I kind of love astrology. It’s fun in that cheesy way that Clash of the Titans is entertaining and fun, while still wholly unable to shake that “guiltiest of pleasures” label. And, as shameful pleasures go, I think reading one’s horoscope and doing your birth chart or whatever ranks pretty low, while other guilty pleasures really closely border on intolerable. I used to know a couple of girls who were really into American Idol. In a totally un-ironic sort of way. It was scary, and I couldn’t hold back the snide comments while they were going over who should have won the fucking Englebert Humperdink challenge or whatever. So, one of them cattily made up a lie about how one of her “friends” worked behind-the-scenes on my favorite reality show and how it was totally rigged. She had me going for a few minutes (because I was under the impression that this gal had no good reason to tell me un-truths) before she finally admitted she fabricated the story in retaliation of my dissing on her show. Um, can I please take a moment to remind you that not only are we talking about dumb TV, we’re talking about American Idol here? The show that spawned not only Clay Aiken, but a host of other scary, self-important, talentless, bloated doucheholes with names like “Constantine”? And that you’re taking it so seriously as to make up pissy stories to defend the honor of Simon and Paula and Randy and whomever? *Wherever did this Twilight Zone music come from…*
Anyway, AI chick turned out to be one of the more annoying sort of frenemies. You know the ones I’m talking about: the ones that only call you once or twice a year to sort-of brag about whatever rad new job/car/apartment they’ve got going on. Yeah. This one liked to call me just to inform me that she’d lost weight. Um, *gives the two-handed thumbs-up* -there ya go. How about a cookie to go with that- oh, wait…. Anyway, little did I know that my free horoscope email subscription could rival the frenemy powers of even the Diet Diva…
It’s like, “Hey there, Lonely McDesperatepants! I hear you’re still hung up on that guy that dumped your sorry ass and ran off with your much-prettier-than-you younger sister. Well, that’s too bad. But, listen grrrlfren, you’ve got to stop obsessing! It’s really unattractive! When you spend our whole speed dating session crying into your appletini and moaning to anyone who’ll listen about “those damn blue eyes”, you’re kind of cockblocking me, too. Listen, how about you give me a bunch of your money, and I’ll consult this Magic 8 Ball to see if Mr. Wonderful actually does still love you, so you can continue to get your hopes up. See, the truth is written in the stars, you just need me to read it for you! I mean, mostly I just want you to STFU about “that amazing weekend in Lake Tahoe” that He took you on, like 5 years ago, but this is really all about getting you to become “emotionally available.” You need to, uh, open up your heart like in that Madonna song. I hold the lock, and you hold the keey! Opeeen your heart to meeee!
That’ll be $87.50.