This charming man

It's been a while since I started a post with, "Woah, has it been a week already?" So. Woah. Has it been a week already? Perhaps I have been super busy lately. I suspect not, however. No, on the contrary, it has been one of those weeks where, despite the fact that no one would ever mistake me for a sci-fi buff, I am convinced I am going through time warps repeatedly at both mundane and inopportune times. Some houses have mice; mine has wormholes. Given my irrational fear of any critter bigger than my thumbnail, I suppose I'll take the wormholes, but it does make for some concern about early onset Alzheimers when someone asks, on a Monday morning, "So, how was your weekend?" and I actually have to stop and focus concentrated thought to remember exactly what my weekend entailed.

It's a bit late in the week for a weekend update, but just what did my weekend entail? Well, Friday night I went out for drinks with friends and discovered a happy hour deal that frankly I should have known about ages ago by now. $3.50 for TWO gin and tonics, and the bartender reimbursed me my two-dollar parking fee, too. Seriously--I handed her a meter receipt and she pulled two dollars from the till. I am considering going back and trying to trade in a dry cleaners receipt as well, but I think that may be pushing my luck just a wee bit. Also, dry cleaners receipt? Where did that come from? That particular train of thought would imply that I actually take my dry cleanables in for dry cleaning, rather than seemingly treating them as disposable items that just get tossed by the wayside when laundering is required. I vetoed a skirt at Target tonight primarily because I realized the multiple ruffles involved would be a pain in the arse to iron, so presumably I am maybe finally learning my lesson and taking garment care into account before purchasing, but that doesn't make the fact that I've had a pair of dry clean-only pants balled up in a pile at the base of my closet for the better part of a year any less ridiculous and shameful. Wait a minute. How did this post suddenly become all about laundry? Sorry about that. Moving on.

Saturday I met with a friend of a friend who did my astrological chart for me. That reading should perhaps warrant a post of its own, but instead, I will just try to summarize some of the take-away points, the first of which is that apparently there is great wealth in my future if I can just stop being such a damn Pisces and actually SWIM in the murky stream I'm floating in instead of just letting the stream carry me. Apparently I'm supposed to own my own business (or at least partner in one). It seems the planets say I have leadership and communication skills, and people will really listen to me, but I need to figure out just what sort of business would make me happily get out of bed in the morning to make those people listen to me. Frankly, when I get out of bed in the morning, what I'm usually thinking about is getting right back into bed for more sleep. Is there a business idea there? I'll have to think on that.

In that reading, I also learned that I'm best to stay away from Aquarius men, which is both a surprise and not a surprise to me. I realized a while ago that nearly every man who's held any significance in my life, relationship-wise, has a late January to mid-February birthday, and I've been wondering if that means I'm drawn to Aquarians for any valid reason or if, since none of those relationships have worked out, I should steer clear of Aquarians from now on. (In case you're keeping track? The Buddhist? An Aquarius. The newly divorced "One who I used to think was The One"? Aquarius. This guy? Aquarius. This one too? Aquarius. Seriously, if I put all of these guys in a room and tried to draw similarities, I'd be hard pressed to come up with many, but if you believe in this whole sun sign thing, perhaps there's something to it nonetheless.) In any case, my chart says the answer is the latter: Aquarius = NOT a good match for me. For me, apparently it's all about the Libras. Have I dated one single Libra yet? Not that I can recall. I guess I should add "When's your birthday?" to the litany of questions asked on a first date and cut to the chase on this matter from now on. Meanwhile, do you know any eligible Libras? If so, feel free to pass them along.

Let's see. What else have I been up to? Well, Monday night I saw Morrissey in concert, and it was a fine opener to what will be a three-concert week. It is April, you see, which means that the concert calendar for the next two months is jam-packed with acts who have shied away from the Minneapolis/St. Paul area all winter long. It's as though every manager and booking agent says, in mid-February, "Time to start planning this spring's dates. April? Yeah, it should be safe to go to Minneapolis by April. My client shouldn't freeze solid upon landing by then." If I had unlimited funds and unlimited energy, I would be attending no fewer than 17 concerts between now and the end of May. Since my budget is scant and my energy is constantly waning, however, I will instead be seeing only a few. Monday was Morrissey, which basically I had to attend almost as a way of tidying up some unfinished business from my youth. I never saw him in high school or college, you see. I had the chance to tag along with a group during my semester in Scotland, and oddly I've always sort of regretted not going. I like to survey the crowd at any show and determine the dominant demographic, and I was comforted to see that, at the State Theater Monday night, the demographic was, basically, me. Well, me and my friend Amy, who accompanied me, and hundreds of other thirtysomethings who we probably have more than a few things in common with, life history-wise. Morrissey put on a fine, high-energy show with a fine band of buff young boy toys in matching tight plaid shirts. I sort of think it's best I waited until now to see Morrissey live, because I doubt that in the 90s his shows had the same grandiose celebratory air they have now. Morrissey is a diva, no question about that. But by now, he has earned his diva status. He can prance around the stage with dramatic arm flourishes, telling the girl in the front row who cried, "I just love you unconditionally!" that, "unconditionally isn't quite enough" for him. Could he have gotten away with that in the 90s? Perhaps. But the arrogance seems somehow more charming and warranted now.

This weekend I'm off to see Lily Allen, as well as Mates of State (with featured opener Black Kids). In between those two shows, I'll be attending the fourth annual Easter Orphans and Heathens Brunch, wherein my friends and I who have no family in the Twin Cities (or who are, for one reason or another, not spending this religious holiday with family) gather together for conversation and daytime cocktails and gluttony. Easter is a bit late this year, and yet I sort of still can't believe it's upon us so soon. I've worked my way through a whole bag of Reeses Pieces candy-coated mini eggs, but I've yet to have a Cadbury Creme Egg, and as such, the season still feels a bit incomplete. I should probably remedy that before the Easter candy disappears entirely from the Target shelves. It's good to have goals and time lines, after all. I'm sure my astrological chart would agree.