How to Do It Right

For starters, this guy has the best title EVAH.

People Suck, Let's Bone - 26

If I had to ballpark it, I'd say I'm one of the top 100 humans to ever exist, specifically in terms of empathy, charm, wit, looks and sex moves. I'm 26 and I'm tired of all the bullshit. I can't remember the last time I met someone that kept my interest. Never been a fan of the bar conversation even though I am good at it. I'd go to poetry readings and galleries to meet women, but those women aren't any fun. Thought I'd give this a shot.

You: Like funny movies, know the names of obscure 80s television actors, know the lyrics to at least one Steely Dan song, are creative, enjoy laughter, can cook, have nice feet, are totally hot, like to do lots of different stuff, love the idea of a boyfriend who is awesome, enjoy romance, do not in any way enjoy the phrase "bottle service", have a great family, swear occasionally (especially while watching football and having sex), can't remember the last horror movie you went to or understand why anyone goes to them, have never had an eating disorder, are already understanding of yet combatitive (is that a word?) towards my preternatural gift for procrastination, have never cheated on someone, believe that having an awesome family is the best goal of life, love cuddling and ice cream, are super smart, are willing to accept that I honestly believe Remix to Ignition is one of the greatest songs ever created, knew the Iraq war was destined to be a quagmire the day it began, aren't sure if I'm insane or awesome.

Me: Awesome.

Besides you and me and our closest friends, everyone else really sucks. Let's bone and make babies and teach them not to suck

I LOVE POSTS LIKE THIS. Except for the mention of being 26, I'd think it was another strike of the german-lover.

Seriously, why do these dudes not have cool girlfriends? Will someone please snap him up?

Verdict: I think I'm in love.

Dolphins on Klonopins

Something about this reminds me of my darling Tender Gittles. It involves dreams, pills and puppies. That's like basically her MO.

We loved each other like DOLPHINS on klonopins - m4w - 25

I had this weird dream about you where you had the head of a snake and you were wearing a shirt made out of live geese... and then my teeth started falling out like that scene in The Fly part II...

Remember that scene?

We watched it together... probably...

Maybe it was The English Patient...

Either way...

Then we were in the ocean, only the ocean was made from cute puppies in these little cardigan sweaters... and we were sailing on a boat made of love... I mean... in the dream like, when I stepped out into the third person, in the dream, the boat was made of wood... but in the context of the dream... it was all love baby... and I don't just mean love... I mean like, love, but when I say it, it sounds like it sis spelled with like, twelve 'o's

I don't actually know what that all means though I can only assume it was some sort of grand metaphor for my desperate need to get it on with you in a big way...

Where are you?

I miss you. I want to hold you tight baby.

You can't start a fire...

You can't start a fire without a spark

This guns for hire

Even if we're just dancing in the dark

Well yeah, this gun, as in me, as in my huge muscles, are definitely for hire.

Verdict: This seems to be directed towards someone, which if pulled off correctly is quite endearing. I have no idea what it means, but it seems romantic to me!

As a side note, the pic I used is actually a WEDDING CAKE TOPPER. How flipping awesome/tacky is that!?

EDIT- Miss Gittles asked me if the same guy posted this as posted the MC about the German girl. SO ASTUTE, they definitely have the same feel. We are trying to befriend him because he rules.

Brooklyn Bicycle Porn

This is dedicated to everyone who knows I have a thing for hipster boys on bikes... namely me, and in honor of my being reuinted with my bike, which lives down south. I always check out all the kids on bikes when walking across the bridge, myself, so I feel her pain. Kind of. She gets a little florid & verbose, and it's another case of MC-as-diary-entry. But I guess I'm a sucker for that. The girl knows what she wants.

boys riding bicycles across the bridge on a serene evening! - w4m -23

I’m riding across the bridge headed to manhattan and it’s nighttime, a clear night, the skyline all aglitter. It’s cool and temperate so I’m nearly sweatless… You pass me across the river, you’re going to brooklyn and I make briefest eyecontact with one, two three of you… I always wear a dress with
shorts underneath and your eyes hesitate on my thighs for only a moment… or
perhaps it’s wishful thinking.

I’ll be returning later in the evening, but I want to stop you to mention
that we should simply travel together. I know it may be difficult to hold hands
while on such a peregrination, or to even ride side by side in casual
conversation. I’m happy enough to ascend more quickly than you, arriving at the
plateau only to have you race past and beat me to the other side. My legs grow
stronger every day, but I can’t deny that chasing after a righteous man should
aid my ever flourishing musculature.

Why are the boys who find my tail a tantalizing chase lacking in bicycles?
Instead they tend to smoke too much pot, watch episodes of the simpsons and
mystery science theater on repeat, shop at H&M compulsively, wash their hair
with disconcerting frequency, attempt to woo me with irritating songs on a
harmonica, and offer to take me to whitecastle for a slider in the car so we
won’t have to move our legs in the slightest. [Tiny Gines says: Hey wait a minute, that sounds pretty flipping sweet to me...except the hair-washing. Washing your hair is soooo played out.] But I want to move my legs! How
long it’s been since I’ve ridden with a boy, side by side, over bridges and
across pleateaus, through valleys and over mountains… How much I miss these
pleasures! I want to ride with you, arriving cool and vigorous and in a state of
subtle ecstatic bliss! Or maybe we’ll never arrive, only to adventure through
the night and into the early morning dawnlight. Exercise, heartsplosion.

Next time you see me, one of us should turn around. Better times are
inevitable.

Verdict: Bike love, what!

Rainy Sunday

MC with rainy lazy sunday afternoon sex - w4m - 25

You: rainy, lazy, soft yet passionate, intensely mellow sunday afternoon sex. you start in the afternoon, hung over, smelling like booze and smoke, cotton mouthed, half asleep and going in for the spoon position. after some refreshingly burnt coffee and possibly some eggs with a side of advil you become more serious. you go for the belle and sebastian (really does not matter which, expected yet fitting), open windows, the smell of fresh cold rain coming in with the cool breeze bringing with it hours upon hours of dirty pleasure and the beautiful agony of brining in the evening with entangled limbs, raw lips and full ashtrays not to mention marathon style orgasms. breaks are given to bathroom, ordering thai, cat naps and the occasional meaningless conversation about how hot the other person is and why. Me: totally missing out on all-o-dat.

Now, what DID I do on my rainy, lazy sunday afternoon? woke up, hung over per usual, fuzzy headed, confused, messy haired, phone vibrating up a storm. who is it? bff. on her way over all bright eyed and bushy tailed ready for brunch. I tear myself out of my floral sheets, throw some american apparel on and zip (i mean, walk kinda slow) over to who the fuck cares. after some way too many calories we have the genius idea of not missing the last day of free music at maccaren pool (YACHT are good but not enough to endure). worst idea ever thought up by a human, ever. why did we think that gawking at the topless skinny boys high 5'ing each-other hard core in the spitting rain while all the 19 year old girls who are firmer, perkier with way less baggage and zero trust issues, cheer in tube socks and hot pants while we, now the older girls who should know better than to be there in the first place having some minor panic attack about the upcoming work week and the idea of our desks with the macs on them and our bosses who want their files saved as PDF's not JPG's for the millionth time, a little chilly, tired and defeated after spotting way too many old flames and one nighters, decide to bouncity bounce outta there asap. best we can come up with is making cookies and watching a movie which in reality turns into cookie dough (that shit can really make you sick) and dwelling for what seems like decades on decoding cryptic text messages from the dudes, no, douches, who deem it cool to do us once in a while.

Jenny: what do you think he means when he says "yeah, sorry for the booty call, was out with the bro's hoped you were still up"?

Amanda: I think he is trying to tell you that he was too shy to make actual plans.

Jenny: maybe... i don't know... i think it was just a booty call.

Amanda: sounds to me like he really likes you and wishes you were his girlfriend.

Jenny: you are fucking dumb.

Amanda: sure but his tats suck. he's not even straight edge anymore.

Jenny: but he calls me "babe"...

Amanda: well, ok, what do you think "busy, call you later" means?

Jenny: so into you.

Amanda: really? you think so?

Jenny: totes calling you later. Amanda: for cereal?

Jenny: whatever. his jeans are like girl jeans anyway and his band aint that great.

Amanda: yeah... animal collective did it better.

This goes on forever until the sugar crash, some TBS movie starts over and we should probably get it together and realize that dudes don't care that much about what they write via text message and are getting laid as we speak with someone other than us.

So rainy, lazy sunday afternoon sex or R.L.S.A.S, I missed my connection with you big time. I hope I run into you sometime, maybe when we are riding our bikes or walking our dogs or on our 4th cocktail, who knows... just wanted to let you know, I really love you R.L.S.A.S, you mean a lot to me, please don't stop being amazing cause you rock my vagina... no, I mean my world.

This girl had me for a while. The first paragraph is kind of genius longing, especially for a scenario that sounds so delicious and appealing.

Then WHOA. It slipped into desperation. Why do so many MCs end up akin to diary entries? That works if it's cute. But if I was her, I would have stopped after the first paragraph. If I was a guy, I would be thinking "yeah, that sounds awesome." But instead, guy-me is thinking it smacks of bitterness.

Verdict: Let's pretend that it doesn't exist, and let's hope that this fall is full of lovely rainy Sunday trysts.