<span class="sdata" title="6"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2017"></span>

The Astrology Compatibility Mindfuckola

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-07T13:29:51+00:00"></span> |Blendyjuicy, Choice, Cosmic Roolz, Fate, Relationships, Washing Machine|0 Comments

THE ASTROLOGY COMPATIBILITY MINDFUCKOLA

In the wild an’ wacky worlda astrology, compatibility is the darnedest hot potater, tellya.

Alla that schwango about surefire an’ pre-ordained waysta bag the PERFECT soulmate for the PERFECT life with PERFECT you — is it really true?

Is it really gonna work?

More specifically, are alla those astrological mismatches doomedta fail?

Aw Gosh, I Hope Not! I Am In Such A Mismatch Relationship — And It Is Bliss! Please Don’t Tell Me I’m Being Delusional!

Tellya, textbook astrology compatibility scenarios orbit the internets, their dream solutions lit up by the twinklea the prediction-packin’ STARS.

Aries, you got Leo an’ Sagittarius — for fully flamed on love an’ adventure gonna rock out on verve an’ action.

An’ Taurus, you got Virgo an’ Capricorn — for a long term power duet fulla stability an’ trust gonna lastya.

Gemini, Libra an’ Aquarius can mix an’ match in infinitely intellect-tinglin’ ways, with plentya options for spicin’ up blendyjuicy’s boudoir.

An’ for full-on romance, spirityool bondin’ an’ tenderness, Cancer, Scorpio an’ Pisces make out in mebbe true love’s most expansive aquarium/desert area.

Leastaways, that is the kinda stuff I wrote out in my forthcomin’ Handy Astro Guides — an’ I got no desireta diss my own predictive fortune-dishin’ prowessitude aheada their release.

Hey! Quit Trying To Sell Shit Don’t Exist Yet, Princess! What Do You Think You Are — A Fucking Astrologer?

Hey — I dance an’ do yoga also, so go pick on sumone elseta rideya trope-assed one-trick pony round the Limited Talents theme park.

Point is, while these cosy, ‘single element’ matchups inviteyata tie up their fated certainties all sweet with a big ole booby doo ribbon — an’ even srsly mutant relationships like Taurus-Pisces an’ Gemini-Aries got cool link-up potential — the implication seemsta be that certain other combinations are kinda fuckoed from the outset, an’ ifya are stoopid beyond stoopid enoughta step out in such a maligned direction seekin’ eternal happiness an’ romance, the evil spirits patrollin’ the negative enda Fate’s spectrum gonna pee in a bucket bigger’n Saturn an’ sloosh it all over the bothaya in a surprise tsunami cataclysm whenya least expect it (most notably evry Monday, evry Tuesday, evry Wednesday…).

Cosmic Roolz’re clear.

Ifya are in anya these relationships…

Fixed Fixed — any comboa Taurus, Leo, Scorpio & Aquarius*

Cardinal Cardinal — any blenda Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn

Mutable Mutable — mix an’ match Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces

* though not all four together, cos that would be filth.

…then eternal misery be thine — on a platter, inya face, prolly even swampin’ ya armpits as an irritatin’ rash.

(Yeah, yeah — I know there are special weirdsy rules for polar opposites attractin’, but I am tryin’ to be super scientific here by glossin’ over that to make a pointa fact. It is the way right now in 2017, dontchya know.)

Thing is, life is fulla relationships break the rules alla the time.

See on Facebook where they got mice snugglin’ upta cats?

An’ on YouToob, where they got bear cub meets fawn for first time an’ baby monkey gowin’ backwards on a pig?

Sure, in life’s menagerie, you don’t get the kinda oppositesya see bustin’ outta the zodiac — what in hell would the oppositea a giraffe look like anyway? — but with the right beest whisperer an’ camera crew, most any *impossible!* combo is … possible.

(‘cept for mebbe a python an’ a shark — or an eagle an’ onea them creepy underground salamanders with no eyes an’ skin smoother than a dick pulsin’ out all woody.)

An’ you gotta admit — impossible or curious or plain weird combinations make the world spin sweeter.

FFS! First You Scare Me Into Thinking That My Perfectly Happy Relationship Is Compromised In Some Way — And Now You’re Insinuating That I’m Impossible Or Curious Or Plain Weird. Aaaand You Said I Was Stoopid Beyond Stoopid. Why Should I Read Any Further?

Read? Hey — you’re practically writin’ this thing!

But I guess that is my point.

Cosmic Roolz though there may be, it don’t meanya can’t break ‘em from timeta time — an’ neither does it mean nuthin’ gonna work ifya go break ‘em big time, nor even that no bountiful an’ happiness-packed good can ever come buzzin’ like kissed-out hunny bees from a union hitched up on the edgea OBLIVION.

Gotta figure there’re plentya godawful mismatches out there among people with no clue ‘bout astrology don’t even know how fuckoed they truly are.

“Let’s make out in the woods, where I can stick my tongue in your throat till you howl like a wolf,” says she, havin’ never consulted a horoscope, never checked in on astrology compatibility — an’ never found out she is Sagittarius.

“Fine,” says he, consultin’ a list longer than the Bayeux Frickin’ Tapestry, “but there’s the cleaning to do first — not to mention the administration, the ironing, and planning for our vacation in 2029. So why don’t you go walk the dog for a couple hours, and when everything here is spotless, I’ll wash and iron the bedsheets so they’re spankingly pristine and clean, and we can spend the rest of the day fucking one another’s brains out so hard and so good that this little ol’ place we call home will make the national news as an earthquake zone registering 9 on the Richter scale.”

(Most Virgos are smart enoughta know they are Virgos, but this guy is clearly a relative halfwit in that department.)

Thenya got other relationships pullin’ in some real power whoopee from a union fated to collapse don’t even realise their beautylicious existence depends entirely on rules they got no idea their amour flaunts — kinda like Donald Rumsfeld’s unknown unknowns, only with more provocative undergarments an’ mouth-wateringly curvaceouser insertables.

“Take me from behind! In a costume! Mouthing stream of consciousness gibberish in Ancient Greek!”

“Handcuffed to the ceiling and free swinging like a pendulum — or with the both of us sealed in the leather cocoon I hand-crafted from prime buffalo hide in my secret mountain hideaway?”

(Any fully functional Libra-Capricorn pairings out there recognize this scenario? I figureya gotta have not the faintest frickin’ clue what is gowin’ on astrologically, spiritually — an’ prolly even financially — to enjoy that baby.)

Gotta figure also that Moons an’ risin’ signs, Venus an’ Mars — an’ even frickin’ Plooto — all got plentya inflooence down deep in the astrological mix.

Coupla mismatched Sun signs up top could work out real sweet if evrythin’ links up compatible an’ perfect down deep inya planetary undercarriage.

Want my opinion?

This whole system is a frickin’ mess, tellya.

What Do You Propose As A Solution To This Astrology Compatibility Conundrum, O Princess? (And I Must Tell You Here That I Am Only Sticking Around Because That Last Part About Ironing The Bedsheets Really Turned Me On And I’m Hoping For More Of The Same, Preferably Involving A Washing Machine, Please.)

Ha!

We kneelin’ on top together — or layin’ our fanjos out flat on the metalwork for max vibe power?

I guess the thing is, this whole astrology compatibility deal is all about how adventurous you wanna be.

How comfortable, how risky, how rhythmically functional, how fraught with peril.

‘Steada Cosmic Roolz — unbreakable — gotta figure on a hierarchya possiblilities — all makeable (but mebbe with consequences).

Playin’ for the home team is prolly easier than mixin’ it up with the away side — allaya Mojo Suite (emotional, sexyool, spiritual, financial, practical, aspirational etc) fully catered for an’ powerin’ out inta the blue on a tightly defined directive ticket — but the green grass on the other sidea the hill got advantages also, as in how that very same Mojo Suite gonna mebbe bust out on a more uncertain an’ potentially rewardin’ growth ticket, pullin’ in challenges, setbacks an’ unexpected discoveries as furniture an’ dinner plates are thrown about at random.

An’ I would wantchya to think about that.

Earth, Air, Fire an’ Water all got their own ways they wanna be.

A Fire partnership mebbe gonna be intrinsically more volatile than its Earth counterpart, but it still has a tightly defined directive ticket.

Not so the Sagittarius-Virgo relationship I mentioned earlier, before I sat up top on the washin’ machine withya to drill down, max spin, on my concludin’ vibe.

In this relationship, Sagittarius gonna open Virgo up sum, an’ I wantchyata know how powerful a force this kinda Earth Revved up by Fire combo can be.

Gotta thinka Star Wars here — only insteada the Jedi pluckin’ Luke Skywalker from his day-to-day tedium, they chose Cinderella.

On the flipside, what does Sagittarius really need?

Another fire sign stokin’ ‘em up, aggravatin’ their violent tendencies, an’ urgin’ ‘em to yell CUNT! alla the time?

Not always.

Jus’ as the Cinderella story got its own transformational punch, there are plentya cool narratives out there in books an’ movies feature the upstart whupped inta shape an’ saved from herself by sum kinda ‘informed master’ figure— or himself ifya are thinkin’ Dr Strange … an’ I wanna thinka Dr Strange, trooly I do, O Benedict, Benedict, Benedict…

Ahem.

As anyone watches Joopiter an’ Saturn knows, journeys can be equally about expansion an’ compromise, abandon an’ rigor, exploration an’ diligence — an’ sumtimes these qualities flip over.

For Sajjo, is not the Virgoan rulebook a kinda ultimate wilderness survival escapade, diligence turned exploration?

“I am Sagittarius — romping o’er hill and dale in search of freedom, tail swishing freely about my gorgeously toned equine ass.”

“Fine. But I am Virgo — and I’m gonna sit you on a rock in the middle of the ocean till you quit fucking around and squandering your life. Want freedom? Okay, so go wanderlust yourself the heck outta that panorama, you self-destructive bohemian buffoon!”

An’ on the flippo…

“I am Virgo — passionately bound to routines and strategies for teasing precisely what I want from life with my forensically-honed cerebellular colossus.”

“Fine. But I am Sagittarius — and I want you to know you are wasted in that stupid lab working for that asshole takes advantage of your generosity. So I say we move to Japan, throw out all our old clothes, and get you the intermittent urinary catheter design technician’s salary your nitpicky fucking brain deserves.”

For Virgo, is not Sajjo’s boundless optimism an’ lust for travel kinda compromise transformed into expansion? Diligence turned into exploration?

Same intrinsic Virgo deal, only bigger an’ better?

I am only speculatin’ here, an’ I am only usin’ a few limited examples, but I hopeya get the picture.

First The Washing Machine…And Now The Intermittent Urinary Catheter! Are You Trying To Bring Me Off Here Or What?

Hey, I jus’ wanna bring evryone onboard here.

With the deal.

See, astrology is not set in stone.

FFS alla the planets’re spinnin’ in thinnest vapor, an’ mosta ‘em are either ice, gas or crap.

Only permanence is the math underlyin’ their synchronized flingo (an’ I will say more about that another time).

Rest is kinda open season — energies an’ archetypes playin’ out as pan-MMORPG narrative.

Truth is, fate is options, choices, decisions.

Hard an’ easy. Sweet an’ bloody. Washin’ machine an’ intermittent urinary catheter.

An’ much as we wanna hitch evrythin’ up all perfect astrology compatibility fixed done sunset credits roll, sumtimes…

…oh, jus’ a few sweet sumtimes…

… the rightest wrong person ever swoops inta our life from outta frickin’ nowhere — an’ we gotta be real smart ‘bout what we choose gonna happen next…

Title Image c/o Alexas-Fotos @ Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="13"></span> <span class="sdata" title="02, 2017"></span>

The Stars As A Valentine’s Day Smoochfest

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-02T09:21:34+00:00"></span> |Blendyjuicy, Love, Mother Cosmosis, Relationships|1 Comment

THE STARS AS A VALENTINE’S DAY SMOOCHFEST

Man, this is so frickin’ weird.

I was gonna spend the evenin’ at my desk typin’ out a special YOUR VALENTINE’S STARS kinda blog post, but right now I am sat squat in the cornera the lobby Googlin’ incinerated bean bag.

Why so?

Here’s the deal with bein’ a minxyditzy astrologer.

The real cool part.

Coupla times a week, Mother Cosmosis opens up a secret portal to her Celestial Vapors in my apartment an’ foreshadows the future by tossin’ crap through it — all too often while I am takin’ a pee.

Las’ week, she festooned me with baby bunnies as parta sum “Seer Special Offer” Spring Equinox Trailer deal, an’ it took me three days to detox the place.

That leveled up my chopstick skills, tellya.

Anyways, right now, I got alla the Zodiac rompin’ round upstairs, eyes fulla amour, skin flushed red with passion, an’ tinglydanglies gorgin’ up for action.

So to hell with the academic treatise I had planned.

All I gotta do is make notes on what jus’ happened

Saturday Night Chez Prinno B

Cool thing is, Aries bust through the portal first.

FFS what else is gonna happen?

I had my vacuum an’ pajamas on, so it took me by surprise.

An’ by “it”, I mean Aries itself.

Wouldn’t make no sense for Mother Cosmosista bowl me, say, six gals an’ six guys, cos that would mess up summa the potential romantic combinations.

Straight only for Fire an’ Air? Or mebbe gay only for Earth an’ Water? Nah — deal don’t work like that.

So the zodiacal spirits I got were kinda either/or stroke neither stroke both — gal one minute, guy the next, jus’ so they could max out on a strobe-style morphin’ sexuality ticket.

(Jus’ so’s you know.)

How Absolutely Bizarro!

Tell me ‘bout it.

First thing Aries did after I whacked the fucker with my suction pipe (a purely reflex action btw — I am not a habityool psychopath) wasta rifle through my smalls drawer for a paira hi octane knickoes — an’ switch out to a guy.

“Intrestin’,” I said. “What’s the plan?”

Aries grinned. “Something quick. I still gotta make the gym. Gonna scramble up on top of your bookcase and pounce on whoever is next through the portal.”

“Saves schemin’ for decades onlyta findya sweetheart dieda old age, like a Capricorn, I guess.”

(Ha! I got no problem bein’ snarky, but sumthin’ ‘bout Aries always stokes me up, an’ I blew my cool by gigglin’ at the end.)

Uh oh! Noises off from the bedroom!

I figured Taurus, cos she … he … it comes next in the Zodiac roster — only I got Cancer.

An’ bless her, she got chocolates an’ roses an’ some dumb Valentine’s card she made herself, an’ she was fluffin’ up the bed, makin’ evrythin’ warm an’ homely.

I pulled the door shut an’ indicated the closet. “Quick! You gotta hide!”

“You got someone in there?” hollered Aries, boundin’ down the corridor. “I demand immediate conquest!”

“Uhm … no,” I called, bundlin’ Cancer to safety. “It is my … crocodile.”

Aries’ scream shattered alla the glass in the window. “Nothing inspires me for hot action in the sack like risking my life to battle a dangerous throwback from the dinosaur age!”

Door flew open — gulp — as did my knickoes — *blush* — an’ Aries barely blinked before hurlin’ himself through the window’s glass dagger halo an’ out into …. well, let’s jus’ say I do not live on the ground floor.

Thing is, bein’ a Sajjo, I shoulda been straight after him, but I am not without sensitivity, an’ as Cancer’s whimpers blubbed from behind the closet door, I thoughta how crumpled my favo dragon kimono gonna be after she’d done squishin’ it with her fat frickin’ ass.

“Seems you’re something of an expert pipe-bender.” Voice from behind me was sexy, an’ I figured sum Leo was makin’ a flatterin’ pass — only it was Virgo, holdin’ out my vacuum.

“I can fix it, if you like,” he said, “and if you want some help tidying that germswamp you call a kitchen, I always travel with a set of brushes and three pints of assorted cleaning fluids.”

“Hey — I know you Virgo types got a reputation for bein’ super kind, an’ I got an anxious Cancer here in my closet could use a little TLC more’n my mountaina unwashed dishes, so couldya be a sweetie an’ mebbe mop up her tears while I change outta my pajamas?”

Gotta love a diligent Virgo. No one does No Problem better. Best thing, he seemed kinda pleased when Cancer crawled outta the closet, fully masculinoed up.

“I feel unsafe here,” said the crab-man. “Broken glass has ruined the romantic atmosphere, and I know the situation will only get worse. Would you escort me to a quiet coffee bar till Scorpio shows up? I’m very badly shaken.”

Thing is, there is a rubycon beyond which No Problem jus’ becomes Stoopid, but Virgo prolly ain’t seen it yet. Guy was so sweet — he took Cancer’s hand, made big time reassurin’ with his eyeballs, then transformed into a ravishin’ redhead before fixin’ up my vacuum, emptyin’ the dust bag, an’ headin’ off in searcha java.

Gotta mention — Aries jus’ whooshed past me on a skateboard, with Libra in pursuit, swingin’ a buncha bananas round her head.

But I will get to that part later.

Bring On The Evolutionarily Quirky Quadrupeds

Problem I had was alla the broken glass — an’ the lurkin’ suspicion that the firstborna Mother Cosmosis’s foreshadowy Valentine’s Zodiac specter-cum-polysexuals lay splattered on the sidewalk below.

Gotta tellya, we astrologers face stiff penalties for bustin’ stuff we get sent from anya the various Beyonds — only las’ Halloween sum stargazer from New York ate a whole buncha candy he shouldnta, an’ Mother Cosmosis turned onea his ears into a frickin’ carrot.

Luckily for Moi, Aquarius swung in through the window packin’ more cosplay gadgetry than Batman flauntin’ his techiest kit.

“Who’s the hot, naked, somersaulting gymnast guy?” it said, its momentary androgyny so exquisitely … hooman.

I rolled my eyes. “Aries.”

“Typical,” said Aquarius, shifting all Harry Styles. “So how’s it going with the luminous popcorn, the hilarious customized Cards Against Humanity deck — and the porcupine in the sack?”

My eyes switched sides. “What?”

“It’s a party, right? Gotta have some freaky party food, especially stuff makes your burps glow in the dark. And if we’re playing Humanity later, gotta have some new and risque cards to keep everyone on their toes. So I printed off a whole bunch of stuff from my shrink’s Skin Disease Encyclopaedia and made up some shit about buggering horses.”

“And the porcupine?”

Aquarius threw back his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve never played Feel The Prickly Mammal — for cash!”

“Listen,” I said, hand on the guy’s shoulder, “it is Valentine’s, so’ I figure people will wanna pair off an’ make with the smoochie.”

Water bearer rifled through the cell phones danglin’ by string from his belt for the one said BATTERY 2%, then tossed me a quizzical look. “What year is this?”

Prolly wouldn’ta mattered what in heck I’d said, but that’s when Leo pitched up an’ ignited my livin’ room in a balla flame.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!

Leo’s plan for romance centered on a decorative 22-tier cake sizea The Rock an’ a theatrical fire-eatin’ routine set to a buncha Queen songs, an’ while sum folks (Moi included) mighta found such a spectacle impressive, Taurus was fuckin’ Scorpio on the sofa an’ did not take kindlyta havin’ the hairs seared offa her fanjo by sum showy clown in a swashbuckler outfit.

Aquarius fired off his water cannon, but nuthin’ could douse the flames, so evryone hadta dash out into the corridor before the emergent inferno took holda the synthetic bobblesa crap in my bean bag an’ poisoned the wholea the Earth’s atmosphere.

Coulda used Virgo’s return jus’ then, if only to talk Taurus down from stranglin’ Leo to death an’ snap the heels offa Scorpio’s weaponized boots, but when I opened up the elevator there was only Pisces — clutchin’ two empty wine bottles.

“I started early,” she drawled. “Where’s the smokes? I wanna get trashed.”

Any other situation, Pisces gets sidelined as the buildin’ goes up in flames, but tonight her random intervention was perfect.

First, Leo got to live as Taurus an’ Scorpio turned on one other.

(“She’s mine!”

“No — she’s mine, you filthy bull!”

“Hey — quit pullin’ my hair, you bitch.”

“Leo burned it off, remember? That’s your fuckin’ dick, you shapeshifter asshole!”)

Second, the big cat squared up to the plumesa smoke pourin’ from my apartment door.

“This is all my fault,” she said. “So let me be the one to put things right.”

I kinda expected her to dig out an extinguisher an’ brave the flames solo, but Pisces’ diaphanous evenin’ gown shimmered with the glowa elemental water from beyond time an’ space, an’ Leo siezed the initiative.

If you ever seen onea them magic shows where the magician rips a tablecloth from under a whole buncha cutlery an’ dinner plates without disturbin’ a thing, it was kinda that — only on this occasion, the glamorous assistant (Pisces) fainted insteada grinnin’ like she got the only teeth in the universe.

Gotta be glad I caught her an’ broke her fall.

She was lighter than a bird, smelleda pure exotica.

FFS, there goes Aries again. An’ Libra is stripped to the waist now…

Speculation An’ Prediction Gotta Be Certain, No Contradiction

Point about the Courageous Leo Emergency Epic (as Leo herself named it) is how it is gonna be turned into a movie.

Coupla flapsa Pisces’ evenin’ gown was is all it took to snuff the flames.

Thing is, Leo was real cool about evrythin’ — swallowed her pride an’ offerdta replace my sofa an’ shit, all while she shaped out into sumthin’ half Matt Damon, half Benedict Cumberbatch.

On another night, that mighta turned my heart, only we still had four signs left to show, an’ I figured on keepin’ my wits about me — no mean feat seein’ how I am such a ditz, tellya.

Mixin’ a cocktail as I cleared the smoke, I set my astrologer’s brainta work, see if I could predict what was comin’.

“Lemme see,” I muttered, throwin’ on jeans an’ a T, “we got Libra, Cappy, Gemini an’ Sajjo — unless Sajjo is covered by Moi to save on polysexual specter manifestation magicks. So that’s three, mebbe four, stillta come.”

Way I saw it, Libra an’ Gemini coulda made a workable matchup scenario — or a threesum if Aquarius stole himself away from my impossible coffee table puzzle — leavin’Cappy to drop last an’ shut up shop before stompin’ around stoically till mebbe the Summer cos nuthin’ worked out … again.

Only he showed first.

An’ he was fuckin’ drop dead.

Ear Muffs Rising, Midheaven Fulla Cacophony

“Hi,” said Cappy, cool an’ soft an’ denim-stickyin’. “Seems you’ve had a difficult night.”

I nodded like sum nervous rabbit. An’ giggled. Frickin’ shoot me.

“What say I treat you to dinner? And a movie? My limo is outside.”

Gotta tellya, Capricorn an’ Moi don’t see eyeta eye, ‘spesh when it comesta the blendyjuicy, but I felt weird, kinda impulsive an’ secure all at once, an’ I opened my mouth, ready to whisper YES, THANK YOU SO MUCH, when Gemini strolled in an’ said, “Woooooooooooow, what in hell kinda action has been going down here? No, wait! Don’t tell me! You burned your Valentine’s dinner? Am I right? Incinerated your finest meringue and boiled all your gravy to a carbonized slab? Fifty bucks says that was the deal. Ha! Reminds me of a night in Rome last year — or was it 2015? 2014? Hell, who cares? — a blissful time I spent with a beautiful stallion by the name of Luigi. He was hot on looks, big on romance, and pleasingly expansive on the slack-to-stiff ratio in the boxerbuster department. We took in the Colosseum, Mussolini’s Typewriter and Big Ben, then we danced the night away under the stars and … no, wait — that was London. And it was Simon. Or was it Benjamin? Aw, who cares? Don’t you just love clocks the size of skyscrapers? And those guys with the helmets look like huge furry grapes? Yanno, the ones escort the Queen of England back and forth to the Eiffel Tower? Or wherever?” Gemini quit blinkin’. “Hey, who are you guys anyways? And what was I just saying?”

“He’s in the frickin’ livin’ room,” I said. “Hopeya like porcupines.”

Strap Me To The Dinner Table With Filamentsa Purest Style

Gotta tellya, I had a cool, quality time with Cappy.

Evrythin’ was perfect, an’ he took real good carea me — even when his beard slithered up his face into a pert an’ pristine bob midway through the Vichyssoise.

As a Saj, I am usedta bein’ kinda slapdash, kinda whatever happens, but when romance is done proper, it really makesya wonder ifya might want that deal more often.

Anyways, after mains — sum weirdo fish I’d never hearda — we chatted about Virgo an’ Cancer, an’ both agreed the crab-man-gal-thing gonna be OK.

“Virgo won’t let her down,” said Cappy, an’ I figured she truly meant it, but there was sumthin’ in her eyes, like a flickera sadness. I dunno.

“That is Earth, I guess. Real reliable.” Ha! I was tryin’ to be empatheticalistic, but Taurus’ phantom butt cheeks revisited me momentarily as a ballistic blur over my napkin, an’ I splorfed out sumthin’ filthy made the waiter blush.

Kinda worked on Cappy though, an’ when she drove me home I felt so warm an’ secure I almost forgot she was merely a celestial whisper.

Cometh The Hour, Cometh The Asshole

I figured on sealin’ a nighta adventure by relaxin’ for an hour in the tub with mebbe Libra readin’ me poetry an’ strokin’ on my hair, but Gemini really had picked up on Aquarius’ porcupine deal, an’ the paira ‘em were locked in for the night, behavin’ abominably.

I walked back to the lobby. No Libra.

I took out my tab an’ started writin’ alla this down. No Libra.

Mebbe I was right about the threesum; mebbe Libra was up there makin’ out with her fellow airheads — under the gazea sum watchful spiny beast.

*Omc, it is so salacious an’ dirtya Moi, but I started thinkin’ all kindsa stuff.*

Never got too racy though, cos Aries roared inta the lobby doorway, sweat drippin’ from evry incha her ravaged clothes.

“What the fuck cunt fuck is going on?” she screamed, punchin’ hard at the walls. “I was on fire. And I ran all fucking night. For no one! Why does this always happen to me? What did I DO? What is so wrong about wanting to start shit up?

Tellya, I was scared. Aries in a paranoid rage is truly dangerous, an’ I hadta trust it would blow over, like it always kinda does.

What I did not expect was a flowery hairdo to end all flowery hairdos to come skippin’ in from outta the night with a frickin’ violin’.

“Please don’t be angry,” said Libra, pirouettin’ round the scarlet-faced monster by the wall. “Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Fiddly-dee, fiddly-doo, fiddly-dum.”

Aries snapped her fingers into a fist. “There IS no other person, you fucking asshole! That is the fucking point!

Libra danced sum more, played his strings sweeter. “Fiddly-dee. Fiddly-doo. Fiddly-dum.”

Gotta tellya, when I facepalm, most times it is cozza embarrassment, but right then, seein’ Aries ready to flare all terminal, I had fears for my own eyeballs.

“Fiddly-dah,” whispered Libra. He reached out a hand, moved gently in on Aries — an’ cupped her shakin’ body in a tender hug.

Ha!

Took the smarmy fucker mebbe 15 seconds tops.

Tellya, that is not romance, that is frickin’ art.

Gimme the replay, gimme a month to bone up, an’ there is still NO WAY I can do that.

Anyways, that was mebbe forty minutes ago, an’ shit has kinda developed since then.

Aries has gone from explodin’ like an ancient volcano to flopsyin’ out with alla the jollitya sum doe-eyed Disney bunny, an’ she is tearin’ about all over with Cap’n Frickin’ Karaoke, playin’ out goofy historical combats — mosta which’re derived from Shakespeare if I hear Libra right an’ am not confoosin’ shit with The Empire Strikes Back.

So, Yeah — Happy Valentine’s, Evryone

Best thing is, seems I was right about the Sajjo deal.

No need for Mother Cosmosis to foreshadow crap for Moi, cos I am here, an’ I got the gift.

So, listen — I gotta go party now.

Virgo jus’ texted to say she is comin’ back with sum special keys gonna get me into my apartment, so I guess it is mindfuck time for Moi till alla the Air guys get sucked off back through Mother Cosmosis’ Celestial Vaporhole.

An’ btw, turns out Cancer met up with Taurus in a pizza place along the way, an’ Scorpio is soberin’ Pisces up in the elevator with a viewta managin’ her career as an exotic dancer in Leo’s movie franchise.

Ha!

Was gonna start out this blog post with the line As an Aries, you are impulsive in love.

But true romance is kinda messy, I guess — an’ that is the fun part…