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Hey losers! I'm Pam. After I lost my job, my health insurance, and my
Prozac, the voices in my head came back, and now I can tell the future. Rad, huh?
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November, 2002
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Winter is fast approaching - and with it comes the crushing anxiety over whether or not your hats match your mittens. Or if you should get mittens or gloves. Well, at least you're alone in this world and have no one to impress but yourself. Especially not that guy with the chipped tooth and the rat-tail who works at Amoco.
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After eight years of service, your trusty Swatch that saw you through the prom, your first love, your first breakup, that week in the mental hospital, the time you pissed on a cop car in New Orleans, house arrest with your parents, Paxil, Prozac, Celexa, Lithium and Dr. Liptenstin will break. You'll have a memorial service, then toss it in the garbage next to the empty bottles of Jack Daniels and pills.
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This month you'll get laid off by the same damned restaurant that just hired you to work as a busboy back in September. Apparently budget cuts - and your unfortunate habit of spitting in the soup - inspired a series of belt tightenings (and food poisoning cases). Too bad you can't go on unemployment though, as it wasn't a salaried gig. And you're an illegal alien. No, not the Mexican kind. The burst out of John Hurt's chest kind.
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This month, after considerable turmoil and debate, you'll decide to plunge head first into a relationship you were initially iffy about. Unfortunately, it will turn out you're plunging into a metaphorical empty pool, and that your leap for love is little more than a replay of that scene from "The Ice Storm" - when Christina Ricci tries to molest Elijah Wood's ten year-old brother in the bathroom. God, you're one twisted pervert, Gemini.
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This month you'll get addicted to playing Scrabble and Battleship with strangers over the Internet in lieu of actually leaving your house to form real relationships with people you'll have to communicate with. In some ways this is healthier than your previous hobby - writing letters to USA Today. But in other ways, it's just another shortcut on the road to hermitville. But hey, you don't read about any hermits contracting chlamydia. Yet.
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Oh Leo, you're in so much trouble. Have you even looked around at anyone but yourself in the past month? Have you stopped with the self-love long enough to realize that you're hurting the ones you love? When was the last time you called your elderly, senile aunt in Denmark, or ordered flowers for your abused sister so she'll get back together with that Rick fella? Sometimes, I wonder how I ever could have gone down on you.
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(august 23 - september 22) |
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You're freaking out because giant changes will affect what used to be your stable ground. Maybe it'll be a massive train derailment, maybe your pet will die, maybe your very cool old friend will move in down the street from you. Who knows? But what's important in these trying times is to keep your chin up and your lips wrapped around the smooth, phallic comfort of Marlboro Lights 100s.
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(september 23 - october 23) |
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Late this month, you'll be spending a night on the town with a group of acquaintances, when you suddenly realize that not one of them has a sense of humor. Is it because they went to small liberal arts colleges and majored in Stick Up the Ass? Or is it because they're tired and cranky? No and no. It's just because they suck. So get out and get out fast! Cuz hey, you're too good for them! You once made out with Richard Lewis in a dive bar.
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(october 24 - november 21) |
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You know what's attractive? Tanning. And gold lamé jumpsuits. Ooh, and long nail extensions! And as Saturn makes its way into Scorpio's soft spot, the shopping spot, you'll realize that it's never the wrong time to indulge, indulge, indulge! So go ahead, Scorpio - indulge in all of these things. Especially the tanning. Everyone will be so jealous this winter when you have the bronzed, supple skin of a leather boot. And talons!
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(november 22 - december 21) |
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With the moon moving in to the fifth quadrant of the lemur temple, this month finds you no longer able to control your desire to appear on TRL. And so tomorrow, you will slither that monster ass of yours into a sassy pair of Contempo Casuals knickers, and catch a bus to Times Square, New York City. You'll meet a small army of like-minded boys and girls there - and together, decide to form a bizarre Fundamentalist Swinger cult.
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(december 22 - january 19) |
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You'll fall into a pit of depression this month, as you realize you're no longer needed in the city you've called home for years. Trouble is, NO city really wants you - and so you'll be doomed to wander the earth as a nomad, carrying your television and computer and Gap sweaters on your back as you seek out occasional shelter and meat scraps. But look on the bright side - this is a great preparation for the impending apocalypse.
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(january 20 - february 18) |
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As Mercury moves into its fifth house, rumors will fly around your office about how you slept with your boss after the Halloween party. Unfortunately, no one will buy the whole "he was wearing a mask" excuse - as he was not, in fact, wearing a mask but just standing next to the copier. They will, however, buy the fact that your sudden pay increase is in direct correlation to that burning sensation you now get when you pee.
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You'll fall in love with a stranger on Wednesday. Actually it won't be a living, breathing stranger as much as it will be a huge picture on a billboard of that dorky old guy who plays a supposedly teenaged Clark Kent on Smallville. And you won't fall in love with him as much as you'll close your eyes and imagine him in suede chaps when you masturbate alone in a bathroom at the bus station.
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