Private Magazine

Month: November, 2014

Beat the Winter Blahs- Craigslist Style!


It’s a subdued night in the city, eerily silent and still. Everybody I know is asleep. I’m pacing around my room, twisting a strand of holiday tinsel, breaking in a new pair of heels. What can I say? There’s no saying no at a holiday shoe sale. I’m manic, medicated, and merry!

The Holiday Season – yes, the disingenuously jolly Holiday Season – has its pedal to the metal. I spend more than 40 hours a week under florescent light bulbs, and this has turned my eyes into narrow slits. I peer suspiciously, cautiously, at each overzealous shopper in my section.

“What? You don’t carry Louis Vuitton?”

“No, but they do in Toronto. Why are you asking me this?”

“Oh, SOOOURY, I’m Canadian.”

Later, I start my car with narrow slit eyes. I find my boxed Franzia and give it a loving stroke.

Whether you are a Mass Market Manipulated Retail Worker, Lonely Living Room Drunk, or Impoverished Individual Who Wishes They Could Give Really Dope Gifts, the holidays can be depressing. So what? Stop making excuses. This is your year to shine. You’re only as good as your last New Year’s resolution. I’m here to make all your holiday fantasies come true – The Ghost of Christmas Perversion.

If you like instant gratification and good fun, you simply must read Craigslist. Like Christmas, Craigslist is all about excess, momentary joy, and losing track of how everything began. I’m here to alleviate some holiday stress through a natural remedy known as Craigslist. I’ve done all the hard work, so hopefully you won’t have to – at least not as much.

Make Extra Holiday Cash

There are plenty of impressive entrepreneurs on Craigslist. As a journalist, I once investigated the Black Market Panty Trade. Some men out there are willing to pay top dollar for panties, I guess. Worn ones, obviously. Plenty has been written on the subject; it’s really not anything that unheard of.

Earlier in the year, I posted an ad in the Personals under Misc. Romance, Casual Encounters, and even the Clothing for Sale section. It was eventually flagged for removal on all of them (probably by competitors).

My ad read “Hot Woman Selling Panties – Do you crave the soft touch of women’s panties? I have hundreds of pairs waiting for you,” etc. I set up a new email account and waited for the stream of thirsty hounds to come.

And come they did. Well, virtually. After an incident which occurred in the parking lot of the Niagara Falls Blvd. Wegmans (the details of which I’ll save for another time), I refused to meet anyone for an in-person trade. Only one customer was okay with me shipping the items – a crossdresser in Oregon. And he didn’t even want panties. He bought an old pair of heels for 50 bucks.

For those thinking someone’s skivvies would make an apropos gift for Grandpa, there’s one current poster whose entrepreneurship impresses me. Just search “Panties.” She is offering each pair mailed with a handwritten note and perfume-sprayed Polaroid for $35. But something tells me the chick from Cheektowaga, with her $5 pairs and phone number readily available, is getting all the action.

Become the Hostess with the Most-est

Now that you’ve banked a cool $5,000 (or, um, $5) slingin’ your dirty laundry, you can host an epic soiree. Unplug that Crock Pot – what do you think this is?! The only pot you need is, well…

For $425, you can buy a light up stripper pole/stage on Craigslist. Please Santa – I’ve been a good girl this year!  This Craigslist purchase would definitely get any soiree off to a rockin’-around-the-Christmas tree start. If you launch your own subterranean basement club, it can be a tax write-off, too.

For the whipped cream on top, there’s the Toronto guys who need “practice” before they become “actual strippers,” and are looking for ladies. Like this post from November 16, “Hot str8 corporate white guy will strip for beer Weekdays – I have always had a fantasy of being a male stripper and am available weekdays. I am good looking 37, white, (bi-curious), athletic, slim, clean shaven and a total exhibitionist. You will take me to a gay bar, buy me a beer or two, and in return I’ll strip and get fully naked for you and give you several lap dances.” What a lush!

Now that you’ve got a tipsy Canadian on a hand-me-down stripper stage, you too can host the soiree of your dreams. Bonus points if you invite a bunch of couples you meet via Casual Encounters. This brings me to…

Find A Mistletoe Makeout

I never found love on Craigslist. Never made out with or held hands with anyone from Craigslist. I never met anyone on Craigslist, period (except Niagara Falls Blvd. panty guy) so I really wouldn’t know the success rate.

But from my research, it seems like those who cannot find love in real life, on Facebook, Instagram, Tinder, OKCupid, Christian Mingle, Our Time, FetLife, or eHarmony, can maybe meet their match on Craigslist. I am here to be the Craigslist Cupid’s arrow, and connect two lonely hearts who tragically have not yet met.

Pantyboy for Mistress is a 26-year-old waiting for his Cinderella in North Buffalo. Any takers? “I just bought some new panties and stockings, and I’m looking for a woman that is into this. I’m white, thin…we can Skype.”

If I can do any good deeds with this column, it would be with this post!  “Daddy/Daughter reunion – m4w. Searching for my daughter and hoping to find you soon! Still looking for you, submissive, obedient always trying your best to please and always a perfect little girl! If we meet and all goes well I know your uncle misses you too! I’d love to finally hear from you and hoping we could talk and meet as soon as possible! Wouldn’t that work for you too?”

Wait – do you think he’s really looking for his daughter?

Finally, “Lonely Man Seeks Lonely Lady, 45, Medina/Gasport,” is potentially the saddest post I’ve seen. He’s basically begging for a “warm body.” Don’t let him get ahold of your holiday turkey!

“Lonely, safe, sane white guy mid 40’s, looking for an attractive lonely lady to come and spend some time or a night with me. Struggling through some rough times, and tired of sleeping alone night after night. Would love to have someone to talk to, watch a movie, do some snuggling, and just having a warm body next to mine.”

His first mistake was using “attractive” and “lonely” to describe the same hypothetical lady. No attractive woman is ever lonely!

That is because if you are confident and fun, you can be your own best company. You can be alone, without being lonely.  In lieu of company, when the winter chill is just too strong, there is always Craigslist. The people out there, searching for their Missed Connection or a Casual Encounter? We’re all in this together. We walk the same streets, ride the same buses. Perhaps one was behind you in line at the Wegman’s on Niagara Falls Blvd., buying a quart of eggnog.

Happy Holidays everyone! Remember – stay cheerful, stay warm, and never think you are the craziest person on the planet. If you do, just log on to Craigslist. It will put everything in perspective.

Inside the Boulevard Motel

A couple years ago, a Motel 6 on the outskirts of town – or maybe it was a Super 8 – found itself under investigation. The shabby motel housed an intricate prostitution ring, and plenty of drugs.

The week of the bust, a girl’s dead body was found in one of the rooms. It appeared to be a drug overdose.

This is a peek between the scratchy sheets of one Buffalo motel…one that we decided to investigate on a cold, snowy night.


It’s just after midnight. Maurice and I are driving in search of a seedy motel. We will be conducting undercover research. I’m holding onto a paper bag of take-out tacos, unable to wait much longer before consuming them.

“Look, there! That place looks sketch,” I say, pointing my finger at a bright red, trailer park-esque building on the left.  We pull into the lot, with a single red Camaro parked in it.  There’s a room at the forefront, illuminated against the darkness – the check-in desk. It is outlined with window boxes full of dead flowers, and faces the outside, enclosed behind glass.

Maurice approaches. A man is scuttling around the motel office like a hamster, clad in wrinkled chinos. He asks Maurice to surrender his ID.

“Why do you need to keep my ID?” asks Maurice.

“Oh you know, just in case you end up murdering me in the motel room. Standard practice,” I say, wandering off, swinging the tacos to and fro.

Maurice turns the key in the doorknob of room 103. We are jet-lagged from our journey down Niagara Falls Blvd.  An offer of “Jacuzzi hot tubs” glowed in phosphorescent yellow, but when we enter room 103 it’s clear we’ll enjoy no such luxury.


The room is freezing and dark. Maurice turns on the heater, which rests in the window frame behind wispy curtains. Dust particles stream out of the vent, but the room is toasty in no time. I discard the hideous pumpkin orange and yellow floral comforter that I had wrapped myself in. There’s burn holes in it, leftovers of a former inhabitant’s nocturnal nicotine lust.

Maurice and I are on the run from the law. Earlier this evening, we were making out inside Maurice’s car, which was parked behind the art gallery. Suddenly, bright headlights came streaming into the driver’s side door.

“Police…” Maurice whispered.

“Dammit!” My hands flew up towards my face, pressed against my cheeks. “No!”

“Roll down your window for me, bud?” I could hear the voice of a young cop, coming from inside his police car. “Park’s closed, bud. You can go down the street.”

So we went on an expedition. First, we got tacos. Then, we were on a quest for the motel in which the prostitute was found dead. We didn’t quite make it there, but rather washed up on the shore of this Boulevard Inn. This is step one of our review of Buffalo motels – an undercover inquiry into what could become a tidal wave of sketchy scenes and socially aberrant behavior, if we should be so lucky.

I hang my jacket up on a hanger which can’t be removed from the rod.

“You can’t take the hangers off,” I say. “Probably so we can’t murder each other with them.”

It’s time to inspect the bathroom. I turn on the light. The bathroom is terrifying. Not grimy or dirty, per se, just…stuck in a 1970’s puke green time warp. There’s definitely no Jacuzzi tub…no bathtub at all. The shower is one of the stand alone locker room varieties, with a circular bar of soap lying on the shower floor. It’s so creepy; the showerhead looks like it will emit poison gas. The walls are lined in tiles the color of split pea soup/stomach acid. The bathroom as a whole is narrow and it feels like the walls are closing in. Toilet paper hangs sideways from its holder. Cue Psycho music! Wait…somebody stole the shower curtain.


I emerge from the bathroom, and throw myself on the bed next to Maurice.  I wrap myself in the charred comforter, the horrendous floral pattern like something you’d find in the basement of That 70’s Show. We tear into the tacos, and soon the bed is littered with paper wrappers from Elmwood Taco & Subs. I lean over Maurice to grab our giant fountain beverage. “I’m a filthy whore,” I say. “Filthy!”

The stars are glimmering in the Boulevard sky. I peek between the blinds, and see that a few other cars have parked at the motel. Oh, the horny love birds. The illicit affairs. The closet homosexuals. The girls turning tricks on  We fall asleep.  Everything is silent at the Hotel Motel Boulevard Inn.

The next morning, I search the internet for reviews of the Boulevard Inn. Besides the horrible bathroom design scheme and weird recluse of a night manager, I don’t really know what else can be said about it.

After a perusal of Trip, I realize that Maurice and I have been very, very lucky. “Cigarette burns in bed linen, moth eaten curtains,” wrote one reviewer. Ok, no surprise there. It grows worse as I scroll down. “Cob webs and bugs on the floor,” “Room reeked of cat urine,” “RUN AWAY,” wrote others. “Dirty, worn sheets,” said somebody who previously stayed, “The kind of place where you sleep with your clothes on.” I take another shower, then resume my internet search. The best one came last, accompanied by gruesome photographic evidence. “There was a crude smell in our overpriced room,” quoth a former guest from a year ago. “There was a blood stain on the comforter and splattered on the doorknob.”


Blood stains and crude smells? It looks as though our motel room investigations are just heating up.