My mum is an expert at giving me gifts. I suppose it has something to do with me being a clone of her, which makes gift giving infinitely easier. This year, she got me a psychic reading for my birthday. She went with since it is no fun to talk about your destiny by yourself, obviously.
I told this man nothing. Not a single thing about where I live, who I am, or what I wanted to know about. I could tell he was disappointed to have nothing to work with. But, i thought it would add to his credibility or lack thereof after the the fact so i kept my lips sealed.
Turns out, i'm not all that bad off. Saturn has flown the coop which means things should start looking up (though I can expect another rough patch around age 50...dammit!) I can expect to meet my life partner on a sidewalk outside a restaurant or bar...shouldn't be a problem as I do that sort of thing almost daily. Timestamp hazy, however.
Two things of note:
1. I am a psychological gypsy with a boredom problem who violently changes direction in life, sometimes without notice. This came as no surprise to me. Here's the cool part... We all have spirit guides that help us navigate the tricky waters of life. They don't always help you do the right thing, but they look after you lest you totally botch up your whole existence. Usually you get yours early on and they are yours to keep for life. I mean, they invest in you and stay by your side like a German Shepard or an STD that can't be treated with antibiotics. Not mine. Because I change everything up so completely every now and again, I require different spirit guides at different times. I chuck mine and get new ones with all my different life stages. This is quite unusual, according to Mr. Psychic. Right now, I'm stuck with Arthur, a pony-tailed intellectual, who "helps" me over-analyze and question things. Thanks dude, you're coming in really fucking handy. Poo!
2. You've met those people who just exude wisdom and experience, even at a young age. They have that look that says they've seen things others haven't and know things others don't. When they look dazed, it doesn't come off as lost and confused. It looks contemplative. I am not one of those people. I am a new soul. Lacking in wisdom, sophistication, and patience, I am attempting to take this universe by storm and cram in several lifetimes during my Earthly stay. I imagine the psychic was trying to come up with an inoffensive way of saying soul-wise, I'm a bratty teenage idiot who thinks they know everything. Luckily, I have the motivation to get it all done in a hurry so that i'm an old soul faster than other baby-souls. It isn't a competition or anything...I just want to know it all as soon as possible so I'm devouring experiences like Ms. PacMan. Hooray!
I have to say, I was impressed by the psychic's expertise. Still not sure i believe he could see my future but if he could get all that from a handshake, a wrinkled t-shirt, cowboy boots, and a hangover, he's doing pretty well in my book.
New Soul by Yael Naïm
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
To Get To You
Getting around in Austin, TX is a nightmare. Transportation in this city is so epically mismanaged and poorly planned that it has caused me to become enraged and borderline dangerous on numerous occasions. It is no wonder Texas has such a high rate of drunk driving.
First, the traffic is impossible. On the way to work, i zip straight there in 10 mins flat. The way home, on the other hand, is a painful, soulless stop and go that can be up to 60 mins of pure mind-numbing torture.
Parking is an effort in futility that usually leads to homicidal fantasies.
You cannot get a cab to save your life. I had an easier time snagging a cab in DC during the Obama inauguration in the freezing rain. Hailing a cab is out of the question. You must call to be picked up. There is a single cab company with 1 or 2 phone lines, likely manned by an unambitious, bong-hitting high school kid. These alleged phone lines are often disconnected and go straight to what sounds like a third-world country's IRS helpline. If you do manage to get through, the person on the other end usually hangs up before you can get your address noted. It is infuriating.
If, by some miracle of the universe, you do find yourself in a cab, the driver is invariably grouchy and rude. These men clearly need to get laid, which may be possible if they didn't refer to their unlucky significant others as "my old lady" and have permanent scowls on their miserable little faces. I promise...because of the rare treat of riding in a cab I am overly polite and kind to these people (without effect).
Walking, my preferred method, is possible. However, you frequently have to jump fences, scale cement walls, or cross interstates to do so. Walking in 110 degree heat isn't the most fun ever. Also, Texas is big. I mean, really really effing big. For that reason, you can walk miles and still only be to the next intersection.
The only mode of getting from A to B I have discovered is to fling yourself on to the cargo train that passes over Barton Springs occasionally and then fling yourself off the moving train nearer your destination. Hobo-ism is evidently the most reliable transportation.
These Old Shoes by Deer Tick
First, the traffic is impossible. On the way to work, i zip straight there in 10 mins flat. The way home, on the other hand, is a painful, soulless stop and go that can be up to 60 mins of pure mind-numbing torture.
Parking is an effort in futility that usually leads to homicidal fantasies.
You cannot get a cab to save your life. I had an easier time snagging a cab in DC during the Obama inauguration in the freezing rain. Hailing a cab is out of the question. You must call to be picked up. There is a single cab company with 1 or 2 phone lines, likely manned by an unambitious, bong-hitting high school kid. These alleged phone lines are often disconnected and go straight to what sounds like a third-world country's IRS helpline. If you do manage to get through, the person on the other end usually hangs up before you can get your address noted. It is infuriating.
If, by some miracle of the universe, you do find yourself in a cab, the driver is invariably grouchy and rude. These men clearly need to get laid, which may be possible if they didn't refer to their unlucky significant others as "my old lady" and have permanent scowls on their miserable little faces. I promise...because of the rare treat of riding in a cab I am overly polite and kind to these people (without effect).
Walking, my preferred method, is possible. However, you frequently have to jump fences, scale cement walls, or cross interstates to do so. Walking in 110 degree heat isn't the most fun ever. Also, Texas is big. I mean, really really effing big. For that reason, you can walk miles and still only be to the next intersection.
The only mode of getting from A to B I have discovered is to fling yourself on to the cargo train that passes over Barton Springs occasionally and then fling yourself off the moving train nearer your destination. Hobo-ism is evidently the most reliable transportation.
These Old Shoes by Deer Tick
Friday, November 5, 2010
Nighttime, A Love Story
I stayed up too late last night and it hurts today. It's just that I love nighttime so much I don't want to miss even a little bit of it. My 9 to 5 bullies my true love like a jealous boyfriend. It is unnecessary.
Night has all the qualities I like best: cool, dark, rowdy, reliable. I could go on and on. And right now, i'm wanting it...bad.
Night has all the qualities I like best: cool, dark, rowdy, reliable. I could go on and on. And right now, i'm wanting it...bad.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Yellow Brick Road
I'm basking in the haze of hot sun and secondhand pot smoke at Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros the other day in Zilker Park. I'm stoked because Edward Sharpe had fast been becoming one of my favorite bands. I'm also a little drunk. I'm transfixed by the backdrop of the stage which includes a far off Emerald City and hills of yellow brick road. Because I'm a fruitcake, I start comparing my life to Dorothy's. This is easy when you:
a. Are alone at a gigantic music festival.
b. Have been sitting through almost 3 full days of mind blowing musical ecstasy, comparable in sensory bliss only to a lazy Sunday having sex on faux fur with Lenny Kravitz.
c. Need therapy.
I've met them all. The stupid, clumsy sweetie you just want to slap; the heartless one with such an impossible body shape getting close to them is an effort in futility and much lubrication is needed; and the cowardly lion (I've met many of them, in fact).
Which leads me to my Halloween costume...Lion Tamer. These brave circus performers are really just glamorous cat herders. While herding cats is something I'm not particularly fond of, the outfit is adorable and I like the metaphor of smacking around cowardly lions for the entertainment of crowds. Also, carrying a whip is rad.
After putting the finishing touches on my "bridesmaid dress turned sex-kitten circus freak," I think I'll have no trouble channeling Mabel Stark, the original fearless mistress of big cats, and seeking out some courageous kittens worthy of a good whip tickle. I declare this weekend opening night under my own little Austin Big Top. Like a what?!
a. Are alone at a gigantic music festival.
b. Have been sitting through almost 3 full days of mind blowing musical ecstasy, comparable in sensory bliss only to a lazy Sunday having sex on faux fur with Lenny Kravitz.
c. Need therapy.
I've met them all. The stupid, clumsy sweetie you just want to slap; the heartless one with such an impossible body shape getting close to them is an effort in futility and much lubrication is needed; and the cowardly lion (I've met many of them, in fact).
Which leads me to my Halloween costume...Lion Tamer. These brave circus performers are really just glamorous cat herders. While herding cats is something I'm not particularly fond of, the outfit is adorable and I like the metaphor of smacking around cowardly lions for the entertainment of crowds. Also, carrying a whip is rad.
After putting the finishing touches on my "bridesmaid dress turned sex-kitten circus freak," I think I'll have no trouble channeling Mabel Stark, the original fearless mistress of big cats, and seeking out some courageous kittens worthy of a good whip tickle. I declare this weekend opening night under my own little Austin Big Top. Like a what?!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Hurts so good
Been in Austin for just over a month now and can even now only just collect a few sentences to describe it. In a word, "bliss."
Being away from my friends is difficult, as expected. I notice my chest clenches a bit when I'm hanging out with new people, trying my very hardest to fit in, absorbing information like a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. It is not comfortable. Whenever I notice it, I try to relax into it like my DC yoga teacher had instructed me before I left. In yoga, eventually our poses will become comfortable so we must always push. Not so much we hurt ourselves, but enough to feel a sensation.
And sensation is what I feel. Everywhere i look. Everywhere i go. With everybody i meet.
This town is simply lovely. There is something to do every minute of every day. Trying to take advantage of it all is exhausting, especially for someone so notoriously lazy. I have no 10 block radius here. It just isn't possible.
I often find myself in a moment of confusion as if I've overslept a flight or woke up and don't remember where i'm at (um...and it isn't like that happens to me all that often, c'mon). Like i went on vacation and forgot to come home. It is a strange sensation indeed. I guess it feels that way because this place doesn't feel like home yet. Whatever the reason, i like it. If i'm sleeping, don't wake me.
40 Day Dream by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
Being away from my friends is difficult, as expected. I notice my chest clenches a bit when I'm hanging out with new people, trying my very hardest to fit in, absorbing information like a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. It is not comfortable. Whenever I notice it, I try to relax into it like my DC yoga teacher had instructed me before I left. In yoga, eventually our poses will become comfortable so we must always push. Not so much we hurt ourselves, but enough to feel a sensation.
And sensation is what I feel. Everywhere i look. Everywhere i go. With everybody i meet.
This town is simply lovely. There is something to do every minute of every day. Trying to take advantage of it all is exhausting, especially for someone so notoriously lazy. I have no 10 block radius here. It just isn't possible.
I often find myself in a moment of confusion as if I've overslept a flight or woke up and don't remember where i'm at (um...and it isn't like that happens to me all that often, c'mon). Like i went on vacation and forgot to come home. It is a strange sensation indeed. I guess it feels that way because this place doesn't feel like home yet. Whatever the reason, i like it. If i'm sleeping, don't wake me.
40 Day Dream by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Unsubscribe
Like any sizable life event, moving brings people together. I've had night after night of meaningful connections with old friends the last couple months. I've also had a handful of random idiots contact me with hope I will carve out time for them, time obviously already booked by my true friends.
More than once, I've gotten a text out of the blue from some a-hole I dated several summers before wanting to know if i have plans my last few weeks in town. Um, yeah...i'm kinda busy. (insert clubbed head followed by braindead stare)
I kinda wish there was a way to unsubscribe from old boyfriends, drunken phone number exchanges, and overbearing people met in bars. If i could just respond to them with a "Please take me off your list," it would sure come in handy. Being in the online marketing industry makes me all too familiar with CAN-SPAM policy.
That being said, if any of those randoms wants to help pack my moving truck in 100 degree weather and a possible thunder storm, feel free to gimme a ring. I'll wait to report you to the FTC until next week.
More than once, I've gotten a text out of the blue from some a-hole I dated several summers before wanting to know if i have plans my last few weeks in town. Um, yeah...i'm kinda busy. (insert clubbed head followed by braindead stare)
I kinda wish there was a way to unsubscribe from old boyfriends, drunken phone number exchanges, and overbearing people met in bars. If i could just respond to them with a "Please take me off your list," it would sure come in handy. Being in the online marketing industry makes me all too familiar with CAN-SPAM policy.
That being said, if any of those randoms wants to help pack my moving truck in 100 degree weather and a possible thunder storm, feel free to gimme a ring. I'll wait to report you to the FTC until next week.
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