In my undying quest to find an M4W (or W4W for that matter, I don't discriminate when it comes to my ego/vagina) written about yours truly, I come across a lot of memorable Missed Connections posts on Craigslist.

Some are looking for the big-booty BBW they saw at Big Wang's, bending over the pool table to reach for a medium-spicy chicken wing.

Some hope to find the girl wearing the hat and glasses who bought three leeks and Ginger Ale at Ralph's in Woodland Hills, thinking she must be smart and secretly assuming she swallows.

And others appear to have become instantly enamored with a random woman they see reading Paper magazine at Urth Caffe on Melrose, or checking out monkey skulls at Wacko in Silverlake.

The way her hair fell around her shoulders. The way her plaid smock brought out the flecks of hazel in her eyes. The way she looked up at him, made eye contact, and immediately averted her gaze to focus on the random object in front of her.

These posts catch my eye and I suddenly change from self-absorbed attention whore to wannabe Amelie helpful whore.

So let's see if we can help this guy find his Intelligentsia soul mate:

Intelligentsia Mocha Angel – m4w – 30 (Intelligentsia Silver Lake)

2010-12-18, 2:06PM

I had just received my Christmas bonus and flush with cash I decided to hit Intelligentsia for one of their infamous $8 cups of coffee. As I was waiting in the cattle chute awaiting my barista to brew my artisinal cup of liquid gold, it's beans harvested from some exotic locale, I was blindsided by the vision of perfection. You, crimson locks swaying like fields of barley blown by a westerly breeze as if from the lungs of god, perfectly silhouetted against the newspaper sky, bent unnaturally in front of your macbook air, no doubt working on your dissertation. My eyes scanned every seemingly uncomfortable curve, slouch, and lazy bend trying desperately to ply away the layers of thrift clothing in vain to imagine your no doubt rubbery body. I debated whether to interrupt you and introduce myself. But you had strategically chosen the most public table, almost as if you had meant to be noticed by the local wastes meandering the junction, disaffected souls and their short tight panted strides and janglin' keys. Rejection in this situation would be social disaster. I couldn't muster the ingredients to say hello. So alas, I turn to the internet, my last possible savior. Please my Ophelia, I pray this message reaches you… in your lonely studio apartment.

– Carl Sagan

P.S. I didn't realize Sagan could be so flowery. I'll never look at the starry night sky the same way again.

LA Weekly