I went to the village bookstore today. The lady that owns it does astrological charts and has the cutest dog ever. Bean – an elderly brown brindle boston terrier whose tongue hangs out of his mouth 2 4 7. I’m looking for some direction as my grad-school career winds down. Here is the re-cap. I’d say she’s got me pegged even though I don’t know the exact time of my birth… third child and mom didn’t even write it down. Now I am doomed to a lifetime of semi-accurate astrological readings. FAIL mom.
She told me to stay away from men who are drug addicts or otherwise addictive personalities and I tend to attract men who want to siphon my energy because I am full of life and then I end up being the one who is not full of life anymore. Damn Sycophants.
She said I was psychic. I knew she’d say that.