I yearn to be a fromagier.

Sometimes I do things in the name of blogging. I have recently found myself doing things or going places (e.g. applying to be a cheese clerk at a local grocery store*) with the rationale that "this has the potential to be a funny blog."

Anyway, I often go out of my way to have fodder for blogging. Even better, though, is when the world or the universe or the cosmos goes out of its way to give me fodder for blogging... Last week I randomly found an ad online calling for a personal assistant for a fashion designer/artist/art broker. It caught my attention because it was different and generally absurd. The ad placer was looking for a young assistant to work about 20-25 hours a week, get paid for full-time with benefits, and be willing to accept free fashions as part of the job. I laughed to myself at the ridiculousness of people and what they actually post on the internet, and carelessly saved the posting to give my friends a good laugh that evening.

Well, as the cosmos and blogging gods would have it, my friends talked me in to applying for this ludicrous position. I didn't expect to hear anything, and I certainly didn't expect to hear it right away. I also didn't expect that the email would come from a (supposedly) multimillionaire fashion designer who lives in a mansion on Camelback Mountain with his three "powder puffs of love and beautiful fur"** Could he call me in the near future to further discuss the position? By the end of the evening my friends and I had fully cast our major motion picture version of my life. Of course, we chose all A-list stars because who needs supporting actresses when you've got a millionaire (billionaire?) to fund your film. Picture a ramped up version of The Devil Wears Prada where the boss is a flamboyant middle-aged man, the lead is a former TFA teacher, and the college boyfriend is off saving the third world, living in a tin house and eating flavorless potatoes. Trust me, we've got a Hollywood hit on our hands.

To my surprise, I actually got a phone call from Martin a few days later. Two hours of his southern drawl and I was entirely convinced that either karma had come around in a big way or I was on the phone with some sort of delusional schizoprenic. I mean... work as a personal assistant to a fashion guru, spend the days schmoozing and organizing, full salary for part-time, great benefits, bonus at the end of the year, all free, hand designed clothes made to fit me, and an expensive account to keep up my image... I've learned that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are. But certainly if some creep wanted to attack lil ole me he didn't need to go to the trouble of making up stories about learning to sew from the neighbor down the street when he was nine. Endearing or crazy? My wonderful realization was that either way this was going to be an excellent blog.

I'm disappointed to have to tell you that we may never know if Martin is real or not. I like to believe that maybe the cosmos created him so as to fill a time of blogging drought and general emotional boredom. Now life will proceed forward relatively unscathed but for the distant memory of powder puffs of love like a deep longing for a more fabulous life.

It's all probably for the best anyway as Natalie Portman has yet to return my calls.

*I am disappointingly unqualified for this position as well as that of a fromagier.
**His Persian cats. Trust me, I couldn't make up details this good if I tried.