How do people find each other?
@ Asking Politely
“Hello. Would you mind terribly if I found you?”
“Why, of course not. No finding could be less dread-filled for me”
“Ah! Today must truly be held in fond regard by those red-letter ghosts Discovery!”
“We partake in no less than the feast of the Paduan himself. Come. Sit!”
And then as you move past the table to meet him/her, the reveal that you were bottomless the whole time.
@ In Dreams
What is your lack and how will it keep you from every truly being loved?
Desperate – don’t listen to Better Than Ezra! Nobody worth wanting wants to be wanted desparately! More emphatic pointless words have never been said!
I’m just rowlin’ with y’– you can listen to them if you want / “The People! – United! / Can Never! Be! Defeated!” Iraq War Protest, March 20, 2003
Seriously though, keep at least 60% cooler than you actually are.
Unattractive – probably this one, too.
@ Message Bottles
5% of all marriages begin with the discovery of a message in a bottle. 100% of these marriages end in divorce. A relationship outset in a spirit of such improbable serendipity can’t help but pale in comparison to its charmed beginnings. Also, you will eventually incorporate your bottle into The Act in a misguided attempt at low-stakes sexual adventurousness. This is when things get real underwhelming real quick, as the awkward, unflattering, and slightly dehumanizing penetration of this cold and sleek featureless transparence into/by your hot soft/hardness plays perfect analogue to the flimsiness of your tryst.
Please, for the sake and sanctity of patrilineage and gynochattelry, let’s ban Message Bottle Marriage.
When the lights go out: use them. Find each other in, or all the way to, bed. Find that face waiting for you. Now that you’ve found it how could you have let it go unfound? Lay there. Lay exactly there. On or underneath sheets. All for it.
@ Marco Polo
Change the name to someone more relevant to your life/less a giant con-man as you see fit.
@ Phone Bank
Become a one-person phone bank– just keep dialing locally-feasible numbers until you find your one-and-only. Or at least someone worthwhile to date.
“Are you the gatekeeper? Because I’ve got a brand new key”
For every three hundred and sixty seven no’s, and twelve threats of cops, you’ll get the first few hummed bars of Melanie that will make it ALL worth it (as long as they are a hot kind of what you want (unlikely)).
Seriously though, when you get it, so hard. So wet.
Both kinds. No matter who no matter what you are.
@ In Public
If you stay in bed long enough someone DOES NOT have to join you. Quantum Mechanics does not work that way. Instead you need to get out of your house and start talking at people. Every people. ALL of them– even the ones you don’t want to plow. “Especially the ones you don’t want to plow” No. Not especially them. “Really?” Yes. I mean, no. Don’t ask for affirmations of a negative. “Sorry” It’s confusing, is all. “I said I’m sorry” You’re welcome.
@ With their face & their hands
Eyes & Ears: keep ’em open. You never know what signals will get sent your way and its best not to fall down open manholes. Two separate things slash If Turtles 2 The Arcade Game taught us nothing. (Or was that 3?)?
As for those finger prisons you call hands, let the guards look the other way as their charges run riot. Which is to say, if you want to find someone you should always stroll fingers first. Phalanges cocked and tips wiggling as you walk robotic down the street. So many touching opportunities ahead of you (what a life you lead)!
@ With their mouth
Just yelling will work. Could work. You don’t know.
Just yell– just shout things in public– you’ll achieve human contact eventually. (Again, cops are technically human). Or, if you want that contact to occur with someone out of uniform, try shouting someone’s specific name. The one that they got given. Birth name, or, failing that, a name someone later in life made up for them. Preferably that someone is them so that they will know what you are talking about, but if you have to make up a name for them so be it. It’s better than just shouting just barely. It’s better than shouting “Just Barely!”– which, in context, feels real provocational somehow.
Try shouting someone’s human name. Outside their house. For hours. Four hours until they come out. (Oh. They’re in there alright.) You have to be confident– if you don’t believe in you who will??
Rowling. You are just as likely to meet a cop in the name scenario as you are by just yelling. Maybe more likely, as there is only a very limited amount of ways to interpret someone yelling your name at you from outside your house as ‘not a threat’.
How about this instead– like with the hands and fingers shuffle, do air kisses while rocking sidewalks, praying that the face that your mouth picks is one ready, willing, and unfamiliar with notions of propriety/pepper spray.
I swear sometimes it’s like the Mace people are hoarding stock options on a love-free future.
@ More mouth stuff
Or a G-rated glory hole, a public no-cost two-way kissin’ booth. How could that go wrong? What? Oh. Yeah. I definitely should have figured that would be the first trick pulled. Dick move, two-way kissin’ booth abusers. Dick move.
Wait. What if, speed dating but what I just described? Some kind of (carefully monitored, mandatory sit-down) make-out factory. It is, after all, in his or her kiss.
And speaking of which: in this one there is no segregation or the prejudice of genetically selected preference. You Are Kissing These Lips. Doesn’t matter who you think you or who you think they are. Open you heart; open your mouth. And maybe later your pants. No wait, better:
The mouth may lie but the lips tell the truth. Except, you know, when they’re being commissioned by the mouth to assist in a lie. Which, I suppose, is every lie you’ve ever told well at least verbally out loud. Written down ones– your libels– your lips are off the hook for those. Well, unless I guess you speak them aloud to yourself while writing. In order to sense where the sounds lay weak.
Anyways– do more make-outs!
@ Milk cartons, post offices
If you know exactly what you’re for, draw it and tell the authorities that it’s what’s been MISSING.
If you can’t draw accuse it of a crime and let a police sketch ARTIST take care of the hard part for you.
@ On the internet
Ostensibly a good idea, dating sites allow lonely people to advertise their loneliness in a safe, satisfaction-free environment in which there is no risk of accidentally liking/touching someone you’ve not pre-determined you’d like to like or touch.
By finding your dates in a completely controlled environment, it give the finder/findee ample opportunity to mask their abattractive or otherwise inadequate actualness, and instead supply hot fodder with which to construct a temporary self ideal for feeding their specific needs.
@ On the internet again
The trick is to click and keep clicking.
Search not for what you want but what upon reflection appears to you.
From there let your instincts guide you.
Operate under the false, but constructive, premise that there is a point to this.
That if you follow the links in concurrence with what you heart says that there will be someone waiting for you at the end.
Confidence– have confidence in the process– act as if you already have your result.
If it doesn’t work out, you must not have been confident enough and that’s how you join a cult.
@ On the internet still
Search term: sweet titties
Search term: a girl with titties
@ Metal Detector
Maybe they have plates, or a fake hip. Are those still metal? I assume the pins are. Or maybe, on an overcast November beach, the both of you LOVE money and HATE time. You find each other sweeping where you’d previously swept.
Both of you. How did you not notice before? They had to have come your way; you must have passed each other, overlapped. And the beach isn’t that big– not enough for two folks of such conspicuous spirit to not see their paths cross. (AND this can’t be hisher first time out sweeping, can it?)?
But none of that matters now.
Nothing before this meeting matters.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
You classify it all as prologue, preamble necessary to having had this meeting.
Beep, beep, beepbeep, beep
The indicator quickens as you both turn to look a bit closer.
Beepbeep, beepbeep, beepeepeep, beepeep.
Now committing to the truth of it, the inexorability of
stepping fast to catch up with it, this moment, busting
miniature bunkers with each step, digging
for fire, chariots choogled & with each,every heart
BEEEE_EE BEEEEEEEE_EEEE BEEEEEEEEEEEE
eeeat, a new steep step a new spume steamwhistled.
@ On the Dancefloor
Tags: bottomless reveals, Candy Colored Clown, fartsounds, Fenix TX, gatekeeper keymaster jokes, hands are finger jail, how physics doesn't actually work, just fucking choogle it, Mace money- trace it, make-outs, patrilineage = gynochattelry, spume, titties