![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grammargirlWow. This is by far the most interesting Friendster message I've yet received. Posted here for posterity:
How we met... Part One
Ultimately, I suppose it's a shame that
I had not met you in passing. I'm afraid that I
have been left with no recourse but to attempt
to sound both impressive and interesting by
letter which, you will soon see, can be trying
at best. While I do not abuse apostrophes, I
have a tendancy to treat commas with the same
abject humilation. Or rather, like a amateur
cook who does not know the meaning of
discretion, I tend to pepper my letters
copiously and to the point of absurdity.
There is also the unfortunate matter of
spelling, which I have a tendancy to reguard as
a convienence rather than the rule. If, by
chance, a word has possessed the grace to spell
itself correctly in any of my posts, it is
through no effort of mine.
So perhaps we can pretend that it was
pure happenstance that we became aquainted. You
were walking down the streets of Ann arbor on
day, and lo and behold, you stumble across a
tiny bookshop that you had never noticed before.
Having an afternoon free, you decide to pop in
for a spell and sift through the wares.
It is the king of bookshops, you quickly
discover. You nose is the first to alert of it's
grand properties, filling to the brim with both
memory and musk. You eyes quickly become
overwhelmed for, like any bookstore worth it's
salt, the space inside seems to have nothing to
do with the observable space on the outside. The
stacks seem to almost go to the other side of
forever.
The proprieter, a wizened grey man, with
smiling eyes and a mustache that obscures his
mouth, gives you a smile as his eyes alight. He
has sensed a kindred spirit and leaves you to
conduct your business in his person treasure
trove.
You pass through the stacks, a light
smile playing across your face as you lightly
trail your fingers along the prooffered spines.
It is then, when you you mind is more
deeply set in a place of wonderment that I,
bubbling with the excitement of such a place,
round the corner and knock you over.
How we met... Part Two
I apologise, stammering considerably, as
I attempt to help you to your feet. You brush
yourself off, and have the grace not to let too
much annoyance creep into your voice, as you let
me know that no damage has been done.
Then to our sections. Myself, mysteries
or Elisabethan literature. You, a warm glance to
Joyce perhaps, as you explore science fiction
and fantasy. I am of course smitten, and attempt
to track you out of the corner of my eye, of
which you are aware.
Of course, you find what you desire, and
the price being acceptable, you head to the
front of the shop.
I curse myself for my shyness, and in a
rare moment, decide to be reckless. I rush after
you, in hope that you haven't gotten too far. As
I hit the streets at a speed that amazes even
myself I see you a few feet ahead. With an arm
outstreached I utter "excuse me" in attempt to
get your attention. It is then that I slip on
the ice, falling, unfortunatly on my face,
giving my nose a good whack.
You, showing the dearest of concern,
help me to my feet. unfortunately, blood has
released itself from my nose, making me look
like a crazed manaic. Despite this, I gather my
strength and say in the gentlest manner
possible: "Ook, Ah knobe you on't ow be, ut bood
ood you like oo et ome boffee?"
So, hopefully this tale is a bit more
interseting than meeting someone on friendster.
Perhaps, I've convinced you to start up a
coorespondance with the man you met, who asked
you out through a bloody nose.
By the way, the book you bought? A
collection of Neil Gaiman's grocery lists*.
-Jonathan
Typos and (argh!) apostrophe abuse aside, I must say I'm rawther intrigued.
*In my Friendster profile, I have "Anything Neil Gaiman has ever written--grocery lists included" listed as one of my favorite books.
How we met... Part One
Ultimately, I suppose it's a shame that
I had not met you in passing. I'm afraid that I
have been left with no recourse but to attempt
to sound both impressive and interesting by
letter which, you will soon see, can be trying
at best. While I do not abuse apostrophes, I
have a tendancy to treat commas with the same
abject humilation. Or rather, like a amateur
cook who does not know the meaning of
discretion, I tend to pepper my letters
copiously and to the point of absurdity.
There is also the unfortunate matter of
spelling, which I have a tendancy to reguard as
a convienence rather than the rule. If, by
chance, a word has possessed the grace to spell
itself correctly in any of my posts, it is
through no effort of mine.
So perhaps we can pretend that it was
pure happenstance that we became aquainted. You
were walking down the streets of Ann arbor on
day, and lo and behold, you stumble across a
tiny bookshop that you had never noticed before.
Having an afternoon free, you decide to pop in
for a spell and sift through the wares.
It is the king of bookshops, you quickly
discover. You nose is the first to alert of it's
grand properties, filling to the brim with both
memory and musk. You eyes quickly become
overwhelmed for, like any bookstore worth it's
salt, the space inside seems to have nothing to
do with the observable space on the outside. The
stacks seem to almost go to the other side of
forever.
The proprieter, a wizened grey man, with
smiling eyes and a mustache that obscures his
mouth, gives you a smile as his eyes alight. He
has sensed a kindred spirit and leaves you to
conduct your business in his person treasure
trove.
You pass through the stacks, a light
smile playing across your face as you lightly
trail your fingers along the prooffered spines.
It is then, when you you mind is more
deeply set in a place of wonderment that I,
bubbling with the excitement of such a place,
round the corner and knock you over.
How we met... Part Two
I apologise, stammering considerably, as
I attempt to help you to your feet. You brush
yourself off, and have the grace not to let too
much annoyance creep into your voice, as you let
me know that no damage has been done.
Then to our sections. Myself, mysteries
or Elisabethan literature. You, a warm glance to
Joyce perhaps, as you explore science fiction
and fantasy. I am of course smitten, and attempt
to track you out of the corner of my eye, of
which you are aware.
Of course, you find what you desire, and
the price being acceptable, you head to the
front of the shop.
I curse myself for my shyness, and in a
rare moment, decide to be reckless. I rush after
you, in hope that you haven't gotten too far. As
I hit the streets at a speed that amazes even
myself I see you a few feet ahead. With an arm
outstreached I utter "excuse me" in attempt to
get your attention. It is then that I slip on
the ice, falling, unfortunatly on my face,
giving my nose a good whack.
You, showing the dearest of concern,
help me to my feet. unfortunately, blood has
released itself from my nose, making me look
like a crazed manaic. Despite this, I gather my
strength and say in the gentlest manner
possible: "Ook, Ah knobe you on't ow be, ut bood
ood you like oo et ome boffee?"
So, hopefully this tale is a bit more
interseting than meeting someone on friendster.
Perhaps, I've convinced you to start up a
coorespondance with the man you met, who asked
you out through a bloody nose.
By the way, the book you bought? A
collection of Neil Gaiman's grocery lists*.
-Jonathan
Typos and (argh!) apostrophe abuse aside, I must say I'm rawther intrigued.
*In my Friendster profile, I have "Anything Neil Gaiman has ever written--grocery lists included" listed as one of my favorite books.
