In the last 30 minutes, I’ve checked my BlackBerry 28 times. The only reason I haven’t checked it 30 times, is because I purposely put my phone in a hard to reach pocket of my bag, and I’m just lazy enough (or desperate enough, depending on how you look at it) that I only checked it once on my 5 minute walk to the coffee shop where I am now writing this. So, I’m sorry, but I don’t think this one is going to be that funny. I’m too distracted to think of funny things to say…I have to use all my brain power right now to keep myself from checking to see whether or not he’s texted me….or emailed me…or liked my status or something. Technically there isn’t even a “he” to check for, so I’m not sure what I’m doing.
29…
It’s this time of year. I don’t know what it is, but every fall I always develop a ridiculous and blind craving for love that inevitably leads to a lot of misery and staring at my phone. I guess maybe it’s not actually the “love” part, so much as the “falling” part that I crave. I love that new date smell, that first awkward gooesbumpy kiss, and that easy going girl that I am before we really get to know each other, and I let my crazy out. It’s so annoying. I’m like Pavlov’s dog, and without fail, as soon as that first brisk breeze blows through my bangs, I turn into a drooling lovesick puppy. I know that we have a natural instinct to nest during these few months before the snow comes, but my “natural instinct” usually ends up being more moth-to-a-flame like. There’s nothing graceful and woodland creature-ness about it…just me flying spastically into any fire I can find, no matter how inappropriate and/or unrealistic that “fire” may be. I loose all rational judgment as soon as those leaves start changing; and the expert skepticism, cynicism, and sarcasm that usually keep me at a safe distance from heartache totally disappear. My mother would argue that these “ism’s” also keep me at a safe distance from a healthy relationship, but that’s a story for another time.
30…
After years of awkward, painful, and usually very weird autumn crushes, I have come up with only one logical explanation…At some point, years ago, I was mean to an old lady, who was actually my Fairy Godmother in disguise, and she put a spell on me. It must’ve gone something like this, “Once A Year, From the First Red Leaf to the First Snow Fall, You’ll See Princes Where Douche-Bags Stand, Melt for Un-Medicated Manic Depressives, Leap Head First at Every Head Case You Can Find, and You Will Love, You Will Love, You Will Love.*” Thus, with every sweater that gets pulled out of storage…with every festively placed pumpkin…and with every hostess who stands back, chalky hands on black skirted hips, to asses her, “Now Serving Hot Apple Cider,” the spell sprinkles over me, dusting my eyes and heart with the fairytale version of beer goggles, New York turns into a glittery magical kingdom overflowing with impossible Princes…and I become the oldest Princess in all the land…
31…
32…
Now, sure, other princesses have had it worse. I mean, it’s not like I have to live with 7 tiny men while my step-mom is running around the kingdom trying out different ways to kill me. I’m not locked up at the top of a tower asking guys to climb up my hair…although, I do live in a 6th floor walkup which has, once or twice, been referred to as “birth control.” And at least I’m not being chased around by a big drag-queen-octopus-witch with electric eels at her beck and call. Yes, it could be worse…but it couldn’t possibly be any more pathetic.
33…
Every fall is an obstacle course of schmucks dressed in shining armor, and I always end up running towards the worst of them. I will say, that the blessing and/or curse of this spell is that, only one of the Princes I’ve ever chased after during this time has actually stopped, turned around, and liked me back. So…you know…that helps.
34…
There have been Pot-head Princes, Job-less Princes, Two-Timing Princes, and of course, Gay Princes…
35…
One autumn in Maine, I was crown over slippers for a Schooner Prince who said, before he sailed away for the winter, “Well, Daiva, it was nice getting to know you. I could’ve liked you. You’re not crazy…and I should know…because I used to be crazy.” I wrote him a letter for every leaf that fell that year. 5 years later I swooned over a Prince who told me, on our first date, that he spent a year in a psychiatric ward. Obviously, I like a splash of cuckoo pumpkin pie martini.
36…
Two years in a row, I chose Pathological Lying Princes. One of them even used the old I-Was-On-My-Way-To-Meet-You-When-I-Walked-Past-This-Burning-Building-And-I-Had-To-Run-In-And-Save-This-Grandmother-And-Her-Cat Excuse to explain his lateness for a study date. But it was October, and we were taking a French class at Harvard…have you seen Harvard in the fall? I was powerless. And besides, he said he ran to meet me as soon as the firemen got there.
37…
When I was studying in Paris, I fell for a Mime Prince. No need to explain further, you say? Being a mime is bad enough? Well, it gets worse. I was in Paris, so the spell was at it’s strongest, and I liked him even though he called me “Devvvvvvvvvvvve,” and made roses out of napkins that he brushed across my cheek. Even though he lived with his mother, and worshipped Don Johnson. Even though he frequently pretended he was a cat. The spell lasted well into the Winter until one night, while getting ready for bed, he bent down to get his brosses à dents out of his sac à dos, and I noticed the top of a navy blue thong peeking out of his favorite tie-died overalls. Surprisingly, the tie-dyed overalls had not been enough to break the spell, but when the thong came out, I think my Fairy Godmother took mercy on me, and broke the spell then and there.
38…
Because I know about the spell now, I can protect myself a little bit. I can save myself from the embarrassment of actually liking someone to their face, and just keep things to quiet, albeit, desperate crushes. To give you an idea of what I’m dealing with, these are the “Princes” currently on my crush list:
-The guy that is working right now at this coffee shop…who I neither look at nor speak to.
-A boy who is almost 10 years younger than me.
-Another boy who is not quite that young, but did play little league with my baby brother (apparently, as I get older, this spell also turns me into a cougar).
39…
-My married with children ex-boyfriend.
40…
-Jason Sudeikis.
-Two guys whom I don’t think I actually like, I just have crushes on their names.
-A guy who, in the 10 years that I’ve known him, has never ever liked me-liked me, but I keep trying.
-The old man who fixes my shoes.
-A girl I work with…I’m totally straight, so this one is especially counter-productive…I mean, did I not learn anything from Anne of Green Gables?
41…
It’s almost winter now, the spell will wear off soon, and I’ll be back to my usual pessimistic, walled up, not trusting self. But a lot can happen in a week…so if you need me, I’ll be locked up at the tippy top of my walk-up tower, that’s nestled in the middle of a concrete kingdom, and surrounded by a very huge moat…til the snow flies…
Love always,
Daiva
42…
*She definitely added a footnote to this spell, and mumbled under her breath something about the spell getting even stronger if the “Prince” utters the words, “I’m going through a really hard time right now,” or “I just got out of a relationship.”
EPILOGUE:
In an ironic twist, at the end of the day I discovered that T-Mobile had been suffering from a GLOBAL outage and that, unbeknownst to me, no one could get through to the other end of my phone. So even if “he” did text me, I will never know. It seems my Fairy Godmother has learned some new tricks…
