Craigslist Stories: Vol. I

When the merda hit the fan last week about the Boston Craigslist killer, Takiah sent me a text message warning me about meeting people from the internet. Granted, these people are not cyber beings, they are human, like moi, and have found that our dear pal Craig has provided a useful gratis forum for expanding ones, um, “social circles”.

My circles have been expanding ever since five months ago when I tossed up my first picture and a silly blurb about myself in a twisted game of fate on new-years-eve. After I proved that I had the courage to actually test the cyber waters, it took a few weeks before I learned to swim. Once I was able to doggie paddle, I began making laps across the sea.

Later, other friends warned me about the dangers of cyberic connections and made me promise not to meet any more people through the list. I vowed not to meet any more men through Craig but they didn’t think to make me even out the gender options so I’ve still got some room to maneuver before breaking my promise…

Actually, I broke this promise last night after having a discussion with a friend about Craig over enchiladas at Cinco de Mayo. My friend and I were chewing tortillas and recounting our various curious encounters made possible by our Craig, which was in fact how the two of us had met in the first place. Truthfully, we had re-met since we discovered on our first meeting that we had been in class together at UC Berkeley. Small world? Bob’s your uncle.

If I’m not married in the world, then I’m single in this country, that’s what we like to tell myself. Yes, that is what I meant to say. Moving on, it seems a clandestine and marginal act to initiate amorously charged encounters through the use of the internet, but there is something incredibly adrenalinezing about the process. It is slightly more exciting then how I acquired my last ficante while folding my jeans in the little laundry house. He’s cute, but bores me to death so instead of walking out my door to a convenient date with my neighbor, I’m off to Pasadena for drinks with a UCLA alumni who I’ve never met previously, and surprises me with the claim that he had an affair with a professor who I know but doubt that she would leave her husband for this twerp and after three glasses of champagne I suck the story out of him and even though it’s hard to hear over club pop, I decipher his distorted perceptions of what he wanted to have had occurred. And that’s another story…

Let me just tell you that in terms of meeting men, it’s a time-consuming process to screen through responses although the best result of the male-meeting is that I actually acquired a few friends who surprised me with their serious platonicness. Arguably, the same holds true for the women, who I would like to believe are less threatening, although I am just hoping there are no female counterparts to the Boston Craigslist Killer lurking in the virtual bushes.

One of the most fascinating or frightening aspects to the posting of an add in Craigland is the chance of being recognized by someone who knows you. Now, I probably put way too much information about myself out there since secrets are against my religion and I won’t be running for president so this shouldn’t be held against me, which means that people who know me in the slight bit, will have no doubt as to what they are reading or seeing should my post come upon them. Coincidently all of the posts that were seen by people I know who I am aware of were women with the exception of one man, seeing as how I am a peoplian, I like to be equal.

A few times it was simply friends who mentioned someone they knew who saw my posts, although I had not communicated with these illusive friends personally. Later there was the friend from CAL who responded to an add in Portuguese (only makes sense we studied Portuguese together) and then there was, more interestingly, a person who happened to be best friends with one of my colleagues at UCLA. Last week I got a message from an old co-workers from Berkeley who saw me on the list in the LA network and is on her way to Lost Angeles. That was random. And my favorite response of the week comes from a guy named Brandon who saw me this week. Although, I didn’t see him. This puzzle left me with a few questions:

1.Have you ever been recognized by a stranger on his way to the California Chicken Café on Santa Monica?
2. And if so, have you ever been recognized by a stranger who you thought knew you even though you’d never seen them, knowing they might know your pictures from “the list”?

The answer to this question came to me this evening while occupying the middle stall of the ladies’ loo. I was on the thrown when I pulled the cell phone named after a popular bush fruit out of my pocket and clicked open my email inbox. There, was an email from a guy who calls himself Brandon and said that he saw me the other day at lunchtime.

His descriptions accurately depicted the one-day of neverness that I actually stroll along the boulevard near that particular poultry café. I had had a first-time thing-of-sorts that I couldn’t really call a date but I suppose we could slap the name “encounter” on the event and call it a day. Anyway, me and this individual who probably wishes to remain anonymous because sunglasses were worn the entire time we had coffee and I never saw the eyes. After not seeing, I set down the road to Cost Plus to buy some wine.

This mystery man who knows what I look like since my image has accompanied my post took the time out to stop and recognize me, though opted against speech. On his way to pick up lunch at CCC he saw me at the intersection of Westwood and Santa Monica and felt like saying “Tudo bom” to listen if “tudo bem” would be the response. If that were the case he would have asked me for coffee, in Spanish, or so he wrote.

During the 30 second window period for skidaddling across the wide street, there was a moment in which a young man stopped and stared at me as if he knew me. I was still processing my previous encounter so it wasn’t until I got this email that I realized who he was. Still, I cannot picture his face, although I know that it was him. Strangely enough, he found me on the list. He remembered me as that girl from craigslist who posts interesting stories.

In truth, I know nothing about posting personal adds. I don’t follow the rules, I just scribal tid bits about me, and stories. I write stories because I fall in love with people through their words. And laughter. If you crack me up and compliment me you’ll never get rid of me. For example, a person that I go to school with but didn’t know very well until this weekend did this to me today and I went crazy. Crazy like I need to concentrate because I have three papers to write but crazy like I don’t care. Crazy like I’m delirious from not sleeping for two days and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but what does “should” have to do with me?

The moral of this story is that, well, I’m glad this isn’t Boston. No, you can’t judge all users of the list, and in an urban jungle as disconnected as Lost Angeles, Craig helps people find each other from time to time…