Musings on that Astrology Mumbo Jumbo

If I haven’t mentioned already, I have a Cancer Sun and Cancer Moon.  While it’s generally a good thing to have a Sun and Moon in the same sign, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what it means to be a Cancer and how I can use it to my advantage, rather than let it become my demise.  Most of the time, I’m okay with it.  Being a Cancer certainly involves its struggles, as all signs do in some way or another, but it often feels like Cancer struggles are a different kind of difficult than everybody else’s.

My sweet Taurus therapist boyfriend would dismiss this readily and say something like “You shouldn’t want to be somebody different than who you are.”

Or he’d talk about how destructive this kind of thought is psychologically, and is a contributing factor in a downward and depressed state of mind, only lending to increased feelings of sadness and unworthiness.

Well, I guess.

He doesn’t know what being  a Cancer is like, though.

Anyway, today I happen to be alright with my mostly chipper Cancerian disposition and am thoroughly enjoying the badass cup of coffee I just brewed on an unexpected Monday off from my lately-hellish job dealing with constant interruptions and trying to work peacefully with a whole bunch of extroverted air signs.

Oh yeah, the point.  I knew I was going somewhere with this.

So the other day I read this article written by this Cancer lady and my reaction to this piece scared the crap out of me.  I was repulsed by the speaker’s neuroses.  Her finicky nature, resistance to change, insistence on certain behaviors, maybe even an arrogance — it all made me cringe.  And it was all so succinctly “Cancer.”

Am I this way?

Am I finicky?  Particular?  Unreasonable in the way I want my space to be and requesting others understand and appreciate how my way of doing things is better than everyone else’s?

Is my vehemently territorial nature actually not quirky and adorable?

I was appalled.  How dare this woman out the secrets shy Cancers quietly keep!  I felt exposed, uncovered, laid on the slab with no shell to crawl into, no blanket in which to wrap myself completely like a giant burrito.

I thought about it for a while.

I thought about it for a good long while.

Why did this chafe me so badly?  What made it so abhorrent?

I still haven’t really figured that out, but I think part of it is the secretive, inward nature of Cancer.  We keep lots of things inside and assume that others can’t see these things.  I think also there is a feeling that we are the only one like us in the whole world, that our very disposition is utterly different and unique in some way.  That we are the only ones plagued by massive mood shifts, inexplicable irritation when the pickle jar lid is left half-off in the refrigerator while simultaneously dealing with  intense and overwhelming feelings of sympathy and empathy, like we really are standing in someone else’s shoes.

The surprise of reading something published by someone not too dissimilar from myself caught me off-guard, I think.  And in the end, the article was kind of funny and I appreciated the subtle humor and internal thought processes of a quietly stubborn and highly creative individual.

Maybe there’s some envy there, too.  Because she’s accomplished and got something published, while I’m sitting in my little hut on the side of a hill swimming in a thousand unfinished projects and getting nothing done, even when I have all the time in the world.  Like today.

Anyway, this was not intended to be a Pity Party and I’ve got a lot of coffee still to finish (which I just typed “cofffeee” accidentally, so maybe that’s a sign that another cup is not really necessary).

Back to shopping for makeup online and looking up words on dictionary.com, like “demise” and “abhorrent” and “inexplicably.”

The New Happy: Crepes & Collage

This morning I went to breakfast at Chez Machin for my friend Nelle’s birthday.  She’s the prettiest little thing and has the most gorgeous olive skin I’ve ever seen.  We used to work together at a stock brokerage firm downtown, which we’ve since dubbed “Hell.”

Oh, so you and Nelle used to work together?

Yeah, the three of us here used to work in Hell.

You’re not there anymore?

Nah.  We all got out of there . . . For obvious reasons.

They sat our party at the back of the tiny restaurant in an added room with a latticed roof and old metal things nailed to the wood paneled walls.  One of the ladies brought her son, I forgot his name, but he had big blue eyes and ate only the jam off of the crispy toast his mom gave him.  Hmmm, I thought.  He does the thing I always think of doing but fear licking the jam off the toast in public wouldn’t go over very well.

I made this fun card for her.

This is the outside, then the inside

I’ve been doing more collage stuff lately and it’s really exciting me.  I’ve been fascinated with collage for a long time, but couldn’t get myself to “feel” it.  I have recently, and it produces a different kind of Happy than painting or drawing.  There is something raw about it.  A gritty quality, something more edgy and rebellious about it and I like that a lot. So the front of this card is a very basic type collage, but it lights my freakin’ fire.  I’ll call it “hawt.”

I’ve done some other collage things that I’ll post later once I get the scanner back from my brother.  My camera just can’t take good enough photos.  And my hand isn’t steady enough.

Anyway, the French place was so lovely and the coffee was mellow and fantastic and I drank way too much of it.  My other friend brought her baby, a super social relaxed Libra girl, so we were fully entertained waiting for the food to arrive.  I ordered something I couldn’t pronounce but it looked like this

for only a brief moment before I devoured it rabidly.  It was filled with sausage and cheese and other creamy drizzles of Heaven and my friend Sula and I shared a sweet crepe bursting with apricot jam, chocolate, slivered almonds and powdered sugar.  Coincidentally, I had a crepe yesterday from a food cart, a cinnamon sugar butter crepe (no joke, my mouth just filled with saliva thinking about it!  Ha!), that was also excellent.  Only that one came in a piece of triangular paper stapled at the sides, and ended up all over my face and the thighs of my jeans.

I don’t know what it is, but crepes also produce a very specific kind of Happy for me.  Like I feel fancy and beautiful like I’m a fantastic cultured regal sophisticated French girl sitting at a round metal table on a slanted street somewhere in another country, instead of a goofy tall plain-looking uncultured (but has cultured friends) white girl with a foul mouth who never quite feels “cool” enough and is getting slowly and suspiciously more soggy through the mid-section.

Maybe it’s the crepes?

No.  Absolutely not.

If you get a chance to eat at Chez Machin, I do so recommend it.  Also for crepes and French-type yummies, Le Happy is super as well, and it has more of a bar situation than Chez Machin.  Crepes and alcohol?!  Sign me up.  Every day, sign me up.

Friday Night Clarity

I got home from my massage in a calm sloppy state that only a massage from Missy can induce.  In the least lesbian sense of the word I can muster, she is a freakin’ goddess.  I started to wonder why her massages started to feel so short lately, thinking that she might actually be jipping me on time.  I found out it’s because I keep falling asleep.  Everything feels short when you’re sleeping through it.  Once I discovered this I felt better but a little mad that I was missing the sensuous deliciousness of the experience.  Regardless, the noodly feeling ensued.

I started making a spinach salad with avocado and chickpeas and bell pepper and a sour cream dressing and wondered how to keep myself awake for a few hours after such a massage when my brother started requesting things from me in text messages.

Brother:  Aightnegroholla:  1) I need an obscure Wayne’s World quote to school Tara Mitchell and  2) the fuck the plan is for breakfast?

(I should note that many a conversation with my oldest brother are entirely executed in movie quotes.  Rather than remembering birthdays or recipes or valuable things like how to calculate a tip or what to do in the event of a grease fire, my brain stores lines from all the movies I’ve ever seen.  Not kidding.  My brother shares this special gift.  It’s like our own language and while many appreciate the idea, it is sometimes difficult to follow.)

Me:  If Benjamin were an ice cream flavor … Hey are you done yet ’cause I’m getting tired of holding this … Actually it’s pronounced mil ee wauk ay, which is Algonquin for ‘the good land.’ … You kiss your mother with that mouth? …. Whyyy God, whyyyy?

Me:  Fah q and your breakfast.  What you wanna do for breakfast?

Me:  Ah, Neuprin: Little. Yellow. Different.

Me:  I’m giving you a No-Honk Guarantee.

………

Brother:  Have you been drinking?

Me:  If I say no, you won’t believe me.  But the answer really is no.

Me:  Have you been drinking?  No!  I’m just THAT funny

Me:  Have you been drinking?  No, but I’m about to!

Me:  I have lots of answers.

Brother:  No contest!  My phones just glowing with the heat of your self-satisfaction.  Tara stands no chance!

Brother:  What about bfast huh?

Me:  I think breakfast should be ordered and eaten.  When and where is the challenge. 

It was at this point that I poured myself a very large cold glass of something pink and alcoholic and ate the salad that turned out to be less a success than I’d anticipated.  I think the spinach wasn’t very fresh the chickpeas tasted like tin can.

I sat for a minute and thought about heady things and what a valuable ability it is to be able to make oneself laugh.  Even in solitude, one may find hilarity.

May the guffaws cut through the steady electronic dance beats of Friday nights alone with wine and chopped vegetables!

It's Difficult to Hide in a Room Full of People

What if we started telling people to their faces exactly what we thought of them?  What would happen?

You are as much an insufferable douchebag as your husband, and I find it delightfully ironic!

I wonder if people would laugh.  I feel like they would laugh.  But I don’t think they’d take it seriously.

The sight of your face makes me want to break things into little pieces and then stab you in the toes with them.

Well, maybe they would.  But if someone told me to my face what they truly thought of me, I could see myself laughing.  It would be a very unexpected reaction for me, but I could see it.

Can you be more nonexistent, please?  You being here is messing up my emotional shui.

Well, maybe not.  I take everything too seriously.

I wish I knew when you were joking and when you weren’t.  Then I could laugh when you are and completely ignore you when you’re not.

Do you ever feel like your voice evaporates as soon as it comes out of your mouth?

Can you call this person because I want to make sure this is correct.  

But it is correct.

But I need to know for sure.  Can you please call them?

It looks like it’s correct to me.

But it could be incorrect.  Can you just find out for me please?  I just need to know if it’s correct for sure.

But it looks correct.

Or like you’re wandering through your life like it doesn’t belong to you?

Can you be quieter, please?

Can you leave the room so I can talk at my normal volume, please?

Do you ever have days where you not only wish everyone would disappear for a minute, but you yourself would disappear?

I’m sorry, your whisper is still much too loud.  I realize you’re trying to help, but it’s completely ineffective.

I still feel like I can’t say what I want to people.  Other people put people in their place.  Why can’t I?  Why don’t I have balls?  Why did my balls not grow in?

I had a dream that Werther’s Original candies were laced with toxic chemicals.  Maybe it’s a sign.

Maybe you should build yourself a cubicle.

Good idea.

Tupperware Does Not Grow on Trees

Brother:  All of my tupperware is in the sink waiting to be washed.  I can’t bring myself to just do it, just wash the stuff.  It’s been there for weeks.

Me:  Wait, this is the same tupperware you were complaining about a couple Saturdays ago?

Brother:  Yeah.

Me:  Gross.

Brother:  And, because I don’t have a single piece of it clean, then I have nothing to put leftovers in.

Me:  Use foil.

Brother:  I don’t have any foil.  And since I have nothing to put leftovers in, then I’ve stopped cooking.  But I still need to feed myself so I started eating out all the time.  And because I’m eating out all the time I’m destroying my money situation.

Me:  This sounds pretty catastrophic.

Brother:  Do you see?  Do you see how not doing my dishes is destroying my entire LIFE??

Me:  So go do them.

Brother:  Uggggghhh.  I just can’t be bothered.