Fun Guns: The New "It" Accessory

Miranda's 27th birthday was Saturday, and in honor of her officially beginning her "late 20's," we decided to stalk her favorite author--Anne LaMott--throughout the North Bay.

Okay, maybe "stalk" is a strong word, but we did try to visit as many of the places Anne hangs out and talks about in her books as we could. This took us to some random places (e.g. the beach adjacent to San Quentin) and some very posh places (e.g. Tiburon and Sausalito) where we amused ourselves by drinking too many Bloody Marys, eating too much salt water taffy and making fun of a lot of yuppies. ("Jennifer? Robert? Is that YOU?")

Although the day was officially coined "The Anne LaMott Tour of the Bay Area" I prefer to call it "Fun Guns Around the Bay." See for yourself.

Yuppie Fun Guns

(complete with Bloody Mary and the open shirt collar with copious chest hair.)

Happy Fun GunsCharlie's Angels Fun Guns

Tired Fun Guns

Rally Fun Guns! (Notice how Matt is aiming for the bear)

Writers Who Can't Punctuate

This is a picture of the schedule at the Make-Out Room. Writer's With Drinks? Shameful, guys. Just shameful.

An addendum. . . .

Here's the text of the Craigslist "Missed Connection" I posted last night in an effort to find Zooty, the guy who got stuck in the doors of a BART train while trying to give me his number. I actully don't have any inclination to call him, but I thought it would make for a funny "Missed Connection" anyway. The big goal is to land on the Craigslist "Best of. . . " list. (Oh, and to give credit where credit is due: the text of this craigslist post was written by my friend Erin, who enjoys ridiculousness even more than I do.)

Did you get stuck in the door of a BART train last night? - w4m - 25

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Reply to: pers-153081605@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-04-20, 7:16PM PDT


You: tall, lanky and bruised, answers to the name of Zooty. Me: sassy crossword lover on the Richmond BART line, coming from the A's game. We shared a magical ride, but the cruel forces of the BART doors kept your number from me. Please respond, and we can make beautiful crosswords together once more.

BART

I am a magnet for off-balanced, wacky people. I am also the person that the strange, random stuff always happens to. A case in point:

I'm coming home from the A's game last night. I get on the train, plop down into a seat, and immediately zone out as I wait for the train to pull away from the station. I barely glance up as a big, tall guy sits down next to me and pulls out the newspaper crossword puzzle. After several minutes of sitting and minding my own business, this guy--with no warning, and no introduction at all--shoves the crossword puzzle at me, sticks his pen in my hand and says: "Here. You work on it." And then, almost as an afterthought, he says: "Are you any good at crossword puzzles?"

Um, yes I am good at crossword puzzles, so I started working on the puzzle. After a few moments he leans over my shoulder and begins to comment on the clues that I've answered: "Epees! I totally should have known that one!" "Oh, a knit is a stretchy fabric--I wouldn't have guessed that." Next thing I know we're working on it together, and I'm giving him shit about his dumb suggestions for answers.

Then suddenly, he says: "So, in about a minute I'm going to give you my phone number." I don't know how to respond to this, so I just start laughing. But he continues. "I won't take your number though."

When I ask him why not, he says that hasn't really been working out for him lately, so he's decided not to ask for it anymore. When I tell him I'm used to being the one who asks for numbers, he asks if I had been planning on asking for his, and I tell him I hadn't really thought about it.

"Do you have a name?" I ask him.

"Yes," he says.

"And the name is . . . . ?"

He tells me his name is Zooty, just as we get to my stop (where he is transfering to the train on the other side of the platform). As he gets onto his train, he asks "So, can I give you my number?"

I tell him sure, and he starts to write it down on the newspaper, but the pen won't work. The BART bell rings, and the automated voice announces the train is departing. Suddenly the BART train doors close. ON HIM. After a moment they re-open, and then close again. Still, ON HIM. He is still trying to scribble out a number, caught as he is with only one arm and half his body atcually on the train.

People on the train are groaning and glaring and yelling at him to get on, already. People in the station are laughing and pointing. I am hiding my face in my hands in embarassment.

The train doors open one more time, and he darts out and hands me the paper, then jumps back on BART before the doors slide closed and the train starts moving. As I move to leave the station, the women in front of me ask: "Did he just give you his phone number?" Yes. "Did you just meet him?" Oh yes. "Wow that's quite a catch!" they say. A catch? I'm not so sure, but it sure made for a damn good story. Now it's just too bad I can't actually read the phone number.

"Sweetie. . . . "

So this guy that I've been e-mailing on Match.com (but who I've never met or even spoken to on the phone) calls me tonight and leaves a message in which he calls me "sweetie" not once but TWICE.

Now, I feel like I have spent my whole life honing a public persona that discourages the use of terms of endearment. I have worked hard at crafting a slightly prickly exterior that brokers no such inclination towards monikers like "honey" or "sweetie" or "darling." I have tried to make it clear with my public facade of cynicism and crabbiness that in choosing to venture into affectionate name-calling like this, you risk being skinned alive by me. How is it possible that this very critical aspect of my persona has not made it into my online profile and into my e-banter with this guy?

What on earth would have given him the impression that I was the kind of girl who would appreciate being called "sweetie?" All I can say is: he'd better not be planning on holding my hand or doing any cuddling, because that will be the final straw. I WILL smack down on it.

Dating as the fifth circle of hell?

A friend just sent me the link to a new dating site--IPod Dater. Apparently the deal is that if you join (for free), you can download videos of people explaining why you should want to date them, and then you can contact them. I'm sort of hoping it's a joke, but I don't think it is.

So after the demise of my last relationship attempt, I find myself (unwillingly) back on Match.com. I thought I canceled my stupid subscription, but I apparently didn't, so now I feel obligated to get something out of it until my subscription expires for real in May. My heart's not really in it, though.

The proof? I have gotten ridiculously picky about who I will contact on Match. This is the danger of anonymous online profiles--it's super easy to write people off based on little tiny details that annoy you. So with no further ado, my top 10 list of Match.com profile turn-offs--if you have any of these going on in your profile, you won't be hearing from me:

1) Bad grammar. Did you say nice instead of nicely? Good when you should have said well? You're off the list.
2) Bad spelling and punctuation. I understand that this is a relatively casual mode of communication we're talking about here, but bad spelling just makes you look dumb, and who wants to date someone who can't spell "schedule"?
3) Referencing how hard it is to meet people in your profile. It just makes you look sad and desperate. You're right: it is hard to meet people, but does anyone really want to be reminded of it? I didn't think so.
4) Inappropriate Match names. Examples: NiceBunsBaby and ShutTheFuckUpandKissMe. Seriously? I'm sure those names are reeling in the dates.
5) Anyone with half naked pictures of themselves in their profile, particularly if they're obviously flexing. You're probably a cocky bastard and everyone knows that really hot guys are always more trouble than they're worth.
6) Anyone old enough to be my dad. Or uncle. This, by the way, is the vast majority of men who contact me.
7) Anyone who has to say they are funny, smart or sarcastic in order to prove it. It's the primary rule of writing, people: Show, don't tell. If I can't tell you're funny, smart or sarcastic from the rest of your profile, you're probably not as funny, smart or sarcastic as you think.
8) Anyone who calls himself a "nice guy." This means you're either a jerk who's trying to front like you're a good guy, or you're really a nice guy, and women (at least this woman) generally assume that means you're a big, wimpy pushover.
9) Men who claim to be really, really busy with work. When you tell me that you work 100 hours a week, I wonder when, exactly, you were thinking you'd have time for a relationship or even a date. Perhaps the 100 hour work week is a sign that you're not really in a place in your life where you should be dating?
10) People who start their "About Me" section with the word well. As in, "Well. . . .I'm really funny, blah blah blah." There's no real reason for me to be annoyed by this. I just am.

So with all the guys that those pet peeves eliminate, I have managed to narrow down the Match.com world to approximately. . . . two people. And both of them live too far away for me to really consider dating anyway. Oh well. At least I still have Ipod Dater.

Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I'm gonna get your Grandma!

Last night, some friends and I ventured into the Starry Plough, a bar in Berkeley known for its Tuesday night open mic. We were going to support Miranda, who besides being awesome is also a singer/songwriter. Here were some of the highlights:

--"George," a snarly, radical feminist (and I suspect a lifelong chain smoker, judging by her voice) singing covers of bad 70's rock songs. George's voice has this. . . . scratchy, tone deaf quality that literally drives people from the room when she sings. When George gets on stage, everyone knows it's time for a bathroom/smoke/any other reason to leave the room that you could possibly come up with break.

--Andre the closet Russian. I had a whole conversation with this man. He seemed nice and friendly. Not even the slightest hint of an accent. And then he gets on stage, and suddenly he's dark and moody and oozing Dostoyevskian angst out of every word he utters (which suddenly is coated with this Russian accent) and then he's swaying and singing in Russian. I've heard of people adopting stage personas before, but this was kind of ridiculous.

--But the best moment of the night? Jerry. The only person over the age of 30 who performed in the open mic all night. It was the shadiest, creepiest, yuckiest and yet damn funniest performance I've seen in a long time. His best song was all about seducing old women in nursing homes. The chorus? "Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I'm gonna get your grandma!" I won't go into too much detail about the lyrics--you can check out Miranda and Carrie's blogs for more--but let's just say it was disturbing enough that when the MC got up after Jerry was done to announce the next performer, her first comment was "I never thought I'd say this, but now I'm kind of glad my grandma's dead."

Oh, and one more important thing. Don't forget that Father's Day is the day when Americans eat the most steak. It just might win you a free beer!

Miranda and Claire's Excellent Adventure

So this weekend my friend Miranda and I had ourselves quite an adventure. If you want all the details, you should really go to her blog (http://mediocrityisnotsobad.blogspot.com ) but the short version goes like this: somewhere between the struggle to save Miranda from homelessness, the field trip to check out Golden Gate Park's buffalo, some seriously inappropriate behavior at the DeYoung museum and my run-in with the rudest (and boldest) cab driver in the city, I found time to meet the man of my dreams. He is pictured below. I think we'll be very happy together, as long as I can get beyond that whole "he's encased in glass and is thousands of years older than me" thing. But true love has conquered bigger obstacles than that, I'm sure.