Well, interesting to me anyway. And I have a small, squishy brain that is easily entertained. First and foremost, CHECK OUT THESE ANTS. I’m not a fan of ants in general. When I see them in my kitchen, I get my stompin’ shoes on and go to town. But these ants are coooool. An artist made little tiny ant-sets for them, and because of his eye, I might just spare one of the six-legged buggers the next time I see them.
Secondly, there is another installment of Hillary’s House of Mystic Cheese:
- Hey, Aries. Keep your chin up this week. It’ll keep you safe from flying squirrels.
- Taurus babies should beware burly men with axes and glowing eyes. They only LOOK like landscapers.
- Gemini, your duality will manifest in your personalities slap-fighting today. Mostly cause it’s Monday. And you’re batsh*t crazy.
- It’s funny that Cancer‘s sign is the crab. Seems that Dazzler and her jiggly puffs have left you with a present or 300. Get some cream.
- Spring has sprung and love is in the air, Leo. But then, so are the locusts. So very many locusts.
- Virgos should let it all hang out this week! Just be careful when you’re around cats. Li’l bastards love wobbly bits.
- Conflict is inevitable, Libra, but there are very few social situations that cannot be improved by the presence of an attack wolverine.
- Scorpios should beware discussing their artistic endeavors with strangers today. There may be a stealth hipster nearby.
- Hey Sagittarius. If you’re feeling a little blue today, might I recommend a back-up career as an Avatar extra?
- Capricorns could learn a lot from the common household spider. They’re patient, spry, AND they eat their mates.
- Aquarius people should embrace their bliss today. But not other people’s bliss because that’s a lawsuit.
- Pisces, you might feel sad about always being last, but don’t despair. If this were the electotal college, last can still be president!
Thirdly, I’m writing again. Here’s a small taste of what is currently titled Mike, Jay, Fred, and Rhonda. Enjoy the opening!
> – <
Sophie Finley –- at the moment embracing her much more glamorous and brooding Raven Blackheart persona — had prepared for the better part of an hour for today’s session in the mystic arts. The room had been cleared of anything that could negatively impact her chi, which essentially meant she’d picked up the piles of clothes from the floor, hidden her Twilight novels behind her much more respectable Llewellyn ones, and removed her Ozzy Osborne and Elvira posters from the wall. The Enya and Loreenna McKennit CDs were pulled to the front row, too, to hide Fallout Boy, her mom’s old Cure CDs, and Evanescence.
The last was one of her most shameful secrets; no self-respecting goth actually admitted to liking Amy Lee. They just did it behind closed doors and trash-talked their friends for wearing their poser badges with pride.
She swept her fingers through her pink-tinged hair, which at one point had been more of a dusky purple, but had faded after ten washings. The bottle claimed she’d get between sixteen and twenty, but she firmly believed that all advertising was part of a capitalist regime hell bent on crushing the spirits of great, anarchist hearts like hers. Oh, and her friends Christina and Dustin who were coming over to help her with her séance today under their adopted names of Silver Winterwillow and Shroud. She told Dustin she didn’t understand the Shroud thing, and he said he picked it because dead people were wrapped in shrouds and he wanted to channel their emptiness. Whatever. Dustin was hot when he waxed deep, so Sophie didn’t ask any questions.
She tugged on her pentagram necklace and made sure that her star and moon earrings were facing the right direction. The left one had a tendency to twist around, forcing the bottom tip of the moon to jab her in the neck. It hurt, but Dusty –- no, Shroud –– said that the puncture mark made her look like she’d been bitten by a vampire, so she was almost tempted to let it continue to maim her. The only reason she kept fidgeting with it was because it was just the one gouge mark, and who really wanted to be made into a grave-serving sex slave by a one-fanged vampire? Edward Cullen was a yes, Dracula was a yes, Dilbert-The-Vampire-Who-Needed-An-Orthodontist was a no.
Her eyes skittered to her Nightmare Before Christmas skeleton wall clock. It was almost half-past two, which meant Christina and Dustin would be here any minute. Sophie lit her two pillar candles, wishing they didn’t reek like apricots and mint. The only ones she could find in the entire house had been her mother’s Bath Works Sensual Scents (guaranteed for THE MOST luxurious bathing experience.) The wax was mint green and gold and there were little decorative spangles embedded in the layers of “aromatherapy and decadence.” Hopefully the spirits wouldn’t rebuke her for being such a consumerist sell-out, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and these were super serious times. Her Parker Brothers Ouija board was no joke. Christina said one time her sister had used it and been possessed by the spirit of Jim Morrison for, like, a whole week. She kept running around the house screaming she was the lizard queen and singing “Riders on the Storm.”