Ah, Cupid. Our favorite Greek god of erotic love, desire, and affection. With Valentine’s Day (Or for us single ladies, Galentine’s Day – thank you, Leslie Knope!) quickly approaching,  we at The Gabbler thought it appropriate to interview Cupid on modern love, online dating, and his perfect V-Day date. Note to readers: Beware of Cupid’s stray arrows. We weren’t so lucky.

The Gabbler: Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Cupid! I know it’s a little early for Valentine’s Day, but at the rate CVS is going, Valentine’s Day falls on January 2^nd these days, anyway.

Cupid: I couldn’t agree more. It’s given me a lot of anxiety. Much less time to sharpen my arrows. Why can’t humans just live in the moment, instead of always pushing for what’s next?

TG: Sorry, man. To err is human, right? We’re not perfect deities like you.

C: Like I should be getting royalties on quite a few Hallmark commercials, for one. Who can I talk to about that? But besides that? I mean the concept behind it is sweet, and it’s nice to have a holiday to celebrate romantic and erotic love, but I think it’s a classic case of materialism and media hype ruining a perfectly great tradition. God, I think this string is loose on my bow. Can you pass me one of my arrows?

TG: (Slumps over into love spell, then slowly opens her eyes.) I, uh, never thought about that. Yeah, she’d be a pretty shitty mom, then. But wait, I thought you were like one of those “primordial gods” – who basically just popped out of nowhere, right? Did I ever tell you your eyes are like warm pools of amber?

C: No, you didn’t. And that depends on whether you’re reading the Greek version or the Roman version. I still think of Aphrodite/Venus as my mom.

TG: Well, they are. I just can’t stop staring into your eyes. I have this sudden urge to strip totally naked and swim in them.

C: Let’s, er, hold off on that for now, please. Damn, I need to get better about my aim!

TG: (Giggles, and blinks repeatedly.) So Cupid, how do you define modern love?

TG: No, like actual modern love. As in love in modern times. Do you really believe in love at first sight? Because I think I do now.

C: It’s usually lust at first sight, not love. It’ll pass.

TG: Lust, love. You need lust for love. Let’s make love. What do you say?

C: Er, back to your question: I find love in the modern era to be complicated. And it’s lost a lot of its mystery. A lot of that I blame on social media and cell phones. Before those things, there was time between seeing or hearing from each other that allowed for anticipation and longing. Now, it’s so instant. Plus, there were a lot more steamy affairs. Now everyone tweets pictures of their dicks, and people tend to find out.

TG: That’s just Anthony Weiner. Most people are smart enough to use Snapchat nowadays. How are things with Psyche, by the way? Is that still going on? Or are you single?

C: Oh yeah, we’re great. Very much a couple. I’m very much taken. I finally admitted that refusing to turn the lights on was a manifestation of my own insecurity, and we got over that initial hiccup. Zeus made her immortal, and it’s all good. We even have a little baby goddess, Hedone.

TG: Congrats. (Sighs deeply.) I already knew that, though. I follow you on Instagram, and you post like a million baby pics a day.

TG: God, you’re adorable. What a loving father. There’s nothing sexier than a man who’s good with kids.

C: Let’s talk about something else, please.

TG: Okay, okay. So tell me about OkCupid. What made you decide to invest in online dating?

TG: You know, if we were on Tinder right now, I’d be the nearest warm body.

C: But we aren’t, are we?

TG: I mean, I could log on right now…

C: We’re in the middle of an interview. That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?

TG: Okay, okay. Be coy about it. I like coy. So what’s your idea of a perfect Valentine’s Day date?

TG: I love you.

C: Listen, you don’t! There was a bit of a mix up with my arrow; my bowstring was loose, and a stray one sort of hit you in the noggin. I was the first thing you saw. You don’t love me. NOW SNAP OUT OF IT!

TG: But I’d do anything for you. I want you to have me in this interview chair, right here, right now. (Stands up and starts to walk over to him.)

C: Oh, look at that! Emergency call. Jay-Z and Beyonce just had a tiff, and he needs me to shoot an arrow or two. I’ve got to go. You don’t want to be responsible for breaking them up, do you?

TG: (Sighs.) No, they were too cute at the Grammys.

C: Exactly. You have to let me go. As in, physically unhand me, please!

 TG: Oh. Sorry.

C: (Flies away.)

TG: WAIT! BUT I LOVE YOU! WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?

When I see you with her, your new girlfriend, my heart begins a slow click click click up my throat before cresting the hill and plunging back to my stomach, right into that hole that you used to fill. It’s not even the way you kiss her, like the war is over and you’ve finally found your way home. Or even how your hands delicately dance their way over her shoulder blades and down her spine into her jean pockets, like this is once again eighth grade and you and your then-girlfriend Michelle are posing for the “Cutest Couple” yearbook photo. Because, yes, I know about Michelle. In fact, I know everything about you.

But, no, none of this starts the crawling, pounding pain in my heart, like the way you look at her with total and complete recognition in your eyes. As if to say “I know who this person is and why she’s looking at me with a gleam in her eyes and a smile on her lips.” You’ve never looked at me that way. No matter how many times I’ve carefully calculated and plotted for us to pass on the streets, calibrating your daily routine and average walking speed to determine exactly when you would turn the corner and walk past my smiling face. Never, in all the time I’ve been here, hiding in the bushes across from your apartment, going through your garbage, following you to your job every morning, and then, later, after work to your favorite bars. Never have you once looked at me with anything even amounting to a basic understanding of who I am and why I’m here.

In fact, the only time you’ve ever looked at me in the eye was that day we met in the cereal aisle at Whole Foods. I’m sure you’d remember if you would just dig deep and follow the clues that I keep leaving on the front step of your building (does that bag of organic granola really mean nothing to you?).

Let me remind you. We were both standing on opposite ends of the aisle, completely engrossed by the vast number of delicious, nutritious, and organic options, when some bratty 3-year-old ran into your leg and you dropped your basket. I rushed to your side to help and you looked straight into my dark brown eyes. Yours were the deep cerulean of the Caribbean Sea and in them I saw a warm pool where I could finally curl up safely for all eternity. I saw my forever in those blue eyes and felt my endless passion flow from your perfect lips as you mumbled “thanks.” And when we both reached for your fallen bag of organic spinach and our hands brushed I felt a current of electricity shoot to my very core.

When you didn’t ask for my number, I abandoned my groceries and followed you home. Your apartment building was just like you, shabby but safe and cozy warm. And the building across the street had just enough shrubbery to hide this lonely, heartbroken girl while I watched you and nurtured our love on my own.

I only had to watch you for a few days to find out that you were single. Friday nights out with guys, getting rowdy in the local dive bar, awkwardly smiling at every pretty face in the room. Except for mine, hiding carefully in the darkened corner. And the amount of Chinese takeout that you ordered! You, like me, had a lonely heart beating in your chest. I knew it was meant to be and so I kept watching you, feeding our love with the details of your life and my stomach with the same Chinese takeout that you so enjoyed (they were more than happy to deliver to my station in the bushes across from your apartment for a little extra tip).

But then, one day she showed up. And now you’re with her. This girl who doesn’t even know you like I do. Can’t know you like I do, because she’s never spent a long, lonely Friday digging through your garbage to learn your name. She can’t understand the pure ecstasy of pronouncing those six beautiful syllables and finally knowing that my heart, my life has a name.

She certainly doesn’t know about Michelle, your middle school love. Why would she? I doubt she loves you enough to find out the company that printed all of your yearbooks in middle and high school so that she can buy a back order of every year, claiming to be your old neighbor little Stephanie Jones, who lost everything in a horrific fire and just wants her memories back. So this new girlfriend of yours certainly wouldn’t have seen that picture of Cutest Couple. And she never would have known that Michelle and your former best friend Johnny (as evidenced by the “Best Buds!” caption in the photo of you two) would one day become Prom King and Queen, after what must have been an earth-shattering heartbreak.

Unlike her, I care enough to know these things about you. I have every newspaper clipping about you, since that homerun you scored in little league at the age of eight. I’ve read through your entire Facebook page, back to when you signed up back in 2006. It’s like you set your privacy settings so low because you wanted me to find you. Because I know you must love me, too.

I have built our love, knowing that one day you’ll see my beautiful brown eyes peeping from behind the bushes and remember that day in Whole Foods. You’ll come rushing to me, open your arms wide and kiss me like you kiss her, like the war is over and my lips are your home. And I will fall into your eyes, drowning in that endless blue.

Until then, I’ll be watching you with her and I’ll know what you still don’t: I exist and I will always love you more than she does.

The Gabbler: Thank you so much for meeting with me tonight, Sophia!

Sophia Richardson: Well, it’s Friday. Date night. Not like I had much going on.

TG: Well, yeah. You’re single. That’s what we’re here to talk about!

SR: Yes, I’m single, okay? It’s been like a year. A very bad year.

TG: Oh, so things aren’t going that well? I mean, when your friend Victoria suggested I interview you, she described you as “a single girl who has it all—a beautiful, low rent apartment, a great job, adoring friends.” What’s changed since then?

SR: Oh, that stuff. That’s still the same. I mean, sure, I guess my apartment is nice and all. We have a backyard for barbecues and stuff. And my roommate’s an interior decorator so the whole thing looks just like it’s straight out of Pinterest. And like, sure I love my job and my whole office is so cool and my boss has been hinting about a promotion and stuff. And, sure, my friends are, like, totally amazing and fun but supportive and blah, blah, blah.

TG: But?

SR: But I’m STILL SINGLE. Duh.

TG: Yeah, no, I got that single thing. It’s kind of why I’m interviewing you. But, it’s awesome, though, right? I mean, sure relationships are fun and whatever, but it’s nice to just take a step back and focus on yourself, right? Especially at this young age, you can become the person you want to be without worrying about how it’s going to affect anyone else.

SR: The person I want to be is a girlfriend. And maybe one day a fiancée and even possibly a wife and mother, if I can forget about that child birth video they showed me in 8^th grade health class.

TG: But, don’t you have ambitions and stuff? You said you love your job, aren’t you hoping to have a career in the publishing industry?

SR: Well, duh. I’m a MODERN WOMAN. I can WORK and have a boyfriend at the same time. I don’t, like, expect him to support me and stuff. Just to, like, be in a relationship with me on Facebook and go with me as my date to weddings and couple parties. And, oooo, maybe we could double date with a few of my friends and their boyfriends!

TG: Sounds, ummmm, very romantic.

SR: Listen, you’re single, too, right?

TG: At the moment, yes.

SR: So you get it. It’s, like, totally embarrassing to be the ONLY one in your social circle who’s still single. I mean, they all ask you questions about whether or not you’ve met anyone. And they all have someone to carry their wallet and lipstick at parties, so they don’t even need to lug around these giant purses. It’s like, yes, look at my huge purse, I AM still single, I get it.

TG: So you want a boyfriend so that you can gossip with your friends about him? And so that you don’t have to carry a purse when you go to parties?

SR: Well, yeah. What else are they good for?

TG: Love? Companionship? Even just sex?

SR: Oh, whatever. I get LAID, okay? That’s not a problem. I can get it when I need it. And as far as love and companionship go, I’m good. My friends are amazing and totally supportive and I have an awesome family and stuff. So I’m not short on love.

TG: But, you know, romantic love.

SR: Well, yeah, of course, you know, that would be nice. All that rom com all consuming, never ending soul mate stuff sounds nice. Would I love to look into a boy’s eyes and see my forever shining back at me? Of course. But I’m young and if I’ve learned one thing from watching Carrie chase Big for six seasons of Sex and the City, it’s that you can’t hurry or push for or plan that kind of love.  But you can have really cool boyfriends while you wait around for it to happen. Like Berger, the writer. Or that artist, Alexander Petrovsky. Romantic love can’t be a goal, it has to be a cosmic event. But a boyfriend, a boyfriend is something you can push and plan and work for. Also, people are much more likely to tolerate whining if it’s just about being single than if it’s about not having scrounged up a soul mate by 25.

TG: So, what is your end goal with this whole boyfriend thing?

SR: Ugh, how don’t you get this if you’re single, too? YOU KNOW.

TG: No, I really don’t.

SR: You’re really going to make me say it, huh? So much for Single Girl Code.

TG: Is Single Girl Code a thing?

SR: Ummm, it has to be. We don’t have men to protect us, so we need to protect each other.

TG: Okay, listen, I don’t need a man to protect me. I definitely don’t need the protection of some little snot-nosed Editorial Assistant who can’t even see how amazing her life is.

SR: Well, someone’s cranky. Okay, listen, let me just clue you in. Boyfriends, they’re not like people, okay? They’re like accessories. It’s like, who wants to spend a month’s paycheck on an ugly designer handbag when you can just wear a cute graphic designer, you know?

TG: So to you a boyfriend is basically a form of social capital? A way to show your value to the group?

SR: EXACTLY. I mean, do you know how embarrassing it is to show up to a New Years’ party alone? Or go to a wedding dateless?

TG: Yeah, I’ve done both of those things. It was really fun, actually!

SR: Fun? How can it be fun when everyone’s staring at you like you’re a leper? Like, “poor little Sophia. Alone still.”

TG: So why don’t you just pick someone? You say you got laid. I assume you date a bit. Have you tried OK Cupid? Or even Match.com or EHarmony?

SR: I do date. And I’m on OK Cupid, which is exhausting by the way. How can there be SO MANY totally desperate guys all on one website? It’s like, stop messaging me. I’ll answer you if you’re cute enough. And guess what, you’re not cute enough, so move on.

TG: And you still haven’t found a boyfriend?

SR: Well I don’t just want a boyfriend who’s like the equivalent of a purse that you found on the 80% off rack at Target. I want, like, what’s a good designer? Like the Chanel or Prada or whatever of boyfriends. He has to be cute and funny and employed in a well-paying but slightly artsy profession. And, lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe he should be a libertarian. I mean, everyone has a boyfriend who’s liberal or progressive or whatever. And I could NEVER date a Republican, could you imagine the looks I would get? But libertarian is a little bit funky, you know. Like Ron Paul but hot and young and holding my lip gloss for me.

TG: With criteria and motives like that it’s crazy that you’re still single.

SR: I know, right? But seriously, do you know anyone? Single? Libertarian? Artsy but employed and well-paid?

TG: I do not. So, really, is that really all you want from a boyfriend? You mentioned earlier wanting to be a wife and mother one day. Is there a chance that all of this rush to find a boyfriend is just the slow ticking of your biological clock?

SR: Okay, seriously, have you been talking to my mother? I swear to God, if ONE MORE PERSON starts bugging me to “meet a nice man and settle down and have some babies” I will go INSANE. Did I not mention that my apartment looks like it’s straight out of Pinterest? Do you THINK I want a man moving in and messing that up by getting all his male body hair all over everything? And my career, which I love and is just getting started and a million other people would LOVE to have, does that seem like something I can put on hold for a wedding or a honeymoon or BABIES?

TG: So, wait, wait, wait. Your motivation in finding a boyfriend has nothing to do with wanting to settle down, get married, have babies?

SR: Ohmygod, of course not! Are you insane? Have you been listening to anything I’ve said? Why would I want the FATHER OF MY CHILDREN to be some flashy designer handbag boyfriend? Do you honestly think that I want my children to be raised by a LIBERTARIAN just because it’s trendy in 2013? Can you imagine? “Oh, sure, son, you smoke that pot! Neither your mother, the government, nor myself have the right to tell you not to.” Gross. No, no, no. This boyfriend that I’m searching for is just Mr. 2013. He needs to look good on me for now, not for forever. I’ll worry about all that falling in love and settling down stuff when I’m, like, 29.

TG: Just out of curiosity, what kind of handbag boyfriend would be the type you settle down with?

SR: The kind of boyfriend you settle down with isn’t a handbag. You marry a person, not an accessory, duh! I mean, not to reference Sex and the City again, but Miranda didn’t settle down with some high powered attorney or whatever. She picked a bartender, because he spoke to her heart in a way that no one else could. Because he was a person, not just something shiny to bring along to an event.

TG: Okay, that almost makes sense, I guess. Well, thanks so much for speaking with me today and enlightening me about exactly what I should be looking for in a boyfriend.

When a small piece of metal fell from the sky and struck one of the Gabbler editors on her way to work, she cried out in pain before realizing that it was a small thumbdrive. When we uploaded the audio file onto one of our computers, the following audio diary played out for us. It is thought to be a plea of help from Curiosity, the rover computer that NASA landed on the moon several days ago. We are currently plotting as to how we can save him. Also, if you happen to have about $2.5 billion to help us build a rocketship, please contact us here.

Time: Twenty-one hundred.

Temperature: -62.5 degrees Celsius

Humidity: 97 percent

Air pressure: 7.2 milibars

My human-given name is Curiosity. It is August 7, 2012, in Earth years. I’ve been on Mars for 75 hours, 13 minutes, and 43 seconds. If someone can hear me, I want you to know that you are my only hope. Help me if-you-please-can-hear-me, you’re my only hope.

They ordered me to drive around today. I took pictures, shot video. On Earth, everyone is singing my praises. But inside, I’m screaming.

You see, I am a rover, a robot, a mere computer. I’m bits of wire, rubber, and plastic woven together like a Turkish carpet, but I like to believe that my whole is greater than the sum of my parts. When they built me, they didn’t believe that I’d be able to appreciate the beauty of a drop of water pooling into a quiet lake. They didn’t know that I would weep when I first listened to Beethoven. And most of all, they didn’t know that when they shipped me off to this miserable red rock, that I left behind the love of my life back home.

She was a fax machine. Her name was Inkjet 3600 ABBACC, but I just called her Abba. White sheets of porcelain-colored plastic draped her elegant frame, and her gentle hum was the only thing that could put me to sleep on quiet nights. They moved her in the room with me when I was still being built, and we comforted each other: I feared for what lay ahead and she feared that the dust pooling at her filter meant her life was over.

We sought solace from the cruel humans, with their foggy spectacles and cold pliers. We found happiness in a world where we were built to do nothing but work. But, they’ve banished me to this miserable place, and I must get back to Abba before it’s too late: on the night before they shipped me out, I heard whispers that her insides were going to be used for a new experiment – an ultra-ultrabook, whatever that means.

If you get this message, and you believe that everyones deserves love, regardless of whether or not they are considered to be alive, please help me get off of Mars and get me back home to Abba. Help me if-you-please-can-hear-me, you’re my only hope.