Valentines Day
Some Valentines day madness from yours truly.
"So, did you know it was love at first site?"
"Did I know? Um, no, I guess not. I mean, you know I saw her around the building for a few months before we started dating."
I’m talking to one of my friends about love. Something I really don’t understand. He’s been married for quite sometime now. He owns a house, he has kids, has a job. So obviously he’s found something pretty special. So I’m asking him how he went about doing such a thing.
"True. That’s right. In fact, you were sort of dating someone else there for awhile, I mean before you started dating the woman that would become your wife."
"Yeah, we don’t like to talk about that."
"Oh you don’t?"
"No. She doesn’t like thinking about her."
"And you?"
"Nah, I really don’t either."
"Was she bad?"
"It’s not that she was bad, she wasn’t great, but she wasn’t my wife."
"So, when did you realize that this girl, this is the girl I’m going to marry?"
"It was pretty early on."
"But not at first site?"
"No. I guess not at first site. I mean, I knew I liked her. I thought she was pretty. Then we spent time together and I found out pretty quickly that I had some pretty strong feelings for her. I guess you could say it was attraction at first site, like at second site, and it just kind of went on from there."
"And now look at you. You’re married, you have two kids, a big house."
"Yeah."
"Do you still feel the same way about her that you did back then? Back when you first started dating?"
"Yeah, yeah I do. I mean, it’s different now. Back then it was just, let’s get dressed up, go out and eat wherever, and stay up and watch movies, and whatever, but now, now we have the kids, and our jobs, and bills, and someone has to deal with dinner, and someone has to clean the house, and someone has to do the dishes, and someone has to do the laundry and on and on, but yeah, at the end of the day I’m glad she’s the one I’m with."
"Glad?"
"I mean, ecstatic. Don’t let her hear glad. No seriously, it’s like, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. Like remember that show ‘Boy Meets World’? And how the two characters knew they were going to be together? That’s sort of how it was in my mind then. That’s sort of how it is in my mind now."
"So the love is still just as strong as ever?"
"Yeah. I mean our lives together take a bit more working at now than they did then. But you know, I guess cupid was on our side."
Cupid was on their side, Cupid, the one, intangible, unpredictable variable. There was attraction, there was dressing up and going out to dinner, working hard at figuring out who was going to do what, there was even a reference to a long lived show that used to air on Friday nights. All that I can understand, all that I can quantify. The one thing I can’t is Cupid.
Cupid: the god of love, or sex, or pranks, or debauchery depending what you read. (I personally read stuff off the Internet, specifically, Wikipedia, so I know all this that I’m writing now has got to be correct information). Cupid, whose parents are either Hermes, Zeus, Nyx, or Ares (father), or Artemis, Erebus, or Aphrodite. Cupid who has two sides, one "who delights in pranks and spreading love", and one who is known for "riotous debauchery."
Spreading love I get. That’s my friend who is married and has kids and a house and the other whatnots. That was my parents, and my grandparents, and my other married friends, and my soon to be married friends, and my friends who have been dating people since the Reagan administration. The cupid at work there is the classical tiny midget baby with wings, and an archery set. He’s cute, like a young Macaulay Culkin, or Jonathan Lipnicki, or a puppy.
And the Cupid who delights in pranks I get. That Cupid caters to those people I know who are dating the people they are not going to marry. They’re just having fun seeing people. They always have someone to go to the movies with. A fun little no harm-no foul sort of relationship. I’d guess that Cupid looks like Owen Wilson, or Drew Barrymore.
And riotous debauchery I get. I watched a bit of Dateline NBC tonight, which again specialized in catching a predator. I heard Chris Hanson say all those dirty things that those dirty men wrote to supposed underage children. Debauchery to the Nth degree. I’ve seen the Girls Gone Wild infomercials late at night. I know what happens during the MTV spring break shows. Gluttonous, sinful debauchery. That Cupid might look like Tommy Lee, or Stone Cold Steve Austin, or Pat Robertson.
What I don’t get is what I have. I don’t fall under any of those categories. I’m not filled with riotous debauchery, nor do I have a playful love. I certainly don’t have a true love. No, I fall under my own category, one of bumbling stagnation. My cupid, I would imagine, looks like Woody Allen, or Clint Howard, or Gilbert Gottfried, or a three toed sloth.
So why, I ask, am I the one who is stuck liking the girl who’s last boyfriend died in a car wreck, and she just isn’t ready to commit to any sort of relationship when I ask her out? Why did my first date with Elena from my drawing class have to be the movie The Locusts (A movie I don’t remember much about, but I do remember the whole thing being really awkward. I went and IMDB’d the movie, and looked up reviews on Amazon. It jogged my memory a little. Especially the Amazon Plot Keywords, which were: Suicide, Incest, Animal castration, and Nymphomania)? And then there was Lauren, the girl from my painting class. I finally got up the nerve to ask her out, and she says yes, and then that night she is the victim of an acute appendicitis and has to have her appendix removed in an emergency operation. And the stories just keep piling up. One right after the other.
Oh Cupid, they say you’re blind, but I think you’re mildly retarded.
Of course, I say that in jest, but then I start thinking, what if my Cupid isn’t like everyone else’s Cupid? What if mine is a drunk? What if mine sleeps on the job? What if mine is out auditioning for American Idol while I’m out here in the real world trying to think of the best way to ask the waitress at the Italian restaurant out? (I did, she said no. Then she said yes. We went out once, and then she got back together with her ex).
So, out I go, and instead of looking for my true love, or even true like, I’m out to find my Cupid, and have words with him.
Today is February 14th. Valentines Day. I got up extra early this morning and went to the flower shop, which was, of course, buzzing with activity. While I saw many tiny Cupids, none were my Cupid. These Cupids in the flower shop were on their game. They were picking the biggest and prettiest flowers for people. I tried to ask the other Cupids about my Cupid, but the only looked at me with distain, and told me to go away, that they were too busy to help me out.
So off I went to a tiny faux French bistro. I thought that perhaps there would be some love bugs eating a romantic breakfast before going into work. There were a few couples there, with flowers and tiny gifts and Cupids in tow, but mine was nowhere to be found. I paid for my coffee and walked back out to my car. It’s while I was getting into my car that I looked across the street to the small crowd that had gathered outside the Grandys (a greasy spoon of a place to eat for those who don’t know) all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. I wondered over to see what all the fuss was about.
"What’s going on?" I asked one of the onlookers.
"This guy dressed up in a Cupid uniform has promised to eat five pounds of bacon. He’s eaten six plates so far. It’s disgusting. It’s awesome."
I worked my way through the crowd and looked through the window to see Cupid, my Cupid sitting at a table with a plate full of bacon. I’m sure he had a reasonable explanation for his actions. I’m sure there was a good reason he was fattening himself up (even more than he already was) and clogging his arteries for me. I walked into the Grandys and sat down in Cupid’s booth. I looked at him, at his bacon greased stained shirt and felt a tinge of anger. He looked at me. He was either afraid of what I was going to say, or he was starting to suffer from heartburn.
"What in the blue hell are you doing?" I asked.
"Oh, hey! Want some bacon?"
"No, no I don’t want any bacon. What are you doing? Why are you eating bacon? Do you have any idea what day it is?"
"Wednesday?"
"Yes. Yes it’s Wednesday. Do you know what today’s date is?"
"Um…"
"Valentines Day."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh man, I totally forgot."
"No kidding. I mean, I’m sorry that I have to ruin your bacon eating."
"Oh, seriously, I think I can eat five pounds of bacon. Wanna watch?"
"No. Not really."
"Oh. You want me to try and help you find your true love? I think I’ve got a few arrows somewhere. We could go out, hit the streets. I mean, I could be your wingman. Ha! Get it? Wingman? I’m Cupid. I have wings, see?"
Cupid sat forward to show me his wings. Unfortunately they’d been crushed under his weight. He looked a little disappointed in himself when he saw his small, scrawny, crushed wings.
"Yeah," I said, "I don’t think so."
"So, can I stay here and eat bacon?" He asked.
His voice was full of excitement with the thought of bacon. He looked like a child who might get to eat some candy (or in this case a fat Cupid who would get to eat roughly seven more plates of bacon). I looked at this man, this fat, ugly, bacon greased man, and thought, "This is who holds the fate of my love life in his hands." I’m doomed. But then I looked at his eyes, his puppy dog eyes, and I realized that he needed to eat the bacon. This was a man that needed to be good at something. He obviously wasn’t any good at being a Cupid, but here he was, he had attracted a crowd, and he was doing something he obviously liked to do. How could I be mad at him for doing something that his heart desired? Why would I deny my Cupid the one thing he found out that he loved? I sighed and thought that I’d gone this long without his help, and while it’s not like I’m making it on my own, I’m used to the lonely, lonely days, nights, mornings, evenings, and everything in between. Plus if I can’t find a woman to satisfy, and keep happy, at least I could find a demigod to satisfy and keep happy.
"Okay, go ahead." I said.
"Oh thanks. You’re the best!" Cupid said, and proceeded to stick four pieces of bacon in his mouth.
"Hey, what’s going on in there?" a voice asked as I was walking out of the Grandys.
I turned around and saw a cute girl walking toward me, pointing back to the crowd that was still watching Cupid through the front window.
"It can’t be this easy. It can’t be this ironic, or funny, or plot twisty." I thought to myself.
"Some guy’s trying to eat five pounds of bacon." I said.
"Really? That’s disgusting." She said.
I looked back at the crowd and thought about Cupid eating the bacon, wondering if he somehow had anything to do with this chance meeting. Then I heard the crowd groan out loud in unison. Cupid apparently started to throw up. There was no way my Cupid would try and get me together with this girl.
"Yeah." I said, and I got in my car and drove home.
"So, did you know it was love at first site?"
"Did I know? Um, no, I guess not. I mean, you know I saw her around the building for a few months before we started dating."
I’m talking to one of my friends about love. Something I really don’t understand. He’s been married for quite sometime now. He owns a house, he has kids, has a job. So obviously he’s found something pretty special. So I’m asking him how he went about doing such a thing.
"True. That’s right. In fact, you were sort of dating someone else there for awhile, I mean before you started dating the woman that would become your wife."
"Yeah, we don’t like to talk about that."
"Oh you don’t?"
"No. She doesn’t like thinking about her."
"And you?"
"Nah, I really don’t either."
"Was she bad?"
"It’s not that she was bad, she wasn’t great, but she wasn’t my wife."
"So, when did you realize that this girl, this is the girl I’m going to marry?"
"It was pretty early on."
"But not at first site?"
"No. I guess not at first site. I mean, I knew I liked her. I thought she was pretty. Then we spent time together and I found out pretty quickly that I had some pretty strong feelings for her. I guess you could say it was attraction at first site, like at second site, and it just kind of went on from there."
"And now look at you. You’re married, you have two kids, a big house."
"Yeah."
"Do you still feel the same way about her that you did back then? Back when you first started dating?"
"Yeah, yeah I do. I mean, it’s different now. Back then it was just, let’s get dressed up, go out and eat wherever, and stay up and watch movies, and whatever, but now, now we have the kids, and our jobs, and bills, and someone has to deal with dinner, and someone has to clean the house, and someone has to do the dishes, and someone has to do the laundry and on and on, but yeah, at the end of the day I’m glad she’s the one I’m with."
"Glad?"
"I mean, ecstatic. Don’t let her hear glad. No seriously, it’s like, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. Like remember that show ‘Boy Meets World’? And how the two characters knew they were going to be together? That’s sort of how it was in my mind then. That’s sort of how it is in my mind now."
"So the love is still just as strong as ever?"
"Yeah. I mean our lives together take a bit more working at now than they did then. But you know, I guess cupid was on our side."
Cupid was on their side, Cupid, the one, intangible, unpredictable variable. There was attraction, there was dressing up and going out to dinner, working hard at figuring out who was going to do what, there was even a reference to a long lived show that used to air on Friday nights. All that I can understand, all that I can quantify. The one thing I can’t is Cupid.
Cupid: the god of love, or sex, or pranks, or debauchery depending what you read. (I personally read stuff off the Internet, specifically, Wikipedia, so I know all this that I’m writing now has got to be correct information). Cupid, whose parents are either Hermes, Zeus, Nyx, or Ares (father), or Artemis, Erebus, or Aphrodite. Cupid who has two sides, one "who delights in pranks and spreading love", and one who is known for "riotous debauchery."
Spreading love I get. That’s my friend who is married and has kids and a house and the other whatnots. That was my parents, and my grandparents, and my other married friends, and my soon to be married friends, and my friends who have been dating people since the Reagan administration. The cupid at work there is the classical tiny midget baby with wings, and an archery set. He’s cute, like a young Macaulay Culkin, or Jonathan Lipnicki, or a puppy.
And the Cupid who delights in pranks I get. That Cupid caters to those people I know who are dating the people they are not going to marry. They’re just having fun seeing people. They always have someone to go to the movies with. A fun little no harm-no foul sort of relationship. I’d guess that Cupid looks like Owen Wilson, or Drew Barrymore.
And riotous debauchery I get. I watched a bit of Dateline NBC tonight, which again specialized in catching a predator. I heard Chris Hanson say all those dirty things that those dirty men wrote to supposed underage children. Debauchery to the Nth degree. I’ve seen the Girls Gone Wild infomercials late at night. I know what happens during the MTV spring break shows. Gluttonous, sinful debauchery. That Cupid might look like Tommy Lee, or Stone Cold Steve Austin, or Pat Robertson.
What I don’t get is what I have. I don’t fall under any of those categories. I’m not filled with riotous debauchery, nor do I have a playful love. I certainly don’t have a true love. No, I fall under my own category, one of bumbling stagnation. My cupid, I would imagine, looks like Woody Allen, or Clint Howard, or Gilbert Gottfried, or a three toed sloth.
So why, I ask, am I the one who is stuck liking the girl who’s last boyfriend died in a car wreck, and she just isn’t ready to commit to any sort of relationship when I ask her out? Why did my first date with Elena from my drawing class have to be the movie The Locusts (A movie I don’t remember much about, but I do remember the whole thing being really awkward. I went and IMDB’d the movie, and looked up reviews on Amazon. It jogged my memory a little. Especially the Amazon Plot Keywords, which were: Suicide, Incest, Animal castration, and Nymphomania)? And then there was Lauren, the girl from my painting class. I finally got up the nerve to ask her out, and she says yes, and then that night she is the victim of an acute appendicitis and has to have her appendix removed in an emergency operation. And the stories just keep piling up. One right after the other.
Oh Cupid, they say you’re blind, but I think you’re mildly retarded.
Of course, I say that in jest, but then I start thinking, what if my Cupid isn’t like everyone else’s Cupid? What if mine is a drunk? What if mine sleeps on the job? What if mine is out auditioning for American Idol while I’m out here in the real world trying to think of the best way to ask the waitress at the Italian restaurant out? (I did, she said no. Then she said yes. We went out once, and then she got back together with her ex).
So, out I go, and instead of looking for my true love, or even true like, I’m out to find my Cupid, and have words with him.
Today is February 14th. Valentines Day. I got up extra early this morning and went to the flower shop, which was, of course, buzzing with activity. While I saw many tiny Cupids, none were my Cupid. These Cupids in the flower shop were on their game. They were picking the biggest and prettiest flowers for people. I tried to ask the other Cupids about my Cupid, but the only looked at me with distain, and told me to go away, that they were too busy to help me out.
So off I went to a tiny faux French bistro. I thought that perhaps there would be some love bugs eating a romantic breakfast before going into work. There were a few couples there, with flowers and tiny gifts and Cupids in tow, but mine was nowhere to be found. I paid for my coffee and walked back out to my car. It’s while I was getting into my car that I looked across the street to the small crowd that had gathered outside the Grandys (a greasy spoon of a place to eat for those who don’t know) all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. I wondered over to see what all the fuss was about.
"What’s going on?" I asked one of the onlookers.
"This guy dressed up in a Cupid uniform has promised to eat five pounds of bacon. He’s eaten six plates so far. It’s disgusting. It’s awesome."
I worked my way through the crowd and looked through the window to see Cupid, my Cupid sitting at a table with a plate full of bacon. I’m sure he had a reasonable explanation for his actions. I’m sure there was a good reason he was fattening himself up (even more than he already was) and clogging his arteries for me. I walked into the Grandys and sat down in Cupid’s booth. I looked at him, at his bacon greased stained shirt and felt a tinge of anger. He looked at me. He was either afraid of what I was going to say, or he was starting to suffer from heartburn.
"What in the blue hell are you doing?" I asked.
"Oh, hey! Want some bacon?"
"No, no I don’t want any bacon. What are you doing? Why are you eating bacon? Do you have any idea what day it is?"
"Wednesday?"
"Yes. Yes it’s Wednesday. Do you know what today’s date is?"
"Um…"
"Valentines Day."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh man, I totally forgot."
"No kidding. I mean, I’m sorry that I have to ruin your bacon eating."
"Oh, seriously, I think I can eat five pounds of bacon. Wanna watch?"
"No. Not really."
"Oh. You want me to try and help you find your true love? I think I’ve got a few arrows somewhere. We could go out, hit the streets. I mean, I could be your wingman. Ha! Get it? Wingman? I’m Cupid. I have wings, see?"
Cupid sat forward to show me his wings. Unfortunately they’d been crushed under his weight. He looked a little disappointed in himself when he saw his small, scrawny, crushed wings.
"Yeah," I said, "I don’t think so."
"So, can I stay here and eat bacon?" He asked.
His voice was full of excitement with the thought of bacon. He looked like a child who might get to eat some candy (or in this case a fat Cupid who would get to eat roughly seven more plates of bacon). I looked at this man, this fat, ugly, bacon greased man, and thought, "This is who holds the fate of my love life in his hands." I’m doomed. But then I looked at his eyes, his puppy dog eyes, and I realized that he needed to eat the bacon. This was a man that needed to be good at something. He obviously wasn’t any good at being a Cupid, but here he was, he had attracted a crowd, and he was doing something he obviously liked to do. How could I be mad at him for doing something that his heart desired? Why would I deny my Cupid the one thing he found out that he loved? I sighed and thought that I’d gone this long without his help, and while it’s not like I’m making it on my own, I’m used to the lonely, lonely days, nights, mornings, evenings, and everything in between. Plus if I can’t find a woman to satisfy, and keep happy, at least I could find a demigod to satisfy and keep happy.
"Okay, go ahead." I said.
"Oh thanks. You’re the best!" Cupid said, and proceeded to stick four pieces of bacon in his mouth.
"Hey, what’s going on in there?" a voice asked as I was walking out of the Grandys.
I turned around and saw a cute girl walking toward me, pointing back to the crowd that was still watching Cupid through the front window.
"It can’t be this easy. It can’t be this ironic, or funny, or plot twisty." I thought to myself.
"Some guy’s trying to eat five pounds of bacon." I said.
"Really? That’s disgusting." She said.
I looked back at the crowd and thought about Cupid eating the bacon, wondering if he somehow had anything to do with this chance meeting. Then I heard the crowd groan out loud in unison. Cupid apparently started to throw up. There was no way my Cupid would try and get me together with this girl.
"Yeah." I said, and I got in my car and drove home.