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2004-03-11 @ 11:02 a.m. |
| Here is your horoscope for Thursday, March 11: Believe it or not, people admire you. Find those inspiring qualities and accentuate them. A healthy wind fills your sails, ready to blow you to a better place once you lift your anchor. When they say anchor, do they mean my ass? As in get my ass out of my chair in front of the computer? And yes, it does take a great deal of slapping about my head to make me realize anyone could possibly admire me. And probably a few bamboo shoots under my nails as well. Ouch. So yesterday on the way home with my lesbian friend, I was telling her about what my shrink had said about dressing for the opposite sex and flirting and appearing available and she said the oddest thing. And it was actually something I had never heard before. She said it appears like I'm "taken" already. I was like "Taken? But I'm not wearing a wedding ring or anything." And she said, "Well, you are very relaxed (oh if you only knew the chaos inside), and you don't primp or ask for approval from men. You seem very happy in your skin." To me that seemed like a good thing....to be happy in your skin, right? Not to be all neurotic and asking guys if I look nice in that peach colored pant suit that makes my ass look like a double wide Amana freezer. But I guess men WANT the fawning, do I look ok, I MUST have your approval thing. So last night as I was getting ready for my art class I looked in my drawers and closet trying to find some clothes that might look slightly more inviting than some middle aged beatnik hippy artist. I was extremely hyper. I even had a quick go-around with Mr. Love Me Tender Love Me Big. Woo-Hoo! And I got off in like 15 seconds which is very unusual in my advanced years. But I think I had a lot of sexual feelings swirling around since I was going on a man hunt tonight....Yeah, baby...  Unfortunately, my sex-brain cells didn't make picking clothes any easier. I put on my much revered underwire bra. Vavoom. Hallalujah Chorus...and than God created....BREASTS!!!!! Going from flat to sassy is always a little disconcerting for me. To me it looks like I'm trying to get noticed (yeah, I know "A" I AM!!!), but then I went with the flow and started trying on my vast collection of turtlenecks. Black. No. Green. No. Purple. No. Deep Pink. Wow, my boobs look pretty substantial in those. EEK, you can even see the girls popping out there. Ack. I was also ripping slacks on and off and my bed was soon piled high with clothes. Fuck. The cab was due in about 10 minutes and I didn't even match. And unfortunately I still looked like a homeless person with pastels. So I finally made the decision to take the underwire bra off (I didn't want to be drawing in signals from Neptune during my class). And ended up in the usual sports bra. The usual dark green turtleneck. The usual dark blue jeans. And the usual black boots. Wasn't that whole clothes ripping on and off useful? The cab was 15 minutes late however and when I went to get in the car, it was swirling with cigarette smoke. I had to tell him to put it out since I'm allergic to smoke. It was so strong, it nearly made me gag. He told me he had driven by earlier, but had missed the driveway. But I knew he didn't because I had been standing out front and knew he was just covering. Well, this guy was quite a character. If I could compare him to a movie character, there would only be one that would fit. The character Robert DeNiro played in...no not "Taxi Driver", but "King of Comedy", Rupert Pupkin (a little hazy on the name). He was creepily friendly and never stopped talking. He was #85. In a 5 mile ride I learned: He was on disability for 10 years, he has asthma, yet chain smokes, his wife yells at him for leaving water on the floor after a shower, he hates humid weather, has only worked as a cab driver for 3 days, but has worked as a long distance trucker for 20 years, is 45 years old, hates his bifocals, is partially deaf, used to live on $610/mo., had a foot operation, his wife is a social worker and rescues kids and just took some kids from some people who died in a car accident and gave them to their grandparents, but they had to go to court, but he shouldn't be telling me this, but he didn't say their names so its probably ok, and his wife also yells at him for how he puts the toilet paper on the paper toilet roller, and he just had a great customer, some woman hired him to sit outside a grocery store while she shopped and he made over $20, and he makes things out of leather like key chains and moccasins, and its illegal for 3 people to sit in the front seat of a two people truck, and I wouldn't want to live on the east side, and he grew up in ***, where we live, and he quit smoking once for 3 months, and he coughs a lot, and yes, you can use credit cards to pay for cabs, but you have to call them in over the speaker and some people don't like that, and I can understand why....blah-de-blah-de-blah I was like help....I can't breathe...and that's for two reasons. And he also kept asking me personal questions. About being single. And about where I worked. And about what I was doing at the place where I was going. I didn't want to tell him I was going someplace to draw nude people. Why? Because this guy made things like leather leg restraints and was covered in tattoos and drove trucks long distances. All I could think was: wow, what great personality traits for a serial killer. So I was happy to finally get to my class where the most dangerous thing to be found was a sharpened colored pencil and bad art. And I also realized, that all the frantic clothes tossing was really ridiculous, because, after all, who can compete with a beautiful NUDE BLONDE WOMAN laid out provocatively on a large mattress? My little boobies propped up in a little cheap Walmart underwire bra certainly isn't going to be turning heads, my friends. And I'm not sure why I didn't realize that as I was making like a maniacal idiot an hour earlier. If you've never noticed, I'm actually hiding in plain site on this page. If you scroll down to the bottom, the sad faced clown with the word HIDDEN across her chest is actually me. I've been there for several weeks. Don't know if anyone has noticed. I'm sort of like Mr. Cellophane in CHICAGO. "And you can look right through me... Walk right by me... And never know I'm there..." Should I go for the Pamela Anderson look? Do I look like I could carry it off? Naw, see what I mean. I'm more of the quiet girl who owns 150 cats or makes toe cozies for Martha Stewart's defense team. So hopefully I can find those inspiring qualities my horoscope mentions sometime soon, and get to those better places...where ever that is. Older Entries |
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty |
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