We’ve all been there. Maybe you’re at a sweaty club digging the close, hot vibe when your eyes meet for just a split second. Then it happens again. And again. But you don’t act on your instincts.
Or you could be outside under that big, blue sky at Red Rocks, the sun starts to go down, and the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in flip-flops and a Dave Matthews Band T-shirt starts dancing a little too close for it to be an accident. But did you get a number?
Or maybe you’re just drunk and rolling so hard you can’t see the dust cloud choking you to death or smell the row of fifty port-a-potties lined up behind you. All you see is the girl or guy of your dreams, and you just know they’re feeling it, too.
A lot of people would just shrug it off, sober up and move on. Another summer concert, another misty, regret-filled memory. But not these people. They’re taking one last shot at finding out if that really was true love they walked away from on the way to the restroom.
A friend was deep into molly when she passed you in the bathroom and insisted she take a picture of you because she loved your shirt and knew I would too (I put on whiskey events for a living). I laughed it off when she sent me the picture but damnit if I wish I couldn't meet you. Shot in the dark but worth it. cheers :) Is this you or do you know her? I must find her!
So this guy didn’t even actually meet the girl of his dreams. No, his friend took her picture in the ladies' room when she was too high to think straight. You also need to know the sought-after gal in question is wearing a shirt that says “Whiskey is my spirit animal” (per the photo included in the posting). Now the poster is hoping against hope that she’ll be intrigued by the idea of meeting someone who got so worked up from seeing a photo of her on the way to pee that he posted an ad on Craigslist. Actually, I really hope this works out and becomes the cutest / creepiest “how we met” story ever told at a fiftieth-wedding-anniversary party.
You spotted me up top rocking my fanny-pack which you couldn't seem to get enough of. You followed me like I hoped you would so that we could have fun dancing while I tried to keep track of my spacey friends. Though I may have seemed distracted, I enjoyed our time together and especially enjoyed those lips ;) I was a bit disappointed that numbers weren't exchanged before being separated once the music stopped. You're hot, I'm hot, and maybe we could try again, at another show, when I don't have people I feel responsible for?
You’ve got to give it to this dude. He wore a fanny pack and, despite his description of events, obviously got made fun of by some hottie. And he STILL had the balls to try to find her on Craigslist. He even made reference to the fanny pack! What he lacks in style he obviously makes up for in confidence, which women really dig, supposedly. He’s also responsible, letting the girl of his dreams drift off into the night just so he could take care of his obviously blasted friends. Then again, having friends who are so blitzed that they need to be babysat could be a big check mark in the “negatives” box. Either way, homeboy rolled the dice. My hat’s off to you, fanny-pack guy.
You were to my right during GWAR at riot fest. You have dark brown hair. You wore red lipstick. You bumped into me several times before I noticed it was on purpose. Your smile made my day.
It takes a pretty arrogant person to assume someone noticed you while GWAR was on stage erupting in violent blasts of every bodily fluid imaginable. It’s also a little delusional to think that, in the middle of what was essentially a giant mosh pit, the girl bumping into you over and over is doing it on purpose. It’s great that her smile made your day, buddy, but I’m pretty sure it was being hosed down by Jizmak Da Gusha that got her all giddy.
You from Texas. I a local. You were so friendly but I was too stoned to handle it. You seemed like an awesome dude. You were probably just rolling and friendly to everyone, but dare to dream.
She was too high to communicate. He was on enough molly to make Ayman al-Zawahiri seem approachable. There’s no way this could end badly.
I met this stunning girl Fin at red rocks during Florence. Shared a cig on the stairs and I want to share another cig with you … You took my breath away.... Do it again!!!
I’m just going to throw this out there: Perhaps it’s all the smoking and not Ms. Fin that’s got you gasping for air. Also, please keep in mind that prison is the only place relationships built solely around cigarettes really work.
Your name is Jillian, or maybe Gillian. I didn't ask which when you gave me your number. You sat near me and my friend during Flogging Molly. I let you drink my water and use my lighter numerous times. You gave me some rum and pulled me into the crowd to see the headliner on that side of the show. You made my night. I asked for your number, but maybe I heard it wrong. I really want to know you and thank you again for getting me so close to the stage. Tell me who we saw and why you were crying when I talked to you.
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SHOW ME HOW
There’s so much wrong here it’s hard to know where to start. First, she gave him her number but he didn’t ask her name. How the hell did he know whose number it was? Second, she clearly gave him a fake number. Then he asks two very strange and disturbing questions. The first, “tell me who we saw,” is information he revealed a mere three short sentences into his love letter. Next, he wants her to identify herself by revealing why she was CRYING while they talked. This ad smacks of someone so bored and indifferent that he just wanted to find out if Craigslist missed connections really work. I'll bet they do sometimes. And I'l bet they won’t for this poor guy.
Please be more descriptive. Could have been me, or one of the other 500k plus tattooed guys with a beard in Colorado. Look around, hon. That's the norm now.
Finally, I just have to include this awesome reply to a post from a woman trying to find her bearded, tattooed Prince Charming. This guy manages to be a total dick to his possible future sweetheart while at the same time making readers go “Yeah, he’s got a point.” Beards and tattoos are the modern equivalent of, say, bell bottoms and long hair in the ‘60s. You’re never going to have the scariest date of your life with this kind of work ethic.