Oh, astrology.

Do I believe in astrology? No.
Do I still find it a fascinating subject, especially at 2:30 in the morning when I can't sleep because I already did that...all day long? Yes!

Do I find it absolutely hilarious just how much I coincidentally fit under my own sign? For reals, yo.

I think it's pretty safe to say that I hold a grudge. Rull bad. Make a comment about my personal life that I find less than flattering, especially when I didn't ask your damn opinion? We're probably not friends anymore. Actually do something that in some way offends me (ya'll know what I'm talking about)? Oh, you will rue the day. And how.

Until I realize I'm WAY overreacting and get over it, that is. Several months later. Usually.

But yeah, that's pretty much what I understand to be the definition of a scorpio lady: totally sweet until you do something she doesn't like, in which case she becomes a heinous bitch.

So, my favorite astrological research is sign compatibility. I had a friend who's mother did horoscopes for a living and took this stuff very seriously. So seriously that star charts had to be done for her and her boyfriend to make sure it was an acceptable match. Ridic. I know.

These are my favorite bits about scorpio compatibility with various signs, according to this site:

Taurus:
"When It’s Over: There will be Brinkmanship. There will be hell to pay. There will be a pound of flesh extracted revenge, grudge f****** and paybacks galore. This pair does everything to excess and breaking up is no exception. It’s too bad about their children and other innocent bystanders."

Aries:
"Progression of Relationship: Balls to the wall."

Gemini:
"This couple is full of surprises, some of them scary, and some of them really scary."

"Can you imagine the circumlocution and posturing necessary to accomplish anything? Each one of them is like a double agent trying to figure out what kind of double agent the other one is."

"Degree of Passion: Unfortunately the passion in this relationship may be the tumultuous emotions of Scorpio when she feels betrayed or slighted. Ms. Scorpio is famous for her rage and vindictiveness. Do not mess with her, Monkey Man. You're likely to lose your tail. And another thing, Gemini, we know how much you love to mess around, but you have no idea the dark forces that will be unleashed if you mess around on this lady. At the very least, she will personally key your brand new Lexus. What happens after that will make that look good. No really."

"Degree of Friendship: Are you kidding? Friends don't key friends' cars."

"Gemini, whatever little tricks you have up your sleeve, you might find your arm in the alley back behind your house."

"Progression of Relationship: Gemini, do not mess around with her on any level. If you prize your kneecaps, get down on them and stay there. It is best to give this woman what she wants -- and act like you like it. By the way, there is no place for your Evil Twin in this relationship. And why is that? Because your Evil Twin is unbelievably naïve (I hate to be the one to tell you)."

Aquarius:
"What happens when the Mad Scientist meets Dr. Frankenstein?"

Virgo:
"When It’s Over: Scorpio has a reputation for bad endings, like the 3rd act of a Verdi opera."

Apparently I really shouldn't date a gemini. And no one should date me. I should just wrap myself in caution tape next time I go out.

GAH.

This really isn't any better than posting this on facebook, but there are far, far fewer people who will read it, and I just really, really need to in some way announce it to the general public, but I would rather not be a total jerk about it (a little bit of a jerk, yeah, that's sort of okay, in this case).

If someone asks you not to contact them, repeatedly, and in many different ways, including making every attempt to actually prevent you from doing so (ie internet blocking), you should really, really, no, really, NOT SEND THEM AN EMAIL.

I don't care how nice of an email it is. I really don't. Really. Really, really, really.
Just leave me alone.

Serious time. Booo!

No one really reads this, right? Good.

If at any point in reading this you feel urged toward pity (or are just annoyed), please just click away. I may very well delete it later anyway, but my evening has consisted of Netflix and McDonalds, neither of which I was that into, both of which I was too down to really care about. I'm not looking for sympathy or advice or attention, just a more productive form of grief.

Sometimes I get sad. It doesn't have to do with things that are currently happening (most of the time). It has to do with things that A. probably never will happen, B. have happened in the past that I had no control over or fault in, and C. I am imagining to be happening that absolutely have not occurred (Why, yes. Yes, I am a little bit crazy. I make up things to upset myself. It's awesome).

(Relevant) Tangent: And then, of course, I do what I'm doing right now, which is to start rationalizing these thoughts. Because I was just about to write (in all seriousness) something along the lines of "except sometimes the horrible things I'm imagining are happening, but no one is telling me because they don't want me to know (that they hate me)." The good thing is that I know this is a completely irrational and paranoid way of thinking, and being able to recognize that helps me to ignore it. The bad thing is that I still do it. The really bad thing is what happens when, inevitably, one of the thousand awful things I have come up with (or haven't even managed to come up with yet) actually happens. Let's not even go there (Aaand I just did it again).

Anyway (I have been writing and rewriting this for the past two hours - extremely helpful, but after a seven hour bike ride plus sunburn and an early start tomorrow, I am exhausted. That and I am starting to think I'm sharing maybe a little too much...? It's hard to tell, what with the paranoia), the point is that this happens when I let myself think too much, so I have been doing everything in my power not to think, which means I have to constantly be working on something, completely engrossed in whatever else I can find to do, or not fully conscious. This is much, much better than the alternative, but it backfires when I end up not taking care of myself, physically or emotionally. Basically, I'm exhausted in every sense, and the way I do this to myself is stupid, and now I'm just whining, but at least I spent the last two hours focused on writing and maybe I understand a little better now so I'm just a little closer to making it stop.

I do have fun things to post about. Just no pictures right this second. Santa Cruz tomorrow! :)

Adventure Day(s) (condensed version): Golden Gate Bridge, Berkeley, Fruitvale BART Station...?

I've been busy. Doing things.

I went to the bridge! It was very pretty, and very windy. Windy enough for the bay to steal my scarf, in fact. Jerk.

















I also took a drive through the Berkeley hills with Joel, who is awesome, and totally let me drag him around Berkeley all day because I can never remember where Sweetheart's Cafe is, and sometimes a person just really needs crispy squid on a stick and a chocolate milkshake with tapioca pearls.

Then I made a velociraptor mask out of manila folders and staples (plus paint). It's AMAZING.
Here it is on friend-Sarah, who totally rocks it, and who I totally forgot to ask if I could put her picture up here, but who is also totally unidentifiable, so I think it's okay :














And here it is on me:















I have wanted to make this thing for years (specifically for my recital poster, not just for general wearing, I swear). Was never really sure how to do it, though. The manila envelopes inspired me. Office supplies are my artistic medium of choice, it seems.

I officially started my knitting "business," having put up order forms in the school of music. I've only had one order thus far, though, and that was only because I grabbed the first person I saw who I knew wanted something and basically demanded she validate my work immediately fill it out at her liesure.

And then I had an impromptu adventure day retrieving my car from Alameda, where it was left after an excellent night previous which may have ended with me slightly more than slightly inebriated. Really glad Mollie suggested getting a cab from Fruitvale rather than walking the 1.5 miles to my car, because even in the middle of the day, it turns out, that station is creepy as hell. I had precisely eight dollars. Good thing that's exactly how much it cost. :D

And today I practiced. And practiced some more. And then some more. And then I kinda freaked out a little because I am so not ready for this recital, and I'm way oversensitive to just about every comment ever, anyway, and let's just say the FSU practice rooms are far superior to the SFSU practice rooms when it comes to dignity preservation in minor breakdown situations. Stupid windows.

So I watched some other people play some other music, and then I got some sushi, and then I went home and sort of fell asleep when I told myself I wouldn't because I really need to clean, then I woke up and actually cleaned...a little, and now I'm watching Dirty Jobs and contemplating In-n-out, and not cleaning some more. Good Friday, overall, I'd say.

Adventure Day: Colma Edition

Today I woke up and thought, "I want to have an adventure!" My first thought was to go check out the Golden Gate Bridge and be all touristy and what not, but then I remembered that my most recent Netflix acquisition is a documentary called The Bridge. Maaaaybe not today.

Instead, I went to visit my dead grandparents! Jazz hands!

To make this more of an actual adventure, I decided to use what a friend of mine once described as The Jenna Method™, in which I know the general direction and possibly the name of the place I am attempting to reach, and then I just kind of...go. Success rate ≠ 100%. In this case the general direction was "all those graves on the peninsula" and I didn't have the name of the specific place (other than it might have the word "veteran" in it), until I got to Colma, ran out of ideas, gave in and called my mom. Turns out it's in San Bruno, not Colma, but when I think of cemeteries, I think of Colma, and so should you.

So I get to the place (Golden Gate National Cemetary), and there's really no other way to react to huge plots of graves than; "Huh, that's a lot of dead people." 'Cause really? That is a lot of dead people.

I thought maybe I would just wander in the direction I remember from the one time I was here, oh, ten years ago, and then I thought a little better and went to visit the Gravesite Locator:

What?! YES. Computerized Gravesite Locator. I had no idea the dead were so technologically advanced. Awesome.

Not only that, but it's a touch screen.

Except it didn't actually do anything when I touched it.
How oddly appropriate.

And so, on to more traditional methods: Apparently, plot numbers do not go either up or down here (they go both at the same time). So, after walking the better part of the way around the main hill, I found the marker I was looking for in the very front. Way to be, me.

I didn't bring any flowers...not exactly my thing. I basically snapped a picture, said hello (to the slab of stone, yes), and went on my way.

That was pretty much it, but it was good to finally do something I've been meaning to for at least the last 6 months or so.

Oh, and:

What. The. Hell. School of Music and Dance?! Don't give a person a recital date and then jack it from them later because you are unorganized and full of terrible "new systems" that in fact do not work at all.

Rant done (Edit: and I also now have a more thorough understanding of said (still stupid, though) systems, which work slightly differently than I thought when I first wrote this). The end.