January 30, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are closer than ever to your goal. Stick with it. It’s almost in your hands.
I don’t know what to think of today’s horoscope. I’ve never really been a goal person. When someone asks me what my five-year plan is, I know that’s a person to avoid—for at least the next five years. Setting goals assumes you have control over things. With me, things always just happen. Like my firing. I suppose I should’ve seen it coming since Ann-Marie and the girls had officially shunned me, but since when in the adult world did mean girls get to run a company? Hopefully, when I find a new career, I’ll be able to look back and view the firing as a gift, but all I can feel right now is total humiliation.
Tamara actually showed up last night and decided I needed to be consoled with a visit to Death by Chocolate. She ordered the Heavenly Dilemma and I had the Devil in Disguise, our own good versus evil feast. I drifted more toward “heaven” when Tamara pointed out that my supersized chocolate cake with the dollops on either side looked phallic. She proceeded to devour it while rhapsodizing about the sex she was having with Andy, her muscled black boyfriend. “The dessert doesn’t do him justice,” she cooed. (I guess we’d moved on from consoling, but the diversion was welcome.) The visit was much like the food: highly anticipated, but ultimately a letdown.
“So does this mean we can go back to our get-togethers a couple times a week?” I asked on the way back to my apartment.
Something snapped in Tamara. “Christ, Laura! Can’t you see how happy I am with Andy? I’ve been single for so long, can’t you try to be supportive? I swear, you’d be doing cartwheels if we broke up!”
“That’s not true. Cartwheels hurt my wrists.”
“Fuck you.” And she stormed off the other direction. Typical Tamara. She’d have to turn around sometime to retrieve her car, but it looked like she had a 10K race-walk in her first. I’d only tried to keep it light. Should’ve known I’d piss her off. She’d completely surrendered her life to Andy. Why do so many women do that?
I walked the final blocks to my place solo. Had to console myself. Job gone, friend gone (for the next three months at least). Hey, but it’s the weekend. Oh, joy.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
GOTTA HIT THE GYM W/MARTY THIS MORNING. HE CALLED & PUSHED IT BACK TO 11:00. STILL GOT A GIRL OVER & SHE’S INSISTING ON MAKING HIM CINNAMON TOAST. HOPE SHE CUTS OFF THE CRUSTS AND CUTS IT INTO A HEART. THAT’LL FREAK HIM OUT.
I’M LOOKING AT KNOCKING OFF TWENTY POUNDS BY THE END OF MARCH. I COULD BLAME MY GUT ON THE BREAKUP, BUT IT HAD BEEN GROWING FOR YRS WHILE W/CLARA. BECAME COMPLACENT I GUESS. AND FOOD STARTED STICKING AROUND ONCE I HIT MY THIRTIES. I LIKE THAT COMMERCIAL: NEVER FORGET IT’S NOT YOU. IT’S YOUR METABOLISM. WHO THEY KIDDING?! BOTTOM LINE: MY METABOLISM IS STILL ME. GOTTA WORK OFF THE GUT. HOPEFULLY I CAN DO IT W/O GIVING UP BEER. SIPPING CARROT JUICE WHILE WATCHING THE CANUCKS JUST WON’T CUT IT.
I’M STILL A FREE MAN. MY THERAPIST DIDN’T HAVE ME COMMITTED YESTERDAY. ACTUALLY CRIED IN THE SESSION. I’M SUCH A WUSS! HE DID SAY, “WE’RE MAKING PROGRESS” WHICH IS BUSINESS-SPEAK FOR COME ON BACK AGAIN NEXT WEEK & DROP ME ANOTHER CHECK. GOT ME A NASTY CAR PAYMENT TO THINK ABOUT. MAYBE I SHLD LOOK FOR A SELF-HELP BOOK. WHO AM I KIDDING? WHEN DID I LAST EVEN OPEN A BOOK?
‘NUCKS THIS AFTERNOON. HOPE THEY TKO TORONTO!