I have a huge crush on Sagittarians. In general. If your birthday is in the next 28 days, I probably want to do big girl things to you. I can't help it, you're irresistible.
You are probably a little rounder than you want to be, you probably have less hair than you'd like on your head and some spots with more hair than you'd like, like your back or something. You most likely have great big dark circles under your eyes. You are great in the sack. You are viciously passionate about something, whether it be art or music or boobies or social change. Until, of course, you find something else to be viciously passionate about and then you move on quicker than a traveling salesman. You are, in a word, unattainable.
Mmmm, I love you.
Almost every single one of the people I am totally obsessed with are Sag's. Jessica, oh Casa, my love, the girl who left me for the sandy beaches of Costa Rica and dark skinned, Spanish speaking boys with dredlocks, oh my lord is she ever a Sag. My friend Neil, who is the lead singer in a very popular band in Denver, who is going to be Uber Famous someday, I'm betting soon, Neil is a Sag. Neil used to bring me to his house and try to get me to smoke some very questionable sorts of cigarette-looking things, but me and my insistence on a substance free lifestyle would never, ever play along, and so we'd sit and listen to CD"s and talk of very large things until a girl would call who he actually stood a chance with, at which point he would, in the most charming sort of way you could imagine, bid me adieu and set off in search of looser, or perhaps more altered, pastures. Neil, you still make me blush. Hot Gay Russell, curse you and your Sag ways! Of all the things we have in common, why did a particularly strong interest in men have to be one of them? It's not fair. I guess, at least, we can now share a crush on the same boy (yes, you, Thad. I am talking about YOU on the blog. It's not my fault you're smart and funny and nice and hot. Take it up with your parents.) I think I will always and forevers be a little spell-bound by Hot Gay Russell. And Tim. Not the Tim of my-blog fame, the other Tim. The old boyfriend Tim. Tim was 28 when I met him. I was 19. Tim quite literally charmed the pants straight off me. He was from Nashville, and nothing in this world or the next slays me more than the Tennessee twang. He was fat and bald (except for his back) and had a completely psychotic cat and had even better taste in music than I do (and that is saying a large SOMETHING). He was the first drunk I loved, and he topped it with a pretty sturdy coke problem, which I had no clue about due to the fact that I personally have never felt the need to snort anything up my nose** and therefore had no way to know that he was high as a kite most of the time and not just the fucking lunatic I thought him to be by nature. He was in a band, played the drums, the guitar, the trumpet, football and totally, in every way, played me. I muddled through 2 years with him, back and forth, on and off, and then one day he was gone, in the truest Sagittarian style. Poof. I was in L.O.V.E. with him and when he left he broke my heart into 10,000 little pieces. I was only able to find and put back together 9,867 of them.
I got a hole in my heart that goes all the way to China...
Anyway, happy birthday to the collective Sagittarians. You are the shit. If you ever want to drink coffee or talk or make out or something, just call. I'm soooo there.
*None of that for me, of course. Unless you're into that whole Top Ramen family thing. Add hot water, wait three minutes, and Presto. A family!
**Except for that one time when my friend was teasing me for being an old fuddy-duddy who didn't do drugs and then dared me to snort a big fat line of Pixie-Stix. Which I did. Learn from my mistakes here, kids. Snorting big fat lines of Pixie-Stix is no way to pass an afternoon. My left eyeball shriveled up. Shriveled up left eyeballs are painful left eyeballs. Just say no to drugs and candy.