Or maybe, ‘will barter for food’ is more accurate. Remember when I had my ‘reading’ done back towards the beginning of the year? I had hoped she would give me detailed instructions on how to ‘fix’ things and where, exactly, I would meet Mr. Wonderful. Date, time, location; the whole deal. Yeah, she basically told me some pithy shit including the fact that I need to cry more and open myself up to love (*gag*). Well as (bad) luck would have it, I’ve probably cried more in the last year than I have in my previous 43 combined. I figure that earns me the right to be optimistic about a new reading, right?
So she actually called because she needed my help with a party coming up and wouldn’t you know it? The party is while I’m on my cruise. Boo. I had to say no. I hate saying no. Especially when I am presented with a non douchebag to kiss, but that’s totally off topic. As the party is a couple of days after I leave, I suggested a couple of dishes that would keep and be easy for her to heat up. She asked me what the cost would be and I suggested we ‘make a deal’ and I’ll trade her my famous Swedish Meatballs for a reading. 🙂 Yey me! She jumped all over that.
I sure as shit hope she tells me something good this time. Like specific details. Or that I’m not the fucked up mess that I seem to be turning into. 🙂
Uh, and re-reading the link I posted to the results of my 1st reading, fuck me for being the same obsessive lame ass as I was then! I so hoped I had evolved, but it looks like I just keep transferring my issues onto new guys. Yikes. I think I need to be medicated. With copious amounts of vodka. In Vegas.