Two Girls For Five Bucks

Flowers and Candy

Ok people, it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m tired of hearing everyone complain about how it’s a consumer holiday that forces us to buy candy and flowers for the people in our lives. What’s so wrong with that?!? Valentine’s Day is like a little cell phone alarm that goes off when you need to do something. We shouldn’t need a holiday to remind us to buy candy and flowers for someone, but obviously we do.

I love Valentine’s Day, I always have. It’s partly the red everywhere. For three weeks, every store you walk into is dripping with red. Red is my favorite color and candy flavor, so I’m pretty much in heaven. But mostly, it’s the potential. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve never actually had an amazing Valentine’s Day(I’ve also never had a valentine…except once), but it’s so much fun to daydream about what could happen on that magical day. I remember in high school they’d do those fundraisers where you could buy someone a carnation for a dollar and have it delivered to them in their homeroom. I’d wish soooo hard for a red one (love, not pink-friendship) to be handed to me, with a little card that was signed by the guy I had a crush on, who had decided Valentine’s Day would be the day he’d finally tell me that he knew I existed. It never happened. NEVER. HAPPENED. After I got over my high school carnation thing, I used to hope (on any given day) that my ex-boyfriend/whoever I was obsessing over, would show up at the bus station as I was getting off the bus, or the airport…or a show. I have ALWAYS wanted one of those I’m-onstage-guy-walks-into-the-theater moments. Like in the movies…

 So, yes, that “Valentine’s Day” movie totally makes me gag, as does “Dear John” and most other romantic comedies and love stories, but I also secretly want to see them. They make me feel terrible about my ridiculously depressing lack of a love life, but I can’t stop myself from renting them. Sean Penn once said that those movies take something away from us…that we walk away from them feeling inadequate because our lives do not reflect what we see on screen…and it’s true, but what if we let them inspire us to love better? What if we tried to imitate art a little bit? What if we tried to give Nora Ephron a run for her money?

They always have such grand gestures, those movies. Harry, running to get to Sally, bursting through a crowd of people, only to reach her just as the clock strikes midnight. Or when Kurt Russell hijacks the coast guard boat and chases after Goldie, and then she jumps off her boat in her sequin gown and he jumps off his boat…God, I love that movie… And of course, the image that’s burned in the brain of every girl in America, John Cusack…boom box held over his head…”In Your Eyes” pouring out…Why don’t we do stuff like that? They’re not doing anything impossible (ok, maybe hijacking a coast guard boat is a little out of our league…and that dress Goldie’s wearing looks really heavy and she probably would’ve drowned in real life, but you know what I mean). They’re just deciding that, no matter what, I’m going to tell that person how I feel, and nothing can stop me. I think that’s beautiful, and we should follow their example…well, not me…you guys should. So why not? Valentine’s Day is the perfect time. If you truly mean it, be your crush’s secret admirer, leave flowers on her doorstep. Run/drive/fly to someone and tell them you don’t want to live without them. Or just ask someone out on a date for crying out loud! I can hear you. “But Daiva, what if I look like a stalker?” Well, then you misread the situation and I apologize for encouraging you to do something that turned out to be inappropriate. But, wouldn’t you rather look like a stalker for five minutes, than spend a lifetime wondering what he/she would’ve said? (I bet Tom Hanks would.)  Let’s be brave! Life is too hard to not love as best you can. Let’s show John Cusack how it’s done…you guys first though, I’ve given up all that stuff for Lent. When is Lent?

Love always,

Daiva

Well, I did it. I joined Twitter. I basically did it because I saw a little Vanity Fair spread on the most followed girls on Twitter, and one of them is a lady comedian I’m very jealous of. Most of my motivation comes from jealousy. I should probably work on that…

Anyway, wanna follow me? @daivadeupree (I don’t know how to write the whole thing)

love always,

Daiva

Dear Santa,

I’m going to start my Christmas list tonight.

1) For Christmas, could I please have the ability to have a crush on someone who might actually like me back?

…and no, the guy I never got over from high school who I ran into when I was home for Thanksgiving, does not count. He’s married…with kids. We talked about this. Men who are married and/or don’t live in New York are what we now call, “counter-productive crushes.”

…and no, the deli man who offers to live with me every time I buy a seltzer water, also does not count. I feel like I don’t have to explain this one.

2) An agent.

More to come…

Love always,

Daiva

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 6^th 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…

Daiva and I are hosting the new, wonderful and entirely FREE evening that Ars Nova is banging out every Thursday during ANT Fest.  Tons of great acts and lots and lots of miserable love!  See you there!

10PM

511 W 54th St

I never know if I’m going to be able to sleep any given night.  My head is six inches from the window.  I live, with my husband, above a laundry.  Other businesses on our street are:  a dry cleaners, a small bodega, a clothing shop that does not have a name but is for “poor people” according to the owner and a storefront Chuck E. Cheese inspired party place that promises to throw your child any kind of party, including pajama parties.  There is also a bar.  We’ve never been to this bar for a variety of reasons.  The two that come to mind are the time my husband saw a man put his fist through the passenger side window of a car with two people in it.  He then walked around to the driver side and smashed that window with his fist as well.  Another time, a man stormed into the bar screaming at his wife for drinking in the afternoon while her kid was waiting in the car.  Clearly it’s a place where all of your hopes and dreams come to die- so we’ve decided to keep our distance.  Last night, I fell asleep despite a man screaming as loud as he possibly could, “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE!” – over and over again.  He finally walked out of earshot.  So, I slipped into a peaceful slumber.  That is, until I was rattled awake at 2:30AM as a woman, with a British accent, shouted “MOVE OUT!  MOVE OUT!  I HAVE TO SHAME YOU TO COME HOME TO SEE YOUR KIDS!  MOVE OUT!”  I could barely hear her boyfriend’s mumbled response.  She was a beast. I was hearing that moment every woman has, the “A-ha” moment Oprah likes to talk about.  This British lady had had enough and she was marching her shit bag of a boyfriend out of her home and away from her neighborhood.  Before she woke me up, I was having a dream about combining PDF files into one document, so I was happy to move on from that.  But, I couldn’t fall back asleep.  I kept replaying the woman’s words in my mind over and over again.  I felt sorry for her.  It was like the Nanny 911 lady woke up and was like, “Why the fuck am I living in a shitty neighborhood in New York with a shitty, drunk boyfriend and terrified kids?”  I wonder what happened to them.  To her.  I hope I can sleep tonight.

-cc