So I put my hair under my hat and I went in to ask him why…
Recognize those lyrics? No? Then you’re probably not old enough to be here. So go on, now. Shoo!
And today’s topic, boys and girls, is SIGNS.
And, for the record, long-haired freaky people are totally welcome. Emphasis on the freaky. (Short-hairs and baldies too!)
One of my blogger friends is trying to figure out my totem. I suggested to him that I might be a wortle (wolf + turtle), but somehow I don’t think he was impressed with my self-analysis. I suppose its possible that I could be a bear… But mostly I’m just bare, and I don’t think that’s quite the same thing.
But all his talk of totems got me thinking about the circumstances of my birth (NOT, mind you, the circumstances of my conception…I’d prefer not to think about my mother having sex, thankyouverymuch), and I want to help my dear friend along in his quest to figure me out (long pause while I contemplate whether or not this is even remotely possible), but I also thought it would be fun for me to try to figure you out.
So, for all five of you who read my blog, I pose this question:
What’s YOUR sign? (Or, in the aforementioned freaky-people speak: Like, what’s yer sign, dude?)
Puzzled? Me too! (We have so much in common!) I’m always puzzled when someone asks me this question.
And by ‘puzzled’ I don’t mean ‘I don’t understand the question’. Because of course I understand what a SIGN is.
Slow Speed. School Crossing.
Welcome to Fort Bliss.
Buy One, Get One Free.
Limited Time Only.
Signs, signs, everywhere are signs,
Blockin’ up the scenery, breakin’ my mind,
Do this, don’t do that,
Can’t you see the signs?
This Musical Interlude was brought to you by the number 2 (which is how many orgasms I had yesterday) and the letter F. For Fever. And Fuckmeharderdammit!
But I digress.
Back to the question.
What’s your sign?
I’m a Pisces. I was born on the cusp of Aries in the year of the Dragon. Which makes me a goal-driven creative pragmatist with a wild imagination who is also a bit…fierce. (I don’t necessarily breathe fire, but I have teeth and claws… So, um… It’s possible that I occasionally bite and scratch. But not hard enough to draw blood. Usually. I think.) An oldest child (for those of you who are into the birth order), I was born under Carter in the middle of a thunderstorm. Translated, that means I’m too honest to be any good as a politician, but I’m generous. And I’m wet.
Always, always wet. 😉
(Yes, I’m in my sexual prime. In case you were wondering. Or, ya know…even if you weren’t wondering. Just thought I’d put that out there. The information might cum in handy…)
That’s the simple answer.
So: What’s YOUR sign?