My horoscope sucks today.
It says, “There’s a reason for everything, and you’ll know what it is soon.”
What the hell does that mean?
Technically, that crappy horoscope applies to about 1/12 of the world’s population.
Sad, isn’t it?
I read my horoscope religiously.
In fact, it may be the closest thing to religion in my life at the moment.
How unfortunate that it’s probably as accurate as my blind cousin is at darts.
(I still have scars from the only time we played when I was six.)
Despite the likelihood of inaccuracy, I continue to read my horoscope and have it e-mailed to me everyday.
I keep hoping one day I’ll read, “You’ll get hired for a real, big girl job today.”
Or, “Your puppy will not poo on the floor.”
I’d even settle for, “Today will suck, but tomorrow will suck a little less.”
Maybe my first big girl job could be writing horoscopes.
I wonder what sort of qualifications one needs for the position?
An amulet, perhaps? A star chart? A telescope?
I’ve got a hemp necklace, glow in the dark constellations on my ceiling and a pair of binoculars I found in the bottom of a box of Lucky Charms.
By golly, I think I’m qualified.
Nah. As much as I want to believe horoscopes, psychics and tarot are bunk, I can’t.
I am addicted to the possibility that I might find an easy answer or some shortcut to a happy, healthy future.
I’ve even pursued non-horoscopic venues seeking this shortcut.
I paid a bearded lady named Natalie to read my cards in the French Quarter, and it scared the bejesus out of me.
No, dear readers, it wasn’t just the beard that was scary.
She told me a girl who dyed her hair blonde would “stab me in the back.”
I don’t know if she meant this comment in the serial killer sense or as a metaphor for betrayal, but I’ve been avoiding bottle blondes since.
And I haven’t been literally or metaphorically stabbed yet.
Natalie was wise beyond her beard, I tell you.
A friend recently tried to read my palm while inebriated, and I have since decided that all of my future dealings with psychic activities should occur in this manner.
It’s more honest that way.
The first thing she said was, “DAMN!”
I decided if it was that bad, I’d just stick to my sucky horoscope.
Off the cuff
February 25, 2003