dynamics going on there. Heather's line is is, apparently, old-school French Catholic from Louisiana which is just so different from my faimly and I'd love to know what those differences mean. Also, I believe capers, of the teaching me to dance variety, could be had by all. Seriously - I innocently accepted the offer of a dance from one of her cousins and he meant really dance. Note to everyone: I step on OTHER COUPLES when trying to be lead in real dances. I am bad. He was understanding. This, however, leads me to believe that everyone related to Heather (who is an amazing dancer herself) is infinitely capable of turning me into a dancing success story. I see great potential for a Quirky And Heartfelt Comedy/Drama About The True Meaning Of Family With Dancing Used As The Overarching Metaphor here. Just think about the Heartfelt Messages! The quirky Learning To Dance montage potential! The potential to dance our feelings, as well as our dreams, people!

Austin is a beautiful city, I've added it to the list of places I could spend a few years one day. Now I've officially been to the state of Texas - another accomplishment. Something about our brief experience with the lay of the land makes me feel like I should spend some time in the southwest. The thing which struck me with the most force is that the Texan countryside looked exactly how you imagine it should. There were low-laying shrubs, expanses of brown, and skeevy looking low, square buildings with most of the paint worn off. I want to spend time in the southwest because I'm not sure I understand it. I'm adding "time in the southwestern part of the country" to my to-do list.

"I'm a white boy - I only know three dances, and none of them are approprate for this dance floor."

True Story, installment #21: In Which Hilarity Ensued - to a spicy Latin beat!

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to stop whining about how there's nothing to do and no one to see in Roanoke and, instead, start doing things and meeting people. Last night, to kick things off, I tried to go to see an improv comedy show with Mary and my friend Lauren and, later on, meet up with my friend Aaron to have fun timez. Unfortunately, the comedy show sold out, so we just ended up trying to make the best of the Roanoke Bar Scene.

Warning, folks, "make the best of the Roanoke Bar Scene" is always code for, "hilarity alert!"

After bouncing around a bit, Aaron called to meet up with us and give us bar suggestions. Our stipulation: hilarious dancing. His suggestion: 202 Market Street. Now, let me tell you - the last time my friend Kate and I went to 202 we asked the guy at the door, "Is it busy in there?" and he said, "oh yeah - packed!" "Packed" was apparently bar-dude lingo for "a guy with a belt-clip cell phone and a lady in Jorts who appears to want to shank any other girls who get on the dance floor because they might steal her thunder."

We were ready.

We made our way to the top floor, which was apparently Hot Latin Beatz floor, where Mary (who is, for the record, a blond Puerto Rican - so, 1# desirable lady in the club) danced the night away with The Sketchiest Dudes You've Ever Seen, Jorts made a re-appearance (but this time, an an entire denim skirt-suit), a girl who looked kind of like a tranny employed the hottest dance moves I've ever seen, Aaron got (I think) pseudo picked up by a very drunk man named Mario, and I stepped on two couples trying to learn how to salsa.

Can I just say: I kind of love Roanoke.

Mary's currently in a Hot Mess of texting back and forth with a Nicaraguan hottie (also, conveniently, named Aaron) who is trying, with quite a lot of acumen, to game her. You don't even know the joy this brings the two of us - almost enough to temper the sadness brought by knowing that we have to go back to work tomorrow.

Next on the list: start volunteering places again, and learn how to rock climb.

Should old aquaintence be forgot.....we'll sing it ore' and ore'

Advice from Nick, which I plan to adopt as my mantra for 2009: "Do what makes you feel free. Go forth and be fierce."

Unfortunately, when given, the advice applied to wearing totally fierce red shoes with a snappy dress. This decision, in turn, resulted in Partying Like It's 1999 which - in its own time, may or may not have resulted in Fran holding my hair back while I became intimately familiar with the contents of both a trashcan and my stomach. Being graduated from college is not, Gentle Reader, necessarily synonymous with being classy or making consistently good decisions.

On the bright side of things: the shoes were really fierce. And made me feel free. And I've discovered that my Secret To New Year's Eve Success held true, once again, so that's rockin'. I've noticed, over the years, that NYE tended to be the most disappointing of holidays. No matter what December 31 promised to hold, I usually found myself a little bummed out once January 1 really got itself going. This, I feel, resulted almost entirely because NYE was always played up as this TOTALLY AWESOME PARTY OMG BEST OF THE YEAR EVER BETTER DO IT WHILE YOU STILL CAN BECAUSE SOMETHING SUBSTANTIVE WILL CHANGE FROM 11:59 TO 12:01 IF YOU MISS IT YOU SUCK (also a good time for makey outy!). In fact, New Year's Eve is just...a day. A day on which you go to a party sometimes. Or not. Woo. It's the same as Begging Of April Eve or a solstice. Yeah - it only happens once a year, but so do the other 364 days. The secret to success then, is to say to youself, Self: this may or may not be Totally Fun Timez - but if it's not The Most Fun Timez EVARHHHH, that's cool by me too. This, I feel, results in times of funness proportionate to what should be the expectation.

Also, makeyouty can't be forced into a date like that. Come ON. Geez! You do not understand the unleashable power of makeyouty, people who are alls about kissin' at midnight.

So - that's my story. I wore some fun shoes and went to a fun party and maybe hit the Cheap Bubbling Wine a little hard, and it was fun. And now it's 2009. And that's awesome.

Now Matthew Lukens is staying at my house and we're having Fun Roanoke Adventures. Earlier, we had to stop talking about horror movies and urban legends because, as he pointed out, being The Kids Driving Through The Woods At Night Talking About How Urban Legends Will Certainly Not Come True, Ever, is a moderately auspicious activity.

True story: I don't like walking through the woods while holding hands - because you know how chainsaw killers feel about couples in the woods.

True story, the second: the horror/slasher genre makes me a paranoid, unhappy person.