That would be (convicted! attempted!) killer and celebrity uber-flack (and possible voter) Lizzie Grubman, whose companion just may get lucky if this Missed Connection finds its way to him. We'll do everything we can, even after the tyranny of Valentine's Day. [Craigslist]

Paparazzi-walloper Chris Martin has only our fervent dedication to Scrabulou-erm, to the job-to thank for escaping our notice while he was under our noses at Balthazar this afternoon getting coffee "with a friend." We tried sending Sheila downstairs with a camera to see if the Coldplay frontman would hit a girl, but she demanded hazard pay. I'd have gone myself, but I just got an awful paper-cut-tragic, really.

Julia Allison isn't the only mildly successful journalist to plumb Craigslist looking for lovers. Jennifer Oh, assistant to the editor at the New Criterion, describes herself in a recent Craigslist post as a "writer, [who works for] a respected magazine, and would be happy to share with you my various lists of awards, accomplishments, etc." Also! "I'm very picky but very, very insatiable and passionate when aroused. My ass and legs look hot in jeans as well as slutty skirts or feminine dresses. Full lips, great breasts, adorable pretty face, and a intelligent, sensual, and also highly affectionate sex appeal that you will love." Oh RLY? Truth be told, she does seem nice but also strangely emotionally vulnerable? Why this is?

Illustrator Patrick Moberg saw the "New York Girl" of his "Dreams" on the subway last night and promptly made this webpage featuring a whimsical little sketch of her. She had "fancy braided hair" and "blue gym shorts" and was "writing in a journal" on the 5 train from Union Square to Bowling Green. Patrick describes himself as "skinny" and "not insane," a few inches above the spot on the page where he lists his email and phone number on the internet. It's like a Miranda July story mixed with Craigslist Missed Connections mixed with stalking mixed with everything that's wrong (and right!) about Boys Today. I'm confused about my feelings!

A missed connection. You: Hot gay dude, maybe late 30s, some gray in your trim beard, on the Long Island Rail Road headed westbound circa noon on Saturday. You wear your iPhone headphones reversed—the right earpiece has the little microphone, silly goose! You were opening your mail and I couldn't help but notice your recent lab work results from the gay health center looked good (yay!), that you got ticketed recently for having your dog off leash (I love dogs too!), and that you're late on your taxes. We have so much in common! I was a little concerned about that letter you got saying that your driver's license was revoked? But then I decided that you were maybe opening a friend's mail for them! That is so sweet of you. I noticed that you were texting friends and they were all women; I'm glad you like women too, those gay guys who don't are weird. P.S. I hope your flight at 1:30 on Sunday afternoon went well and I think I love you!

"I was the diphallic Conde Nast bloke chatting you up - 29" [Craigslist]

Sometimes two mysterious and crappy things that seem like they should be related actually are. This is great, since it reduces two crappy things into just one. For instance! The gutting sense of wonder at why the "hottest celebrity hangout" is actually the upstairs of a cruddy Soho cafe was somewhat eroded by today's revelation that the owners of "Upstairs" (as Cafe Bari is called) are the swarthy brothers Martignetti. Les freres Martignetti are the proprietors of the eponymous Bar Martignetti, which is to pink-shirted preppy dickheads what an empty parking lot by I-95 is to day laborers: A place to gather and drink and await desperately-needed attention. With that, the fog of mystery dissipates, leaving only the stench of knowledge in its place.

Were you wearing a blue shirt and glasses at the TechCrunch9 party last Friday? Someone wants to hook up with you. [Laughing Squid]