bones and the universe

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I started volunteering at a museum cleaning newly excavated Triceratops bones, which is a crazy mix between tedious and awesome.  After a few hours of carefully scraping rock off the bone under a microscope, during which I cleaned about one square centimeter, the man teaching me said, "You get it, right?  This is painstaking tedious work with no pay off.  Are you in?"  Of course I'm in.  Duh.  Because the payoff, Aries, is shiny bones!  Keep your bones shiny this week.  Suit up.  It's going to be a long one.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Our town has a FaceBook page where people post things of local interest.
The piano that's about to
be dropped being played in
a most awesome way
 I read a post yesterday about a guy on the trail who approached a car in the round-about and knocked on the window, while holding what we call his "universe".  After a few concerned comments, someone posted, "Oh, I know him.  He's harmless.  He just lost his phone and was agitated, but the phone has been found."  Taurus, see if you can use better strategies than showing your private parts to strangers, should your phone get lost or you suffer any other minor setback.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  I've been noticing the phrase, "crowd-sourcing" cropping up a lot lately.  Gemini, I don't like it one little bit.  It doesn't define anything new.  You could use other words, like "collaborate" or "make a group decision", or "talk amongst yourselves".  And really, do groups make good decisions?  Think about it.  This is hopefully the last time you'll find that term on this blog, Gemini.  But your week will be full of good decisions.  Now that you're a year older, everything is going to fall directly into place.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I was talking with a friend about my chronic single-hood (is it chronic, or terminal?  Hard to say.)  She said she knows someone.  "And," she added excitedly, "He has a new kidney!"  I know.  The weird coincidence here is this:  I have a kidney too!  (Though mine is well-used.)  But still, we take common ground where we find it.  Or common organ, as it were.  Cancer, enjoy your kidney this week.  I know -- you do that every week.  But this week, seriously enjoy it.  All that cleansing is happening unbeknownst to you while you carry on, laughing and playing.  Miraculous.  If we could figure out how to design houses with kidneys we'd be all set.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I went on a picnic the other night and was inappropriately smug for bringing a pepper grinder, a table cloth, and flowers for the table.  Because, not that I'm proud of this, but I'm usually the sort who stops at the store for a bag of chips on my way to the picnic.  Every few minutes all evening, I would say, "Does anyone need fresh ground pepper?"  No one ever did, but that didn't diminish my joy in the whole pepper grinder situation.  Because I was prepared.  For a pepper emergency.  Leo, be a little bit prepared, but don't over do it.  I'd recommend preparation that involves a hammock and a book.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Speaking of the universe area, one of my yoga buddies returned hurriedly to his matt from the bathroom just as class was starting yesterday, leaned over and whispered to me, "So, I was using the soap to wash my hands and it splurted out all over my crotch. I tried to wipe it off with a paper towel, but it got foamy and I didn't want to come back out here with a foamy crotch for the obvious reasons, so I used lots of water, and now it looks like I peed in my pants.  In case you're wondering."  I started laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe, (which is the opposite of what we do in yoga -- it's all about the breathing.)  "I think you have toilet paper stuck to your foot," I whispered back, because it was true.  Virgo, be careful in the bathroom this week. But see if you can laugh so hard that breathing ceases, because that's as good as it gets.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Acting on a tip, I made my way to this pretty spot.  It was hot and grueling and involved bushwhacking to such a degree that when I next saw R., bloodied and sweaty, he gave me that look that says, "None of the other moms are coming home half dead, dripping with sweat, bleeding, with twigs in their hair, from their little outings.  You know that, right?"  I'm okay with that.  If I were 98 years old and someone wanted to bring me to Nicaragua, sure, I'd be grateful.  Diapers and imodium.  And that's how your week will be, Libra.  Fun adventures, but not without blood, sweat, and tears.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The person who's teaching me how to clean the Triceratops bones is the man who actually found the dinosaur in the dirt in Wyoming.
"Wow!  What was that like?" I asked, because it has to have been the highlight of his career.  "Saw some bones," is all he said before turning back to the microscope.  
Be that understated this week, Scorpio.  It's quite becoming.  Oh, and if you're wondering what part is mine to clean?  The frill!  I know!  Rhymes with thrill, not coincidentally.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  This week, Sag, you'll be the quintessential manic pixie dream girl.  Enjoy it.  Some of you are still wondering why I have such a problem with "crowd sourcing".  Well, it's exactly like this horoscope. Throwing a term out there as if everyone knows it but you, like you're the only one who has to click on the link.  Using terms like that basically says, "I'm kind of an asshole, and I like to use phrases that will make you feel out of the loop."  Language, people, is about communicating.  Including, not excluding.  Keep that in mind at all times this week, Sag.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  This is a grand poem, Capricorn.  And a reminder to not turn into vacant effective people.  Which, and I mean this in the fondest way, you Caps are at little risk for, not that it serves you well.  The vacant effectives are a happy lot, but it doesn't go very deep.  Take comfort there.  

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I read an article last week in the NYT about daydreaming (oh, wow, I just realized how ridiculous that sounds.)  They had some rules -- among them:  Never day dream about: celebrities, being heroic, or being efficient.  They had to make that a rule?   Who daydreams about that stuff?  Sheesh.  Aquarius, daydream about cool super powers.  Which is completely different than being heroic.  And is the only real daydream when it comes right down to it.  Report back.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Acting on a different tip, I made rhubarb honey syrup, the key ingredient for this drink, which sounds festive and summery, right?  Stop by for one.  Although I'm nearly out of gin, which is the smell of my childhood.  (Oh, did I say that out loud? Oops.)  But for my faithful Pisces, who read to the end and sometimes get gypped because I'm tired, here's something else:
I was sitting in the coffeeshop, taking attendance the way I do (yes, almost everyone is accounted for. Phew.)  A woman I don't know asked me if I'm Patty.  "No, I'm not," I answered, even though I wanted to follow it out as if I were.
"Oh.  Well, you look just like a woman I know named Patty.  Or maybe not -- I'm usually drunk when I see her."
"Well, you be drunk and I'll be Patty," I replied.
She agreed to the plan, so we'll see what tomorrow brings.
See if you can use that in a conversation this week, Pisces.  I dare you.


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    1. I'd like to be both drunk and Patty, if I may....even though I'm not a Pisces. I'll even bring the gin.

    2. It looks like your wish will come true, Patty!
      Swim and rhubarb honey drink after YG tonite?

  2. No one names their daughters Patty any more. Have you noticed this? Or Mary, either but I am not worried about that particular name. It always comes back around because it is the name of God's mother, you know. Or some variation, thereof.
    Unlike Ethyl, which will probably never come back around nor Bertha nor Beulah.
    They are as dead as the Triceratops and no one is going to clean their bones with a brush.
    Thank you for your good work. Thank you for your public service. Thank you for your pepper grinder. Yes, I would very much like some pepper on my potato salad.

    1. And thank you! For everything.
      I'll be by with the pepper grinder shortly. Hope you feel better soon.

  3. My grandchildren are volunteering at the library this summer, while I'm at work. I do hope that counts. And, I know a Patty. Her real name is either Paulina or Pauletta, the one not hers belongs to her sister. And, yes, their father was once conceited dude.

    1. Wow, that's a lot of information, Ms. Noragon. I think it all counts, not that we're counting.

  4. have you ever been to the field museum in Chicago? if not I highly recommend it. that's where Sue the T Rex lives and I was stunned like a five year old boy with his first hard rubber Triceratops. seriously. GO THERE NOW.

    ps. I would use more caps in this comment but I sort of smashed the end of my finger when prying open my bedroom window for a breeze after while assailed by the sun said window having swollen with previous rain.

    1. I went to the field museum once when I had a 4 hour layover on Amtrak. Not long enough! I'm sorry about the end of your finger. Sticks out like a sore finger, I'm sure.

  5. Blood sweat and tears....story of my life.

    1. I know, D. It's the fate of the Libra.

  6. Love the pepper grinder, I would have been equally thrilled to have brought it.

    Love, love that you are cleaning not just dinosaur bones, but Triceratop bones, and the frill too!! I love all the Ceratopians best, and Tri- is my second favorite after Styracosaurus, "winner of the most elaborate head display competition" so says the internet. I treasure the little plastic dinosaurs I "bought" for my kids. And if you ever, even come remotely close to Chicago you have to PROMISE to let me know and we will go to the museum to see Sue together, and maybe even have a picnic, with a pepper mill and all the trappings.

    I pinned that rhubarb honey recipe to my Pinterest so I can find it whenever I decide to buy some rhubarb, but I won't be using gin, as it was the smell of my childhood too, and therefore I prefer vodka :)

    And lastly, you be drunk and I'll be Patty is hilarious. I hope she laughed.

    1. I love how much you know about Triceratops, and that you have a favorite of the Ceratopians. And yes, if I ever go to Chicago (sadly, it's not really on my list right now) I will definitely go to the musuem together. I will bring the pepper.

      I need to go re-read you DNA post, because THAT is fascinating.

  7. When I die, I hope to die laughing. It seems like a good way to go :)

    Wonderful horoscopic tidbits, once again.

    1. That would be a good way to go! You really don't hear much about that in real life, though. Grrr.

  8. I'm so happy you mentioned an alcoholic drink for us (we?) Pisces. As we are drifty and drunken perhaps more than we should be, you validated our secret lives. i just came in from gardening and that first sentence doesn't make any sense. But manic pixie dream girl???? And a Will Stafford poem? all in the same post? I bow to your awesomeness.

    The only Patty I know spells her name Patti and last year she dumped me because I'm not a good enough friend. I'm a midwife so making dates with people is, um, problematic. I'm obviously not over it, so I sort of laughed/sniffed when you posted your comment. I'll be alright. I have a therapist. And her name is NOT Patty/Patti.

    PS Thank you for prevailing til the end of the zodiac.

    Your humble servant.

    1. Oh, I'm sure Patti changed the spelling of her name in 1981 because of some core insecurity, which is the same reason that she couldn't cope with having her tequila date with you be cancelled because A BABY WAS COMING! "Sheesh, Patty," I'd like to say, "it's not all about you!"

      Thank you for reading and especially for reading the Will Stafford poem.

  9. I'm pretty sure somewhere along the line crowdsurfing got turned into crowdsourcing because the crowdsurfers grewup, lost their youthful outlooks and decided crowdsourcing was where it's at...let's go crowdsurfing after drinking with Patty

  10. I don't know. I read my horoscope as "and that's how your week will be: diapers and immodium." So, same ol', same ol'.


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