An Ordinary Life

(in fictional Craigslist posts)

Missed Connection: The girl who nailed me in the auditorium

You were hanging fliers in the Corman Auditorium at Tufts. I was building a set. You handed me a nail and sang really loudly to my radio. I’ve never known anyone who could get the high notes to “More Than A Feeling”. If you see this, meet me at Phoenix Landing on Thursday night. Karaoke. I’ll be the one struggling my way through an ACDC song.

– – –

Looking for Subletter – 1Bed 1Bath off of Highland in Somerville

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Sure mysterious Craigslist poster, this apartment is ‘Da Bomb’ and has pulled out all the stops with not 3, but 4 walls, a floor and a ceiling. But is it sufficiently chick magnetic?”

To this I respond, “If you consider the added perks of hot and cold running water and a functional kitchen, then YES! Your lady friend will fall in love with the windows coated in just enough grime to let in a soft orange glow and the $3 a wash machine in the basement (at $3 a wash, you know you’re getting the best).”

I’ve only got 3 months left on the lease. Come take it off my hands for $450 a month and help a fellow out.

– – –

Sofa Looking for a New Home: Black, Sleek, Healthy, FREE

It’s always hard when you have to say goodbye to someone you love. Despite years of comfort and companionship, it is time for me to find my sofa a new home. My girlfriend has informed me that when a sofa starts to “smell” and “grow things underneath” it is time to let it go. I can’t just abandon him curbside though, like a common mattress. I need to do everything I can to ensure he will be cared for.

Side Note: My girlfriend thinks I’m being “childish” and “selfish”. Never mind the fact that she gets to keep that disgusting antique side table with the singer sowing machine and termite trails. I suppose the world is a cruel and unjust place. I’m just sorry that my sofa had to learn that the hard way.

– – –

Wanted: Photographer who will not take any of those dumb pictures where our hands make the little hearts

On Saturday, August 28th, we will need a professional (but not too professional) photographer to make our wedding look maybe twice as expensive as it actually was.

Must be able to:

  • Make my increasingly more sloppy wife look glamorous.
  • Make inevitably bored guests look really entertained.
  • Make a subtle paunch look like Hulk Hogan. (I’m told it is definitely not attractive. Though I would like to cite the numerous crushes that my fiancée’s 5th grade students have on me as evidence to the contrary.)
  • Occasionally get out onto the floor and “shake it”. Perhaps even like a “polaroid picture”. Although, we would expect you to use a digital camera.

– – –

Missing: The man in his twenties who said he would never do this…

Looking for a sleek and sexy sliding-door hatchback sports van capable of carrying three chicks at a time (two of them in car seats). We’re looking used right now, hoping to find something before we have to sell our souls to Nissan. If you have anything family friendly made by Mustang or Jaguar, you’ll get first consideration.

– – –

For Sale: Everything I earned for the last five years

Kids clothes. Lots of them. I’m serious. There’s an Everest of kids clothes in the middle of my living room floor. People have come for miles just to find the top. I’m literally staring right at a family of mice that have set up base camp and are spinning together yards of cat hair with which to pull themselves to the summit.

Ok so I was joking about the mice. In all seriousness, these clothes are clean and undamaged. There is nothing wrong with them. The problem is, in fact, with my kids who are growing at rates that have researchers baffled. I buy them a new shirt at the store and by the time we get home, they have hulked out, stressed the limits of the seams and look like little roided up princesses.

Seriously though, there’s nothing wrong with the clothes. Please take them.

– – –

Events: Free Fight Viewing

No, I’m not talking about the Merryweather versus Clinton fight going on this weekend. I’m talking about the spectacle my wife is making of herself on our front lawn.

In one corner, weighing in at 135lbs, standing 5 feet and 2 inches tall, the woman who once took down three kindergartners with a single tetherball, the Hormonal Hurricane!

In the other corner, weighing in at 187lbs, standing 5 feet 8 inches tall, the man who likes to hide in his office when his wife is angry and invite other people to come deal with her, the Innocent Bystander!

Come enjoy the show if you’re bored and want some free entertainment. Only dudes though or my wife will think I’m cheating on her with you too. If you have fun, join us for our next event when my wife figures out that I just told the internet how much she weighs.

– – –


Actually, wanted alive so I can kill him myself. If you do have to bring him in dead, make sure he goes in the most painful way you can imagine.

Some suggestions include:

  • Rotator saw
  • Wood chipper
  • Trash compactor
  • Dolphins with lasers on their heads (I heard these are a thing)
  • Just Dolphins (terrifying)

Devin, the little shit (and I’m sure that I do mean little) decided that it was fun to get my 16-year-old daughter knocked up and then disappear like a fucking wizard. Devin’s not a wizard though and I will find him.

– – –


Apparently I shouldn’t post joking rants about murdering pissant high school boys. Help would be appreciated. Must be fun at parties.

– – –

Missed Connection: The girls who stole my heart exactly 18 years ago

I first saw you at Beth Israel Medical Center. You were tiny and pink and I trust that you were cute because the nurses kept saying so. The nurses must have had some kind of future-vision because all I could make out were two tiny amorphous spuds that seemed wet all the time for no reason. In fact, for the first month of your life, I insisted on calling you Spud 1 and Spud 2. I won’t tell you which one was Spud 1 save that Spud 1 was (and continues to be) my favorite. I’ll let you two puzzle it out. FUN!

I watched you grow and learn and fight and ignore me with impressive regularity. I patiently allowed you to subject me to a variety of nail polish experiments. When you tried to get out of trouble, I politely believed whatever excuse you had come up with. Almost. Like a terrifying lioness I defended you whenever something scared you or made you sad. Yes, I realize your mom would be the lion in that metaphor. She does use an awful lot of hair spray.

Allow me to get to the point. You’re leaving soon. I’m totally cool with it, but your mom is seriously falling apart. She’s barely consolable and it’s keeping me up at night. She’s hoping you remember to call every week. She loves you (especially you, Spud 1).

– – –

Looking for a writer who is way more witty and charming than I am

Before you say anything, I know I am obviously setting the bar very high. That being said, there is someone out there who is capable of a far more impressive toast than I could ever dream up. My daughter is getting married and I’m worried that, if left to my own devices, the toast will be absolutely horrifying for all parties involved. I mean really horrifying. Have you read George R.R. Martin? You know the wedding where everyone dies? My toast would make that look like the kitten halftime show during the Purina Puppy Bowl.

I will pay for a little freelance magic. And don’t worry, your creative spirit will be respected. You don’t have to be me. I’m just asking that you help me not be me too.

– – –

Fuck Storms

Is there someone who would please be willing to help me with the post apocalyptic rubble that was previously my garage before it became intimate with a tree? Right now, the going rate is everything I’ve saved and then some. I’m just looking for some people who’d be willing to help me do it myself for a bit less. I guess this is my fault for not knowing that you needed to be a millionaire to afford a house without holes in it. Seriously though, I will pay good money. I just need someone to cut me a break. [Insert heartfelt wish to put on a good Christmas for the grandkids and not have to tell them that Santa is a lie].

– – –

Romantic looking for someone more romantic to help him come off as extremely romantic

I’m not that bad to be honest. I’m a chocolates and flowers kind of guy, you know, the classics. But this is not a chocolates and flowers kind of anniversary that I’m planning. That’s right. It’s a big one. 40 years, to be exact. Look, I’m not looking for fanfare. I don’t expect you to come popping out of a cake with a string quartet, juggling axes and breathing fire (although if you can manage that, I know someone in the market for his grandson’s bar mitzvah). I just want you to look over the following note and help me make it…well…better.

Dear Heart,

You and I, we’ve been through a lot of stuff. Remember when the girls were three and forgot which name was whose? That was hilarious. Remember when you thought I had cheated on you with Susie from corporate? You ran out in the yard and started breaking some of the potted plants. Then I told the internet that you weighed 135 pounds. That was also hilarious. I promise not to tell them how much you weigh now, but just that, having been through that experience, I now love you 1.5 times as much. Anyway, that’s enough remembering. I like the present. I like looking at our house and our spuds and their spuds and that garage with no holes and my 401K and thinking, “look what we did”. I like that very much.

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