Cobweb Bride, Page 2

  First, a round of cosmic laughter.

  Next, we throw the results of the UAAOHPISPACT out the window.

  Yeah, you are getting the picture now. Because, all this supernatural matchmaking sh**—BLEEP! is infinitely more difficult than you think. No one ever listens to the matchmaker. No one.

  You might think that now that you know your soul planet, you immediately know your supernatural soul mate.

  You might think that Venusians go well together with other Venusians, or Martians go well with other Martians, etc. Wow, have you got it all wrong!

  Well then, you might think that maybe Venusians go well together with Martians? Kind of in the way of caramel and chocolate?

  BUZZZT! Wow, that’s really wrong. So woefully horrendously wrong. So wrong that it’s actually an exception to all the supernatural rules of compatibility and attraction.

  Because those two go together like eggs and burning asphalt. Or rubber tires and cauliflower. They also frequently go at each other—to kill, maim, tear each other to bits, eviscerate, decimate, and do bad, bad things to each other’s electronics, personal belongings, and underwear. Do not, under any circumstances, leave a Venusian and a Martian in the same room unsupervised, unless you plan a remodel and want to save on demolition expenses.

  However—any other planetary combinations can be mixed and matched liberally without any remorse or regret, only sheer romantic delight.

  Truth is, it’s a mix-and-match kind of universe. A universe in which vampires, werewolves, fairies (fae, dammit!!!), zombies, mummies, demons, ghosts, angels, random unclassified inter-dimensional alien sea monsters, and ordinary human bumpkins are all in the same dating pool (Manhattan is a good cross-sample, but London, Paris, Moscow, Tokyo, Atlanta, Lubbock, Fresno, Watsonville, or Bakersfield, all work just as well).

  If you are Venusian, sticking your eager neck out for every hottie with fangs, the last thing you need is an actual vampiric immortal leach in your life. You need someone who can understand your foolish need to be sucked dry and instead can provide you with a means of restraint and some vitamin and iron supplements.

  If you are a Martian with a passion for rough play, for furry and fiery slobbering and wild kingdom claw scratches, what you really need is a calm, genteel, and mummified soul mate to fall back upon. Because falling down, rolling over, and playing dead is something you do well, and a nice calcified shoulder of support is just the thing needed to break your downfall.

  And so on, and so forth. Know and remember the secret formula of supernatural attraction—opposites attract (with the caveat of vampires and werewolves—separate them immediately).

  They really do. Not because they aren’t so damn annoying when you first encounter them (they are). But because, to each other, they—well—sparkle.

  At least, in your poor impressionable mind they do. First, they sparkle with that aggravating, uppity, know-it-all asshole one-upmanship. Next, they glitter with a kind of perverse slow-burn angel hotness. And finally—with all those fireworks and sparks and alchemical chain reactions and organic chemistry happening between the two of you—you’re mesmerized, enchanted, stunned, and absolutely terminally hooked. And, for one brief shining moment, you suddenly understand math.

  You are in supernatural love.

  Or at least you think you are. Because, to be honest, you still have no clue.

  Yes, it’s a scary big universal dating pool.

  We all have to get along, so we are all naturally attracted to people with whom we must learn to get along.

  Because, at the end of the cosmic day (and just before cosmic happy hour), we kind of need them. And they need us. So that the world does not fall apart as a result of our infantile unresolved conflict. Because what comes next is global climate change, some kind of fluctuating barometric pressure (what that means exactly, no one is sure, but it sounds frightening), funky-socks atmosphere, rising sea levels, everyone packing into the international space station, and anti-gravity underwear. (Oh, and don’t forget the magnetic poles flipping. Our tablets and smart phones all stop working, all our digital content disappears forever—bite your tongue!—and we might as well lie down and die, surrounded by cats.)

  All the more reason to get hooked up with a supernatural soul mate, pronto.

  Notice how the metrosexual-but-manly vampire pines for the bland and spineless human girl with an unusual amount of missing personal attributes, who pines back (and also sort of pines on the side, for the furry hot-blooded werewolf)? Notice how the fairy (argh, fae, fae!) princess loves the thoroughly human boy? How the street-tough girl with untapped paranormal powers loves to beat up on a delicate fanged bloodsucker in a black cape, or to torment the furry man-toy detective who follows her around like a puppy, thinking that she is either a mysterious demon in disguise or just a real hot bitch?

  Yes, the examples are varied and plentiful, and uniformly make no rational sense. And yet they all point to one thing—the love matches are as complicated and as enticing as anything in your wildest imagination, and again, opposites attract. As a mushroom craves moonlight, so does a boring human lust for her vampire.

  So, without further ado, time to sort this whole supernatural lover thing out! Let’s resort to pointedly pointless and pointy detailed analysis.

  Venus—Your Vampire Lover

  What is it that makes the vampire lover the crème de la crème, the paragon ideal, the superstar placed firmly at the top of the paranormal romantic hierarchy? Why oh why, Lord? Why oh why, oh-woe-to-us why?

  Are we really so much into cold clammy skin? Is chronic anemia a turn-on? And what’s with all this immortal necrophilia?

  Used to be, vampires were truly frightening, frequently bald, icky rotten-corpse monsters with long teeth and skeletal claws, that rise up every night from the dirt-packed (and surprisingly three-way adjustable) grave and suck your blood, draining you dry. This either turns you into a monster too, or else you just die. Eeow!

  But now, all of a sudden, they are dreamboat hunks!

  Seriously, how did this sh**—BLEEP! happen?

  How did all those vampires become pretty sissies and take over popular literature and entertainment, and propagate in our common consciousness and our bookstore cafés, breeding like undead grave-dust-bunnies, and mutating virally into the immortal cholera of our darkest romantic dreams?

  Vampires are tall, dark, and doornail-dead. And now, they are fu*****—BLEEP! everywhere!

  So many questions. So much that makes you want to say very naughty words and throw things. So little that makes sense.

  Fu*****—BLEEP! sh**—BLEEP! BLEEP! Twi*****—BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP!

  And speaking of not making sense—let’s get right to it. Venus is the second planet from the sun, boiling-hot and roiling with primeval gases, especially methane (think, auto exhaust and farts). Naturally, it is the planet of Love. And naturally it is associated with clammy, cold, undead hunks. Because love is a paradox, you know. Hot is cold, and wet is dry, and weak is strong, and dead is intense.

  Venus is also related to veins. And you know, blood. Venus is thus the essence of vampires, and those of us who are permeated with it are the Venusians.

  What does it mean to be Venusian? An immortal need to think you need to suck blood and scowl romantically in the moonlight? An automatic endowment of good looks and manual dexterity? The ability to fly without a four-hour airport delay and turn into a fruit bat? (Wait, is it the other kind of bat?)

  Not at all. It merely means that you are obsessed with vampires. You don’t actually need or want them, you only think you do. And, it also means that occasional vampires are obsessed with you (you hope—see, there goes that pesky obsession, rearing its psycho head!).

  Still expect to make any sense from any of this? Still struggling to find meaning in a cold sucking void of immortal ennui?

  Voila! You so nailed this coffin. You are so Venusian. There is no sense to be had, at least not in your headspace.

 
Now, stop it! What you need is a proper supernatural mate to snap you the hell out of it.

  Ideal Mate for a Venusian

  Your ideal mate is anyone who is not a vampire. Seriously. Just anyone. Please, date a tub of ice cream or a bag of chips, and you will do better in the long run.

  However, werewolves, and hence Martians are not recommended.

  But a nice human co-worker will be just perfect for you. You need an Earthling, and stat! Set that alarm clock to some morning hour (hint, before 2:00 PM), leave your cat on your pillow, step out into the sun, and enjoy your real planet!

  Mars—Your Werewolf Lover

  Werewolves are almost as bad as vamps. They used to be so disgusting. So scary-hairy, so fur-covered. . . . Basically, gruesome monster beasts of vaguely wolf-human shape, with big teeth and claws and horrifying burning red eyes—and not just in undoctored photographs. They used to be overgrown, slobbering canines, at best. They used to eat little girls in red riding hoods. And yes, they used to be distinctly gross, and occasionally sorry and pitiful in the way you feel sorry for any mangy wolf or dog, even the demonic rabid kind.

  But suddenly they are hot hunks. And not just any hunks, but hunks without any hint of body hair! Hunks with perfectly shaved chests and defined six-pack abs of kitchen appliance-grade stainless steel, and well-placed tattoos, and yummy biceps and triceps and . . . ahem. It’s as if they figured out how to supernaturally retract their hair back up the follicles, tastefully hide it, keeping all of it in reserve (in another dimension? In Vegas? In area rugs?), until they are overcome with crazy hair-growth pressure every month. . . . So that when the moon is full, they exhale in relief, put away the razors, hot wax, and depilatory supplies, and just let themselves go. All to hell. . . .

  The wolf shape-shifter has become a paragon of the fiery and virile male. They are hot-blooded, and in general, kind of crazy-hot in every sense. And girl-werewolves are the vixens (pardon the vaguely canine pun) that are legendary for being fierce warriors between the sheets (no, really, they fire automatic weapons at pillows and chew the crap out of the mattress).

  And naturally, these animal magnetism-imbued werewolves are associated with Mars, the distant, absolutely frigid, freezing-cold planet, orangey-red in color because of rust and iron ore deposits, and very, very far away. Mars is the planet of War—and that’s even outside the bedroom. Everybody knows war is hot. And cold. While peace, or even détente, sucks (like a vampire) for the individual and the economy. Makes perfect sense.

  Anyway, what does it mean to be Martian?

  First of all, it means, you’re a dog person. Also, you are obsessed with werewolves. You stopped shaving. And you think that it might be fun to run around crazy-naked once a month in the moonlight, roll in the wet grass, run through sprinklers, and then TP someone’s house.

  Honest, you don’t really want to hurt or tear apart anyone with your teeth, human or not. And you really wouldn’t want to hurt that poor bunny in the bushes! At best you might fantasize how you might pull your nails against your lover’s back and then make extra-loud exaggerated panting noises. Lovemaking to you is not an art but a sorority-on-frat party.

  Things for you are either fun or crazy, and things are pretty simple. Life’s okay, as long as you’ve got comfort stuff. And weekends. And as long as you have someone warm to love, and who unconditionally loves you back.

  And that’s all it comes down to. Warmth. (Because, remember, real Mars is so damn cold.)

  Ideal Mate for a Martian

  You don’t want another hungry wolf in your life. You don’t want someone to take you apart on a daily basis, and to rob you of your will to live and your electronic gadgets. You want warm soothing comfort, and a lot of hearty food and passionate noises. Stuff that basically tells you that you’re alive, and so is the supernatural lover of your dreams.

  For that reason, ghosts and hence Quantum Planetoids are not recommended.

  Neither are zombies and hence Jupiterians, because you don’t want a bloated egoist self-lover for a soul mate (and besides you have plenty of your own hot air).

  Vampires and therefore Venusians are a big flaming no-no.

  Demon Uranusians, a.k.a., assholes, are just not good for you, since they encourage the crazy in you, make you go out and do bad things, and you are so susceptible to naughty temptation and infomercials.

  Mummies are a mixed bag, being dead, but kind of sweet in a desiccated romantic sense. So take your chance with a Neptunian or Saturnian but be very careful not to dry up yourself.

  Earthlings are generally okay, and can be a solid good match. They will reliably lock you up during the full moon, cutely calling it “the fool moon!” And the rest of the time you will just be two people basking in ordinary love and regularly eating greasy spoon diner food.

  However, your best bet is an immortal fairy (or, pardon me, fae) who can keep their cool while you rave and slobber (because you do, a whole lot, especially after you’ve had cookies or ice cream or a chili-burger), and who will match your repressed needs, fury, jealous fits, and stalker tendencies, with a no-nonsense steady affection and soothing music of the spheres that will turn you into a happy puppy. Therefore, go look for that Mercurian or Moon-Lunarian of your hottest supernatural dreams!

  Mercury and Moon—Your Fairy (Fae) Lover

  Admit it, fairies—or fae—are very hot right now. They’ve been around (and hot) for almost as long as the vampires, and quite frankly, longer. But even though they are just as beautiful and attractive and immortal and metrosexual, and yes, dangerous, for some reason they’ve paled in comparison to the even more pale bloodsuckers.

  It has to be the blood. Or the erotic neck-biting thing.

  Whatever the reason, fairies (or fae—oh, for crissake! Can I just pick one or the other for the rest of this thing? No? Would it be offensive? Okay, no) are just not as interesting in the eyes of the public. For some reason—maybe because they are so darn mysterious, and no one understands exactly their magical origins—we tend to relegate them to the background.

  Or—is it actual faerie (fae? fey? Aaaargh!) magic?

  Are they doing this, right now? Right this instant? Putting on a fairy-fae glamour on us so that we can only see them out of the corner of our eye? Or so that we barely manage to even think of them . . . and only after we kinda-sorta make a major effort to remember that they’re even there, and they are so infinitely more hot and desirable than vampires?

  After all, just think: faeries are usually highly eligible, single blue-bloods, royalty, princes and princesses and kings and queens of some mysterious otherworldly kingdoms, while vampires don’t even have their own blood and have to take other people’s. And they rule a crummy nightclub or two, and mostly the underground sewers.

  Fairies are immortal and alive. Vampires have to die first before they become immortal, and then they are dead, or “undead.” (What in blazes is “undead?” Some freaky in-between state between life and whatever the heck the other thing is? It is seriously messed up, if you ask me. . . . HIC!)

  Fae have supernatural powers of the mind, and super strength, and mad-skillz musical ability and heavenly voices not requiring digital enhancement. In contrast, with all their fancy telepathy and eyeball hypnotism, no one has heard a vampire sing, and most of them don’t even breathe or collapse their lungs, unless they concentrate very, very hard. Ever seen a vamp play a tenor sax? Exactly. And, guess who invented lip sync? Yeah.

  So really, at last the secret is out!

  Faerie-fae-fairy-fey are quite intentionally making themselves less attractive to us, compared to vampires, so that they can be all sneaky in the background of the world.

  Damn, but they’re good!

  Admittedly, they can be cruel and mean and terrifying too, but what godlike paragon isn’t? After all, the Moon is tiny in the greater scheme of planet things, but it’s huge and devastating in our poetic imagination—deceptively cool and stately-slow, sailing in the night hea
vens—and it controls the tides. And Mercury is also tiny, scalding-hot on one side only (like your toast), and super-fast, and closest to the sun and far from us—and yet it has that damned Retrograde every few months that causes our mail to get lost, our pants to shrink in the dryer, and ruins our travel plans. How is that not sneaky and impressive?

  So, what does it mean to be a Mercurian or Moon-Lunarian?

  It means that you are obsessed with androgynous beauty and immortality, and you very likely think you’re a Venusian, when in fact you would much rather have the living flesh-and-blue-blood immortal than the undead, and all you need is someone to slap you upside the head a few times and clean your foggy glasses.

  Open your eyes, forget the bloody bloodsucker, and see the sexy supernatural wonders of Faerie all around you!

  Or else, you already know all this (sneaky fae-fairy you!). And you already see, and breathe the magic. In that case, carry on!

  Ideal Mate for a Mercurian or Moon-Lunarian

  The fae are remarkably beautiful, aesthetically perfect in every way, proud and hot, and occasionally sadistic. So unless you are an absolute clod, you will probably be able to attract a remarkable variety of sensible and romantic supernatural partners, as long as they are supermodel-perfect.

  Zombies and hence Jupiterians are emphatically not recommended.

  Neptunian or Saturnian mummies are a long stretch, because of oily flapping bits of rag and sailor-windblown dry skin. But the inner beauty of their loyal romantic souls can go a long way when propped up against mere dermatology.

  As always, Earthlings are something to fall back upon, though there may be some time-based confusion, what with all that Faerie Savings Time™ versus Daylight Savings.

  However, the most delightful mates for you are made of thin air. Ghostly and angelic Quantum Planetoids can be an ethereal good bet. So go outside and let the wind blow the two of you together, and let the Aeolian Harp sing!

  Earth—Your Almost Average™ or Androgynous Power Human Lover