See, the thing about being equal parts anal retentive commando and lollygagging fairy child is that sometimes your dual personalities refuse to secede control to one another and your day ends up being a back and forth mind fuck about to do lists, productivity, planning, pie charts (and other ‘p’ words I assume) and the overwhelming need to eat cheese. While wearing a tutu. In the forest. With your pet Pegasus.

Which is why I love fortune cookies.

And horoscopes.

Because that little slip of paper, those 160 some odd characters of all knowing power (it’s like a tweet… from the future… I think I just wrote the screenplay for Back to the Future IV…) whether they are birthed from the position of the planetary alignment or the brains of the fortune cookie-foldologists, make me a little less fetal-positiony and a whole lot more breathy.

Because if the fortune cookie tells me it’s all ok… then it is.

And if it doesn’t, well then who believes a fucking cookie anyway?


~ by rubylocks on March 30, 2010.

One Response to “whore(oscopes)”

  1. You should take a picture of that cookie from last night — it defines you.

    And yes, Bob Z is definitely on the phone about that screenplay.

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