When my younger brother (he’s, uh, 23? I think.) came over for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday he told me yet another story of “meeting chicks” in NYC. Ever since he moved to the city a year a half ago, he’s had some impressive success with the opposite sex and often in the most random ways. He’s cute, I guess, but he’s my brother, so it’s bizarro to me that a moel-esque Norweigian girl would go out of her way to give him her number on the subway.
Anyway, on Thursday he said, “Did I tell you about how someone wrote a Missed Connection about me?” Say what? I once wrote a Missed Connection (Back story: during my younger days, I drank a little too much. One night I got wasted, had left my money and ATM card at home, and had to walk home. I ended up falling and, uh, not getting up in the middle of the sidewalk. A lovely couple put me in a cab and paid for the fare. The next day I posted a Missed Connection just to thank them for effectively saving my sorry ass) and only received emails from men sending me pictures of their penis in return. My brother told me that his friend came across the Missed Connection while reading the posts for fun — and instantly recognized that the ad posted about a tan, black-haired worked at the Metropolitan Museum Of Art HAD to be about my brother. My brother responded and he and the girl who posted it — who apparently thought he was “hot” — are going out next week.
I never actually thought that Missed Connections could end in real fruition, until, of course, the now-famous story of Patrick Moberg and his dream girl hit the web. They ended up breaking up, but that seemed like such a flash in the pan story. But now my brother had a story too. Do you? Should we all start pouring over Missed Connections, just in case our soul mates saw us from afar?