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Thursday, Mar. 02, 2006 / 7:38 p.m. ~No Mani-Pedi for Moi~ I love to read my horoscope(s), I really do, and I think the reason is because while I want to know the future, I'm certainly scared it might not be good, but I'm overtly optimistically hopeful that it will be smashingly good. It's fun to think that someone actually knows, and he or she can tell me, but only in veiled terms, like this: There is a tense air of excitement. Much is out of control. Much is seemingly resting in the lap of the gods. Much is open to interpretation. Yet somewhere, deep down within, you feel almost supremely confident. Are you right to have this much faith? The answer rather depends on what - or who your confidence is in. If it is in �the general idea that all will come right in the end, largely due to your own ability to see the right thing to do� - you have every right and reason to relax. If it is in anything or anyone else, look out! See? Now that is so intriguing, yes? And then there's this one: It's not like you to hold back when you have something to say. In fact, it's so completely out of character that when you do, your friends start asking who you are and what you've done with the person they know. They'll start asking that question now, mostly because every time a certain subject comes up, you'll refuse to discuss it. Why put them through this? Give up the goods. You know you want to. Give up the goods? Eeeep! What goods? What's going to happen? Something good? When will I be winning the lottery? Very soon? Will MySpace guy get back in touch, tell me he's not stopped thinking of me, has finally finished writing all those very long briefs and wants to treat me to dinner? Will he be my Sugar Daddy? Will I go to another show, at another club, meet another intriguing stranger, or am I finished with that sort of silliness? What does the future hold? Anything? Surely, certainly, something. I know I had a point other than this, but it escapes me now. I will add one more thing... my fingernails and my toenails are too long, and I think I'm finally realizing why people pay other people to cut their nails for them. Sometimes we're just too fucking lazy to groom ourselves. Alas, I don't pay others to do my dirty work for me. I know where my clippers are, and my emery board, thanks, and I can wipe my own ass too. Cost of the War in Iraq
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