women seeking men

I’ll say it: I’m generally late to catch onto fads, phenomena, gists of conversations, what have you. Case in point: craigslist. I first started using craigslist in April of this year, though I loyally investigated it for months prior. In fact, my friend in New York told me about it almost two years ago, as it was a tool she was using to find a new roommate.

“You’ve never heard of it?!?” as if I had never heard of the internet, telephones, or vibrators.

So, in my typical fashion, I followed up on it out the next day, was not familiar with the layout, became frustrated as to how to use it, then became pissed off and ignored it for a good year or so. Come early this year, I learned that Madison had its own site. Lurking became a new work distraction that transcended into part of my daily websiting routine, and also happens to be laid out for you on the right side of this page.

Moving on, earlier this April, I found myself in a position to get the hell out of my former apartment months before the lease year ended. I seized said opportunity. Now, it’s not that I hated the apartment; it was ideal for many reasons. In addition, my roommate and I worked quite a bit on home improvements.

All of the walls were painted to our liking—my bedroom was a soft green that reminded me of my sister’s favorite kind of ice cream (mint chocolate chip), the living room had one midnight blue and one short corner wall matching with the others a light, heavily-creamered coffee, the bathroom stood out with our one poor choice (a strong lilac, very grandmotherly), and the kitchen won us back with a pale, flowery yellow. With a second-story flat with hardwood floors which we unfurled after tearing out all of the carpeting, the cat, the dog, my roommate, and I proved to be quite happy until some unraveling started occurring in April. The details are inconsequential, as details normally prefer to be.

Enter: CL-Madison. After a week of searching the Temporary listings, I signed a lease for a summer sublet in the Willy Street neighborhood. It was my first time actually using the network, and the outcome had been favorable. Since then, time spent scouring that site waxes more near my time spent checking for new electronic mail. I’m sure I’m misusing “wax” here, but you get what I mean. I didn’t become an English major to sharpen my use of the of the language; I became one to learn it.

Here’s how it has progressed. I discovered the “Rants and Raves” section in Madison. Then, I read the “Missed Connections,” which turned out to be even more intriguing. Yes, I’ve also snuck around the people-seeking-people, too. The whole concept baffles/excites me. Anonymous graffiti tattooed for 45 days on a harmless surface where anyone/everyone can see it. Genius! After I returned from vacation in May, I realized that my relationship with Senor Craigslist could become more intimate. This is where trouble has found me, made love to me, and refuses to pull out.

A nasty habit/obsession compels me, at least weekly, to do a few things that I’m not entirely proud of and some things I will boast about in a paragraph or two. The former: I make long distance phone calls (from the work line) to places that I both intend to move eventually and would never dream of going. I convinced myself that this is a harmless activity, though I’m sure it’s not entirely helpful to the landlords attempting to rent their apartments. For some reason, it feels like forward motion, specifically the kind that I’m looking for—finding places to live, jobs, friends, various support groups, free items along curbsides that I’ll never see. Entire lives concoct themselves within these pieces of information. I imagine homes I’ll never live in, lives I’ll never contaminate. However, my father always told me that everyone needs a hobby, so I suppose this keeps me out of trouble.

Also, I rant and rave in the NOLA “Rant and Rave” section. I’ll rant and rave anywhere, really. It’s not that I’m providing valid point or well-constructed thoughts or arguments; it’s just something I feel I need to do to combat the negative energy buffet to be found on these sections, especially New Orleans’. I read in a link to a scanned copy of an article in the Times-Picayune from late May that the CL-NOLA section is the most racist in the US, and I believe it. People betting on how many of their black population will kill each other daily, evil-wishers prophesizing Category 5 events this August, and general ignorant ramblings all similarly stating, “You live in a flood zone. You deserve to lose your house, and the government shouldn’t help you out.” At first, watching all of those posts felt like watching a car wreck scene; I saw violent, horrendous events acted out in misspelled sentences with poor grammar, but yet I couldn't look away. I’ve settled down since then, and refrained from posting there out a means of respect for the city. I don’t live there, and they certainly don’t need some Yankee bitch shedding any tears over their lost homes, loved ones, neighborhoods.

Returning back to only posting on my city’s board has bored me in some ways, but it’s also forced me to be a little more creative with my anonymous graffiti. More recently, I posted something that I’ll call an “experiment” to assuage my slowly-subsiding ego. We’ll also say, while we’re at it, that none of it is true, as I don’t feel comfortable to admitting to anything it contains. I've put the actual women-seeking-men ad that I wrote on here and taken it down about five times now. I can't decide if I want the world to know I talk like this or if I'm just a pervert. Below is a compromise, as I've edited the parts that I find inappropriate. Also note: I generally don't understand what is appropriate vs. what's inappropriate, so bear with me. If you're offended, you're just paying too close attention. Back the eff off.

Free milk
I'm looking for a guy that puts out on the first date, but will at least go on with that date pretending like that's not where it's headed. I'm into older men, but not over the age of 45. My mom won't listen to me cry on the phone about how you've ditched out on me or fussed me over once again if you're that age or older.

Big dick? Cool. Small dick? Also cool. Average? Boring, but cool. I'm sexual, sexy, even, and I like *********, but I don't prefer anyone going down on me. However, if it's me doing the giving, I like ****. I like everything, everything, as long you're dominating me. I like it when you're bossy. And you love bossing me.

As long as I'm being honest, then I'll tell you that I'm just fucking adorable. To boot, I'm well-read, well-informed, well-educated, and I've got a sense of humor that will remind you of being 12 again and hanging out with your best friend. I relate well to people, mostly everyone. I really like people, and I'm a bit of a charmer. However, with all that charm come a few white lies, so as long as you can understand that I'm a just a woman who will occassionally fib to protect your feelings, then we'll be okay.

You like my *** **** and my ferocious sexuality. What you like best is how compatible we are, that sometimes we're that exciting kind of awkward when not talking is so much easier than hearing me ramble on about things that are either 1)irrelevant or b)uncomfortable. I'll make up for this. I promise. Talking too much is what I do when it's too hard to be sincere.

I like ******* and Asian men, but mainly because I don't know any better. I also like smarties and rough guys and whiskey-drinkers and stoners and professors and foodies and writers. I like travellers and readers and people who are more intelligent than I but don't act like it.

Your pic gets mine. And don't believe my mom; the milk's always free.


I don't know what I expected from that. A good laugh? A free dinner? While I’m half-tempted to share some of the more clever responses that I received, I feel that karma might hunt me down for that. I’ve bothered these men enough. No need to embarrass them. Anyway, it was for the attention, and anytime I do something strictly for attention, I do something for the wrong reason. That post caused over 150 replies within the last week to flood my inbox. However, it was just yesterday before I deleted the ad. At first, I’d used my faux-e-mail to respond to the more interesting follow-ups, but it all became so tiring after awhile. I lost interest. Besides, I would never actually meet anyone that I had been corresponding with over the internet. I have enough trouble keeping up with my acquaintances as it is. Plus, I hate nerds.

That would be the gutsiest of my CL affairs. I learned my lesson? Probably not. (Rarely do.) After that debacle, I’ve stuck to the “Missed Connections,” as it feels apropos in regards to my life in general. Sometimes, I’ll go to another city’s board and detail an imaginary encounter based loosely off of situations that I’ve been involved in. On Monday, I put one up on the Madison board for a friend and who checks MC religiously. She knew it was me; I’d like to think it brightened her day; I’m such a ball of fucking sunshine.

Finding new way to communicate with the person sitting right next to you, that’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Perhaps new craigslist posts will come to me. Time shall only tell! Work time, that is. I’m not sharing these brilliant musings off the punch-clock, that’s for damn sure.