Tuesday, February 19, 2013


Weird Help

Here's the story of a time I met a guy in a bar. Any other mysterious-connection stories? Could be a new Craigslist sub-category, although maybe that'd ruin it.


guys, bars

31 Comments / Post A Comment


Ahhh, I almost can't read past the part about slicing your foot open. Edith, no! (I am not squeamish about gross things, but imagining the pain always, always gets me. Shuddering.)


@frigwiggin "reverse birthday" is great, though.


@nonvolleyball I thought so, too. Lovely. (And, I mean, also horrifying)


@frigwiggin Is Edith's foot OK? Does she still have two feet?! Aack!


@frigwiggin I just..couldn't even. I left the page, haha. I am squeamish and extremely empathetic..my foot feels weird now! Ugh.


@AnnieM noooo, keep reading! it's great, & that's the end of the potentially triggering grossness, I promise. (well, unless you're made queasy by descriptions of bars...)


Edith, I just read this this morning on the stairmaster at the gym. A great story! You should try the glasses in public on occasion!


Damn, the NYT fixed the loophole in viewing more than 10 articles per month - does this mean I have to subscribe?? Edith, I will subscribe if you promise to write every article in NYT from now on. Deal?


@highfivesforall I subscribed to twitter for just that reason. You can still read unlimited NYT articles if you click through the NYT twitter link. Requires a bit of searching, but it's worth it to me because I'm cheap.


@HeckYes Whoa, it suddenly worked. Internet, you are mysterious. Thanks for the tip though!

Julie the T

@highfivesforall I find erasing my history and clearing my cache gets me back to zero reads on NYT.


@highfivesforall You can also apparently use any incognito function your browser has....not just for pr0n anymore!


Brilliant as usual!@y


What a fantastic story - even though I have to be a little hurt at the fact that Boston is the villain in this story - its awesomeness definitely overcomes that.

Craigslist actually did bring me a really mysterious/amazing connection recently. It was possibly the coolest thing that has ever happened to me, except it turned out sad and disappointing, so the net result is not a good story.

Daisy Razor

@Ellie ...I want to know what the job in Boston was, because I'm such an old townie at this point that there's a 70% chance I know who ended up taking it!


Jack from Cambridge, MA who comments on NYT is obviously mad that Edith didn't want to move back to Boston. What a childish prick. Another great short story. I especially like, "I drank a lot and went out with pretty much anyone who asked." That is me for the last 10 years. I might grow out of it sooner or later.

Valley Girl

@whizz_dumb My favorite favorite favorite breed of angry internet commenters are the ones who seemingly have Google Alerts set up so they can show up in random comment sections to defend their precious interests, like Jack from Cambridge apparently does for Boston. There was a guy who showed up on The Awl's Thomas Kincaid reviews defending the Painter of Light every week and it was absolutely precious.

raised amongst catalogs

@whizz_dumb ARGH. Editing killed my hyperlink, but this is what I said when I read his comment: http://youtu.be/nBelT-Xi1CY


@whizz_dumb Yeah. I started to read the comments got to his and went "well, back to The Hairpin." And now I am here and everything is good again.


Craigslist has hooked me up with some alpacas (and their manure) this weekend. I wonder what they'll have to say about my employment future?


(not a ten-thousandath as good as Edith's, but why not share?)
My best advice from a chance-encounter ever, probably, was advice I decided I needed to ignore. About halfway through a month-long road trip, me and two friends made it to Big Sur. We were 19 and had just finished our first year of Art School in NYC - I had dropped out and would not be returning. We had heads full of Kerouac, and the car was littered w/ The Beats, HST, Brautigan, and the like.

We stopped in the early afternoon to find a camping spot somewhere near Pfeiffer Beach, when we met a man, about 40, calling himself "Rock and Roll Johnny". He claimed to be "the original drummer" for an 80s metal band we had never heard of. In his tent was allegedly a girlfriend trying to kick meth he didn't want to disturb.

All night we sat around a fire, drinking the Rumpleminz he shared with us - underage and terrified of cops spying out-of-state plates, we didn't have our own booze, and were making due stop-by-stop. R'n'R Johnny thought we were heroes, modern day Sals and Deans and I think everyone thought I was a Carlo Marx type, which I'm not at all, but I guess maybe seemed like back then.

In the drunk, in the fire, in the pines, in the dark it was magical. We really believed we were heroic spirits, burning in starry dynamos etc and etc. We were 19, more balls & heart than brain. You know how it goes.

The next day we were hungover on the Pacific Coast Highway. I think we were maybe listening to Tom Petty, or anything that sounds good when you smell ocean and are driving towards LA. We joked about R'n'R Johnny, his missing teeth (from the Meth), his insistence on a claim to fame so subtle it couldn't even be called fame. A 40 year old man telling us that a bunch of kids who had never been west of Philly just a week before were "heroes" as we ate refried beans out of a can in the woods.

I thought about how he told us that we were living the dream, that we should never, ever change.


Maybe he was your son from the future. Or your husband from the future!


@Megano! I think you're on to something, because the description of this guy sounds suspiciously like George Carlin as Rufus in Bill & Ted.

Daisy Razor

I had gotten out of work early one day and gone to get an iced tea and people watch on Newbury Street. As I stepped out of the tea shop, a woman pushing a baby carriage and smoking a cigarette stopped me. She actually identified herself as a psychic and said, "I know you've got some romantic confusion right now, but you should be focusing on your career."

I realize that advice could probably apply to every 25-year-old on earth, but at the time I was starting a new job the next week and dating a guy I pretty much knew was gay but I was in denial about it. So it was weird.


Eeeeeeee....dith (this is me making my tiny paranormal scream of eeeeeeeeee into something that means anything)

(but anyway this story was fantastic and I am hoping to turn into a person who does this sort of thing to other people by studying tarot cards and astrology nbd)


@martinipie Also, in terms of connections, but minus the mystical part, does anyone else have a story like mine (not really that fascinating) of totally meeting and connecting with someone you kinda fall in love with on your last night somewhere that is not your home? Stephen from Phoenix, AZ, I still think of you and how we spent almost the entirety of a house party together.


@martinipie - This happens to me basically my last month before leaving any place 'for good'. Sudden crushes instantly becoming deep connections my last few weeks in my hometown, my first college, my final college, the place I lived between college & NYC.

But I think it has more to do with me (something something "fear of happiness" something "in love with beautiful but doomed moments" something) than it does fate, so your mileage may etc.


@leon s
Awww I see that too. Also your lack of avatar picture is kinda wiggin me out. WHITHER LEON?!

lasso tabasco

@martinipie YES! Once. It was my 21st birthday and I was at a karaoke bar in Berlin. There was a Swede! He sang Wicked Game by Chris Isaac to me and I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard. I was completely convinced that I would be happy forever if I could just stay with him. We're facebook friends!


@martinipie Oh god yes. Mine was a sound tech guy for the band Sugarland.

Edit to add, I did not meet him in any Sugarland related context, we were just at the same bar :)


I haven't read the piece and am currently slightly tipsy after pouring myself a bourbon after a LONG day, but: ten years ago next month, I met my husband in a bar. It was the Front Page in Washington, DC. Neither of us had ever been there before. We never went there again. He walked up to me and said "Hi." We chatted for a bit and exchanged numbers. We've been married for almost 4 years; right now, he's cooking me dinner. Which is all to say that bar connections can be the best thing to ever happen to you.

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