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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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…
Image c/o Josh Felise @ Unsplash