Implosion
The Crush (1)
The Crush (2)
The Crush (3)
Good Advice
Unequal Footing
When Worlds Collide
Crushing Irony
Karma, Baby
X Man
The Wasp Prince$$
The Woolies
clare Carver
Dot Com Dance
Encourage Saint X
Disparage Saint X
D A T E L I N E U P D A T E : The Wasp Prince$$
Monday, August 6
I found another live one. One more lunatic woman who's into the whole online role-playing game. This one's schtick is stuck-up aristocrat. (If she's not kidding, I may have discovered the most obnoxious person on the planet.) I apologize in advance to those of you who haven't lived in San Francisco because several of the references are very local. You'll have to trust me that her eye for detail, if not entirely unique, is right on target.
To honor various requests by those of you who have real work to get back to - and to avoid the risk of future copyright litigation - I'll excerpt her rather lengthy ramblings. (Yes, you're welcome.)
Right off the bat she states:
What I found most endearing, apart from the frenetic ampersand-ing, was the following:
Furthermore, she does a terrific job describing what she wants in a man:
Anyone who makes a reference to the Black Sheep DuPont gets a little red checkmark in my book! All I can do at this point is respond in my best snobese. I try to channel certain men I've worked for over the years - especially the guys who wear the solid-color or thick-striped shirts with a white collar and cuffs, which they've have custom-made during business trips to Korea.
I was a little disturbed to find how easy it is to fall into character while doing something like this, horrified at the racial and ethnic slurs that began spewing from my fingertips. Let's all take a moment of thanks for the Delete key! I sent her my note around 11 p.m. She writes back, barely twelve hours later, beginning with "You are absolutely perfect!" Joke or no, it's heartening to get the occasional enthusiastic response. As a bonus, she remained in character.
Okay, so I will admit I'm growing a little scared that maybe she really is a freak. I must further confess that I can't exactly make sense of some of the peculiar phraseology she's thrown around in her follow-ups. It might be informative to check out her handwriting - or at least find out for certain that someone else isn't transcribing from cocktail napkins written in orange crayon. But know what? All in all I don't care. It's pretty clear she's got a screw loose (even to me) but I am looking forward to meeting her if for no other reason that to see who she really is. If only once. She seems fun enough and I don't particularly care where this one goes.
Her message did contain a set of instructions for me, however:
So what do I do? What else CAN I do? I go back online and download Fleet Bank's SEC filing. I leave the financial summary more or less intact, but make a few necessary customizations to describe Saint X Enterprises, LLP and its various subsidiaries. I'm loaded, by the way. Approximately the seventh largest institution in the country!
I'll let you know how she likes it.*
In case you want to mark your calendars, this one should be falling apart right around the time Sassy returns from her vacation in France.
But even if all else fails, at least I've got jury duty this week. If I've learned ONE thing this summer, it that you never know when that special someone will just stumble into your life. Maybe in need of rescue. Don't worry, Thelma, I'll deadlock that trial for you! It'll be sort of like my own private screening of Pretty Woman meets Twelve Angry Men. (Please don't analyze that one too closely, it's getting late.)
Gotta go. Papa has $5 whole dollars a day to earn.
-- Saint X
* She loved it!! Especially the financial statement. I get the sense she really does work in finance.
* * * * *
Next: Mr. Happy Face
I found another live one. One more lunatic woman who's into the whole online role-playing game. This one's schtick is stuck-up aristocrat. (If she's not kidding, I may have discovered the most obnoxious person on the planet.) I apologize in advance to those of you who haven't lived in San Francisco because several of the references are very local. You'll have to trust me that her eye for detail, if not entirely unique, is right on target.
To honor various requests by those of you who have real work to get back to - and to avoid the risk of future copyright litigation - I'll excerpt her rather lengthy ramblings. (Yes, you're welcome.)
Right off the bat she states:
I'm so perfect I hope you are too!
Where should I begin, there is so much to say about me. Me! There I said it. I am all about me & you should be too. I'm an all American girl. I grew up very well off & went to all the right schools. I have a B.A. in French Lit. with a B.S. in Biochemistry. I have a Master's in Economics & a Ph.D. in Physics. I play Lacrosse. I have served my country & saved many lives. I'm currently taking extension courses to become a brain surgeon. When people joke about being a rocket scientist, I get pretty upset because I am one! I have saved thousands of lives. I hope to win the Nobel Peace Prize one day. I am really beautiful & I don't need to be airbrushed. I have perfect skin, hair, & the best body & like I said I am really smart.
Where should I begin, there is so much to say about me. Me! There I said it. I am all about me & you should be too. I'm an all American girl. I grew up very well off & went to all the right schools. I have a B.A. in French Lit. with a B.S. in Biochemistry. I have a Master's in Economics & a Ph.D. in Physics. I play Lacrosse. I have served my country & saved many lives. I'm currently taking extension courses to become a brain surgeon. When people joke about being a rocket scientist, I get pretty upset because I am one! I have saved thousands of lives. I hope to win the Nobel Peace Prize one day. I am really beautiful & I don't need to be airbrushed. I have perfect skin, hair, & the best body & like I said I am really smart.
What I found most endearing, apart from the frenetic ampersand-ing, was the following:
My biggest pet peeves are not being able to double park legally on Fillmore & having no place to throw up after an expensive meal. My therapists say I'm a really down to earth person.
Furthermore, she does a terrific job describing what she wants in a man:
My ideal match . . . knows how to appreciate the good things in life no matter what the cost to whom . . . Someone who loves Tom Hanks & Meg Ryan as much as I do. Someone who thinks that grabbing a coffee at Starbucks is not a crime . . . someone who is moved to tears when listening to Men's Ivy League Choirs singing. You are moved by those DeBeers diamond commercials & you should also sunburn easily & be very discreet when checking out better looking women than me while we are walking hand in hand in the Marina . . . You're a man who can hold down the highballs while twirling me around the Black & White Ball b/c you'll probably learned to drink a lot after feeling that collar around your neck. TAKE ME NOW you mix of Mel Gibson / Einstein / G. Gordon Liddy / Goldman-Sachs / The entire DuPont family (except for the recluse who killed that wrestler a few years back) with a dash of JKF, Jr., babe I'm all yours!"
Anyone who makes a reference to the Black Sheep DuPont gets a little red checkmark in my book! All I can do at this point is respond in my best snobese. I try to channel certain men I've worked for over the years - especially the guys who wear the solid-color or thick-striped shirts with a white collar and cuffs, which they've have custom-made during business trips to Korea.
Dear Deb,
Let me begin by saying DO NOT believe a thing you read in "my" profile. I'm sure you understand that in a position such as mine, one requires a modicum of discretion. It's so important to keep the riff-raff from storming the Bastille, if you follow.
May I say, it's refreshing to find someone of your breeding and refinement gracing this site. After all, you appear to be exactly the type I originally envisioned attracting when I began funding . . . oh dear, perhaps I've said too much.
Regardless, it reminds me of the other day, when I was luncheoning with some old chums. I remember turning to Antonin - 'Antonin,' I said, 'I don't care who thinks they run the Senate nowadays, you're a shoe in for Chief Justice, or my name isn't -' Oops, I did it again. Let's just leave that out of things for the moment, shall we? In any event, midway through the veal, we were interrupted by Slobodan and Ratko. They forced the whole Carnelian Room to lay odds on which of them could melt the ice swan fastest. Positioned on opposite ends of the table, on the count of five they both unzipped and cut loose. What a dreadful mess. It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for the help. (I must apologize. That must seem an inappropriate anecdote. Please forgive me. I keep forgetting you might take offence because you don't realize just HOW wealthy I am. Everything in good time.) Let me just say, I was about ready to call together a few U.N. tribunals myself after those disgusting antics! Investments be damned.
By the by, a Nobel Prize isn't everything you'd imagine - TRUST me on this, dear! All it leads to is headache. You wouldn't believe the appeals you get. Feed the children . . . Help the puffin . . . Won't you please fund landmine cleanup? Who the hell do they think paid for all those Goddam landmines in the first place?!? But who am I to discourage you if you've really got your heart set on a little trophy. Have your people send a note to my lackey . . . that whatshisname . . . Etienne something or other. He'll set it up. He's a decent chap. Despite the hair.
As I said, it's a genuine pleasure coming across a girl who's blood is as blue as the waters of St. Moritz. It's just that discretion cannot be stressed enough, what with all those annoying reporters and regulators mucking through one's garbage in the middle of the night. If not for the eager panhandlers willing to spend the night sequestered under a pile of coffee grounds in the trash cans I honestly can't imagine what I'd do. God bless our mayor! (Never thought I'd say that in a million years before all this trouble at the Presidio began.)
Maybe we could take Cohibas with brandy at The Fairmont one of these days. Or if you prefer art, we might swing by the vault to admire the Rembrandts. (If only those fool "detectives" back in Boston had been able to keep their noses out of the sauce for five minutes!) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Thinking back on their pathetic efforts always raises my spirits. Ah, I needed that.
Kisses, darling
-- Saint X
Let me begin by saying DO NOT believe a thing you read in "my" profile. I'm sure you understand that in a position such as mine, one requires a modicum of discretion. It's so important to keep the riff-raff from storming the Bastille, if you follow.
May I say, it's refreshing to find someone of your breeding and refinement gracing this site. After all, you appear to be exactly the type I originally envisioned attracting when I began funding . . . oh dear, perhaps I've said too much.
Regardless, it reminds me of the other day, when I was luncheoning with some old chums. I remember turning to Antonin - 'Antonin,' I said, 'I don't care who thinks they run the Senate nowadays, you're a shoe in for Chief Justice, or my name isn't -' Oops, I did it again. Let's just leave that out of things for the moment, shall we? In any event, midway through the veal, we were interrupted by Slobodan and Ratko. They forced the whole Carnelian Room to lay odds on which of them could melt the ice swan fastest. Positioned on opposite ends of the table, on the count of five they both unzipped and cut loose. What a dreadful mess. It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for the help. (I must apologize. That must seem an inappropriate anecdote. Please forgive me. I keep forgetting you might take offence because you don't realize just HOW wealthy I am. Everything in good time.) Let me just say, I was about ready to call together a few U.N. tribunals myself after those disgusting antics! Investments be damned.
By the by, a Nobel Prize isn't everything you'd imagine - TRUST me on this, dear! All it leads to is headache. You wouldn't believe the appeals you get. Feed the children . . . Help the puffin . . . Won't you please fund landmine cleanup? Who the hell do they think paid for all those Goddam landmines in the first place?!? But who am I to discourage you if you've really got your heart set on a little trophy. Have your people send a note to my lackey . . . that whatshisname . . . Etienne something or other. He'll set it up. He's a decent chap. Despite the hair.
As I said, it's a genuine pleasure coming across a girl who's blood is as blue as the waters of St. Moritz. It's just that discretion cannot be stressed enough, what with all those annoying reporters and regulators mucking through one's garbage in the middle of the night. If not for the eager panhandlers willing to spend the night sequestered under a pile of coffee grounds in the trash cans I honestly can't imagine what I'd do. God bless our mayor! (Never thought I'd say that in a million years before all this trouble at the Presidio began.)
Maybe we could take Cohibas with brandy at The Fairmont one of these days. Or if you prefer art, we might swing by the vault to admire the Rembrandts. (If only those fool "detectives" back in Boston had been able to keep their noses out of the sauce for five minutes!) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Thinking back on their pathetic efforts always raises my spirits. Ah, I needed that.
Kisses, darling
-- Saint X
I was a little disturbed to find how easy it is to fall into character while doing something like this, horrified at the racial and ethnic slurs that began spewing from my fingertips. Let's all take a moment of thanks for the Delete key! I sent her my note around 11 p.m. She writes back, barely twelve hours later, beginning with "You are absolutely perfect!" Joke or no, it's heartening to get the occasional enthusiastic response. As a bonus, she remained in character.
Okay, so I will admit I'm growing a little scared that maybe she really is a freak. I must further confess that I can't exactly make sense of some of the peculiar phraseology she's thrown around in her follow-ups. It might be informative to check out her handwriting - or at least find out for certain that someone else isn't transcribing from cocktail napkins written in orange crayon. But know what? All in all I don't care. It's pretty clear she's got a screw loose (even to me) but I am looking forward to meeting her if for no other reason that to see who she really is. If only once. She seems fun enough and I don't particularly care where this one goes.
Her message did contain a set of instructions for me, however:
The best thing at this point in time would be for you to e-mail me a list of your current real property holdings and a financial statement that my trust / financial advisor can review. Once everything has been received, it will be reviewed and, upon approval, you will be contacted for a casual follow-up.
So what do I do? What else CAN I do? I go back online and download Fleet Bank's SEC filing. I leave the financial summary more or less intact, but make a few necessary customizations to describe Saint X Enterprises, LLP and its various subsidiaries. I'm loaded, by the way. Approximately the seventh largest institution in the country!
I'll let you know how she likes it.*
In case you want to mark your calendars, this one should be falling apart right around the time Sassy returns from her vacation in France.
But even if all else fails, at least I've got jury duty this week. If I've learned ONE thing this summer, it that you never know when that special someone will just stumble into your life. Maybe in need of rescue. Don't worry, Thelma, I'll deadlock that trial for you! It'll be sort of like my own private screening of Pretty Woman meets Twelve Angry Men. (Please don't analyze that one too closely, it's getting late.)
Gotta go. Papa has $5 whole dollars a day to earn.
-- Saint X
* She loved it!! Especially the financial statement. I get the sense she really does work in finance.
Next: Mr. Happy Face