January 24, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE: Frustration can be motivating. Don’t give up -- prove the naysayers wrong.
When things seem hopeless and completely out of control, I turn to an impartial source for guidance: my horoscope. Only today I just want to scream after reading it. Frustration can be motivating. Really? I thought frustration can lead to deep despair. Isn’t that why I’m bothering with astrology in the first place? To be honest, I was hoping it would say something helpful like: “Today is the perfect day to go shopping. Updating your wardrobe makes you ready to conquer the world.”
OK, there is that credit issue from excessive shopping in December. Perhaps the next shopping binge should wait a month (or seven). Hate denying myself an opportunity to buy a new blouse. Suppose it’s not so urgent, given my present social circumstances. Tupper would prefer I throw on the same unwashed sweatshirt with old food stains to sniff anew.
I could just make a quick trip to Oakridge and buy a pair of those adorable red Canadian Olympic mitts. Only ten bucks. But then they only take Visa—personally, I think the Olympic sponsors have a stranglehold over all of us—and that would run counter to my need to rediscover something called a zero balance. (Or is that an urban myth?) What goes up must come down,…right? Damn, no mitts it is. I shall deprive myself of blouse, trendy mitts and name brand groceries until I pay down the credit cards. Or make some headway at least. Why do generic labels always look so ugly? Why not package the cheap stuff in calming colors like mint green and cinnamon instead of traffic-light yellow?
Hey, it seems frustration can be motivating. You astrologers are so wise.
But I’m not giving up lattés. Everyone has a weakness, right? For me, it’s lattés. And Dodger.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
AT LEAST IT WAS AN AWESOME SUNRISE. STILL, WISH I WEREN’T WAKING UP TO IT ALONE. DEE DEE PARTED WAYS WITH ME IMMEDIATELY AFTER DINNER AT VIJ’S. SURE IT TOOK NINETY MINUTES TO GET A TABLE, BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE REALLY CONNECTING. SURE, SHE DOESN’T KNOW A THING ABOUT THE CANUCKS OR REAL ESTATE OR POLITICS. (“PROROGUING? THAT’S SUCH A FUNNY WORD. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT SOMEONE IN FAVOR OF ROUGHING IT? I REALLY DON’T LIKE CAMPING.”) AND I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY ANY WOMAN (OTHER THAN A NUN) WLD BE SO PASSIONATE ABOUT MAKING STAINED GLASS WINDOWS AS A HOBBY, BUT SHE WAS HOT.
BUT WE FOUND OUR COMMON GROUND. WE BITCHED ENDLESSLY ABOUT PARKING PROBLEMS WITH THE UPCOMING OLYMPICS. (SURE, I HAVE A RESERVED SPACE AT HOME AND WORK, BUT I CAN MUSTER UP SOME EMPATHY EVERY NOW AND THEN.) AND IT WAS CLEAR THAT NEITHER OF US HAD A CLUE ABOUT LUGE. OR BIATHLON. OR SKELETON. STILL, IT WLD BE A PROUD MOMENT IF CANADA MEDALED IN THOSE (OR ANY) EVENTS.
DESPITE ALL THAT AMAZING CONNECTIVITY, SHE GAVE ME A LITTLE WAVE OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT AND INSISTED ON WALKING TO HER CAR BY HERSELF. I REALLY WANTED TO BE A GENTLEMAN—YEAH, AND AT LEAST GET A GOODNIGHT PECK—BUT SHE BECAME SWEETLY DEFIANT WHEN I PUSHED THE MATTER. SWEETLY DEFIANT,…NOW THAT’S A NEW ONE. THERE MUST BE TWO HUNDRED & FIFTY WAYS TO SAY NO AND I’VE ONLY EXPERIENCED HALF OF THEM SO FAR. I’M NEVER GONNA FIGURE WOMEN OUT.
SHOULD’VE STAYED HOME & WATCHED CANUCKS TROUNCE CHICAGO.