2004-02-10 @ 2:27 p.m.
|Greetings Witty --
Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, February 10:
You're on an adventure that's too good for one person. Discover and link up with your intellectual or spiritual twin. Art happens when it's ready -- you're just the vessel through which it flows.
Oh, how did they know, those wacky astrologers.
An adventure too good for one person? Oh definitely! Yes, yes, yes on that one. And me being a vessel that flows. Right on. Yup, thats me too. The flowing vessel. flow, flow, flow...
Unfortunately there is real life to deal with before I can link up with my spiritual twin.
So Walmart gave me the news today. Um, your car might blow up if you start it. Thanks! I be grooving on that car disguised as a Molotov cocktail thing. Thanks car gods. You give me and my Chevy so much of your attention, that I'm almost embarrassed.
Well, witty hasn't suffered any in the last 9 days, lets break her car axle!
Lets make the tire poof out with a strange bubble.
Lets have somebody run into the back of your car.
The car gods really like that. SMASH. Oh wait, lets make the other driver uninsured.
UNINSUREMENT ON YOUR ASS, Witty.
Lets make her car drive funny. Kinda pulling to the side. Lets make it shudder at every street light.
Uh oh, it looks like Witty is finally going to replace that nearly bald tire at Walmart today. Hee, hee, hee. Lets make a break in the gas-line under the car, so they won't do it. Ha, ha, ha.
Lets scare the shit out of her and tell her that the car might blow up if she starts it.
Yeah, thats the actual word the mechanic used at Walmart when he was describing what was wrong with my car and what might happen if I turn over the ignition.
KABOOM. Better park that sucker as far away from the building as possible. We don't want to blow up Walmart. Where would all the underpaid workers go?
I actually sort of wanted it to blow up. Just take me with it. Put us both out of our misery.
Kaboom. No more worrying. No more trying to conjole another 100 miles out of a rusted out hulk. Just kaboom. I'd be the lead story on the local news.
People tend to notice you when you blow up. Maybe that's what I'm doing wrong, right "A"? The not getting noticed thing. I don't sparkle enough. I don't self combust in front of people. I'm too quiet. Too artsy. To unapproachable.
And I have that "fantasy problem". I live in one.
But again, aren't fantasies supposed to be fun? Like involving whip cream and starburst nipple rings? This fantasy isn't fun. My car blowing up like a vehicle in a Jerry Bruckheimer's movie? Now that would be fun. Of course, I would want a large camera crew around me, so they could film it in slow motion. The car blowing up...all the books I have in the back seat, kind of tumbling through the air in slo mo. It would be really cool.
So I came home and called my mom. Cried a lot. I think her and my shrink are in kahoots. They had almost identical suggestions today. You've got to talk to people. You have to ask them for help (my mom wants me to ask the Art Book Guy to drive me to and from my art class now that my car might blow up if I drive it.
She wants me to ask him how to draw things...as in show him my work and ask for help. Um......NOOOOOO!
I told her I didn't want anybody to see my work, and she said that was stupid. Why go to a class if you don't want anybody to see your work? Exasperated, she finally said, "Well, I can't give you confidence."
Well, that's certainly true. My brother drained every last drop of confidence and bravado out of her womb eight years before I was born. And it didn't help that she constantly made fun of things I did and the way I looked growing up.
Now...why don't I have confidence?
My shrink actually did a really bang up job today. He was very energetic, yet firm. He even used his trademark humor, to make me laugh. I like humor. I like when he gets up in my face and makes me realize another human is trying to help me. I need that. But I'm a tough nut to crack.
The Molotov cocktail car thing really has me in a tailspin. What do I do? Stop driving? I don't have money for a new car. And I really don't have any more money to throw at a rusted hulk. I've already spent almost $300 on it in the last month. The car is probably barely worth $300. What do I do?
Write Oprah? Of course, she probably only has about 80 billion dollars left in her bank account after that 50th birthday party.
Anyone else tired of hearing about that? It was like the second coming of Christ for God sakes.
I saw a hilarious sketch on Saturday Night Live spoofing how Oprah says stuff like, here is a piece of cake made by my friend Wolfgang Puck, and then all the women in the audience go into frenzied spasms of excitement. Here is a used Kleenex I blew my nose with...AT MY FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY!!!!!
(loud roar of 50 female audience members screaming and crying and humping each other).
You know, I can only hope somebody screams and yells and has an orgasm on my birthday too. Than I would feel so complete. And if you want to start practicing the orgasm part, so you're ready for Thursday...you know MY 46th birthday, go for it.
Its true there won't be cameras and Ecuadorian crystal chandeliers hanging from solid gold beams at my palatial mansion, but hearing someone scream in pleasure might be sorta cool. Though only screaming in pleasure ok, not because your hair is on fire because your car just blew up in Walmart's parking lot.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty