The Cupid Chronicles II: The Search

To Do: Track. Down. Cupid.

Of course. Why didn’t I think of this before. And now I’m on a mission.

But how do you get in touch with an immortal being whose very existence is disputed? I mean, I know he’s real- there is no other reasonable explanation.  But seeing as no one’s reported to have seen him before, let alone garnered his contact info, this will certainly be something of a monumental task, to say the least. Yet I am undeterred. And proceed with taking the steps to finding this little imp. Starting with a little research. Because all I really know of him is that he’s small, he’s fat, he’s precious, he’s the son of Venus, and he’s a troublemaking pain in the ass. What else is there?

I check the summation of all human knowledge, Wikipedia.

Ok, he’s Roman. I knew that. He has indeterminate lineage on the paternal side. I feel a pang of sympathy. He had a cult once. Does he even know what a cult is? Probably not, but thought it great fun to have lots of people running around playing silly games saying how neat he is.  There’s also a folktale about him falling in love, which is clearly nothing more than a folktale, as truthiness has already made it clearly evident that my scrapes and falls have been brought about by a supernatural precocious child who determines who gets with who, not a grown man. So I dismiss this bit, and briefly consider editing the wikiarticle to reinforce what I palpably know to be so.

But I don’t want to get off track, so I save my good deed for another time, and continue on my quest. I search the white pages. I search the yellow pages. I find a couple of ads of some hunky beefcakes who do something called “bodywork” (I don’t understand how the name Cupid has anything to do with that, but maybe they were given a nickname or something on account of being little rascals when they were younger) and that’s really it. I consider using peoplesearch but I figure that won’t work out too well because Cupid is not a people.

I search email directories, blogs and social networking sites but they’re all just fan pages, (though I do find one MySpace page that almost has me fooled- interests include “archery” and “being cute”). Google only gives a dating site and it’s just too well put-together to be run by a kid, so I conclude that cupid.com is just one more venture capitalizing on the name.

Sigh.

This is harder than I thought.

I decide to step out for a while, grab a pint at one of the gazillion bars on Bedford, think it over.

So I head to the bar, order up a Blue Moon. I grab a table outside, it’s a nice night. There’s not too many people out there early on a Tuesday. I’m kind of zoning out, I’m thinking of what an incredible twist-of-the-knife (I’m a creative thinker- and one of the things I like to invent is adjectives!) performance Madame Butterfly was the other night, even if I was in the crappy seats. And then I feel someone looking right at me. That’s because, someone is.

A tall (of course) handsome (of course) redheaded (new!) cornfed Midwestern/hipster hybrid to be exact (a nice balance- not too much of a hayseed, not too skinny/obnoxiously ironic- a nice-looking guy with a little warmth and a touch of cool). Who, based on his style, I can gather has artistic inclinations (of. course.) Apparently his friend just got up for a second and, being as there was no longer anyone at the table to focus his attention on, his attention turned to me.

And he definitely got my attention. I’m sold. I like his look. Yes. Flirtation bubbles up in me and then…

The Cupid Chronicles I: It Dawns On Me

Everyone has rough times, but I’m starting to find life circumstances to be so absurdly contrary, it’s like my life is like some sort of dark comedy and while I’m waiting for the all-wrongs-are-righted ending that never seems to come, I have to laugh or I’d cry. And it’s not just me. Like when I tell people about the Bay Ridge apartment from hell, they don’t even believe it. 

And you try to tell me I did some crazy thing that made me deserve that house of horrors. Barring some grave offenses in a past life, I really can’t help but think that there are certain things that are just completely out of my control. I mess up just like the next girl, but I find it hard to believe I’m messing up so bad that I should get everything that’s been coming lately. I lose 4 (or was it 5?) – go ahead and check that “lost and found” post) valuable possessions in less than two months, have had increasing work frustrations, more stumbling blocks than I can count in my side projects….oh damn I am just not going to go on.

So who is  in charge? Someone’s gotta be responsible for this mess. At first I thought maybe someone was consciously wishing me ill will, but everyone who’s had a real problem with me is too lazy and probably not bright enough to be able to effectively pull anything off like that anyway.

“No one’s responsible, Marleah. Life is hard for some people and easier on others and there’s no rhyme or reason”.

You can’t tell a kid raised as a Catholic that there’s no justice and no one’s in charge. We had it pounded into our heads all through our formative years that someone’s in charge. There is a God. But here’s how I see it.

He’s kind of like an old, senile CEO like Hugh Hefner- or a moronic president- who, truth be told, doesn’t totally have a solid grip on what’s going on in his company, and is kind of just a figurehead, while it’s really the “underlings”, so to speak, that are calling the shots.

So I stopped talking to God. It’s not that he doesn’t want to listen, it’s just that he can’t hear. And his mind wanders. He’s shuffling about looking for his glasses and  busy with pegasus-watching.

That being said, I’m looking to deal with whoever’s really pulling the strings here.

One issue at a time.

And I’m starting with romance.

Did I mention that that part is kind of messed up too?

So who does Dept. of Romance? And why is Dept. of Romance to me as FEMA is to Nawlins? I mean, given what’s been placed in my path, it really seems like the product of the whimsical judgement calls of a precocious child with little regard as to whether the two peoples’ personalities are compatible, if both are ready for an adult relationship, and how this is going to turn out in general. It doesn’t really seem like the thought process goes beyond putting two dollies together because ”this one and this one look good together OMG!” And- for the past 18 months- I am haphazardly thrown together again and again with someone who is creative and handsome (admittedly, they always are) but  always (though well-meaning) puts the pedal to the metal, is shocked when he subsequently hits the wall, then frantically screeches in reverse. And is someone who. Doesn’t. Hear. Me.  Who I maybe should’ve hid who I was from, because he doesn’t seem all that interested in what’s really there anyway. But being so oblivious to everything other than the fact that Ken Doll and I would likely make some beautiful babies in the Dream House someday, the invisible matchmaker may as well be nothing more than a giggling, capricious, albeit adorable little cheru-………

!!!!!

That’s it!!

That’s it.

My love life is being determined by a child.

A chubby, flaxenhaired, mischievous-

winged child…

To Do: Track. Down. Cupid.

self-indulgent blog post

Birthdays are the time for self-indulgent, self-congratulatory self praise. I’m starting a little early. I don’t feel so bad about this because I know people who pretty much live this way year round. I’m just looking to do a few days of it before I swing back to my self-deprecating modus operandi.

A new friend of mine sent me this email with the subject line “you are quite cool”. No ulterior motives, a totally voluntary email that reminds me of the “just because” greeting cards at hallmark that nobody ever buys. He’s so the best and has helped me quite a bit. Ahem-

You are quite cool.

I was telling Melissa yesterday.

You did all the web stuff!

 My new friend, Marleah, is one cool chick!

 -g

The web stuff he’s referring to is nobrainer procedures for someone more seasoned…but he knows I’m totally not seasoned and for that gave me big ups. I mean seriously. How sweet is that.  Warms my heart.

And then there was this- from my boss!

Dear Marleah, Hope your birthday this Sunday is fantastic. How does it feel starting a new decade? I wish you all the best in the coming decade and may it be as beautful for you as you are. You certainly work with passion, and I appreciate all you do for me. Warmest birthday greetings.

And I am just saying, that’s quite nice to hear.  If this is any indication of how my weekend will be, after 360-odd days of self-criticism, I welcome it. Fully.

I Will Be 30

Cupid Chronicles Part II is comin’, I swear!

But for now, I Will Be 30.

I just sent out the evite. It’s so off the chain really, I thought I’d share it here. If you weren’t on the evite, I either don’t know you, or you live out of town, or I just plain forgot. Whatever the case may be, if you actually read my blog, you are so automatically in the club and totally invited if you want.

As soon as I know where the party’s gonna be.

I can’t really post the thing itself ’cause it’s got people’s emails on it and stuff, but just imagine the following with this photo in the background:

“So it just took me 10 f’ing minutes to get to this point where I write my bit, friends. This is exactly why I did not want to plan a birthday thing. On top of two jobs, a music video, a blog, and film reviews, more Work. Plus, in getting older, it’s slowly dawning on me that I am not going to become a ballerina or a rhythmic gymnast, which kind of makes me want to ignore the whole thing. And yet, here we are.
I’m turning 30. I’m celebrating it.
Do you like my background? Yes, it’s the same as last year. It’s probably going to be the same every year so I hope you can start getting used to it.
Ok, on a serious note, this is kind of less about celebrating my birthday and more about celebrating all of these remarkable people in my life. Some I haven’t seen in too long, some I’ve just recently met (ahem- T.A.I., UCB) and really need to hang with again. On a side note, my annual gathering is known for guests making new friends and connections. So you should totally go. You might get a boyfriend or a 2nd boyfriend or bring in business or become one step closer to being famous, if that’s your thing.
Also there will be a pinata if the venue will allow it. Otherwise we’ll just make it happen in the street or something.
Bring friends. And if you have info for richard and sarah from dumbo, kris monroe, the bray twins, amy/hack/jess/grant, redheaded crystal, or the irish girl from the birthday party last weekend….it’s my f’ing 30th birthday, ok? Help me out a little. Forward this.
I’m terrifically verbose sometimes.
Back on the subject, in my adversity to planning, I don’t have a location yet but it’ll be in the village, williamsburg, or the slope. Uberplanners, I’m going to update you very, very soon on this. I promise. The important part is the date and time. Keep it open.

Birthday wishlist:
1) an offer to go with me to get the perfect MacBook.
2) haikus.
3) spontaneous performances.
4) diamond earrings. or cubic zirconia. like i’d know.
5) original lolcat-captioned photos. preferably of your own lolcat. loldogs and lolfishies are great too.
6) cakey treats.
7) a really great hat.
8 motivational speeches. in character, like they do in infomercials.
9) a creative diorama.
10) proof that you read my blog.

I might also organize a picnic in the park the following day (the actual bday) if enough people are interested. Whichever park works best for everyone.

Love you guys.

-Mar”

I mean, really. How great is that.

 

 

these are the terms

overheard today, walking past the junior high school, on their loudspeaker:

“You have to come to me. That’s the oooonly way you’re going to get ice cream”.

sounds like someone’s on a power trip.

i’d be the kid who’d say “to hell with it” and bring my own damn ice cream to school in one of those cold pack thingies. it might be a little melty but who cares- the meltier the messier and the messier the better. so i can walk up to that teacher and make a big messy show of me eating my stupid melty ice cream right in his stupid face. take THAT!