I recently had my birth chart done. I am unsure how accurate it is, as it was done online for free, which makes me leery.

Some years ago a friend of mine did my birth chart for free. She told me that according to her readings, I am a triple Gemini: Sun, Moon, Ascendant. Though she is not a professional, I was just like “oh, sure, triple Gemini, that’s me! I’m sure that must be true!” The free online version says something altogether different: Sun/Gemini, Moon/Taurus, Ascendant/Taurus. I am a little irritated that for years I have been bragging about being a triple Gemini (as if that were something to brag about) when the reality is that there’s a LOT of Taurus in there; not only Moon and Ascendant but Mercury, Venus, and Mars. It makes a great deal of sense, actually.

This makes sense, too:

House VII in Scorpio
Passion, passion. Feverish and drunk with love. Hiccups, discussions, disputes in love.

As does this:

            Unconscious                                   Present                                                  Future

Today I had lunch with a friend. She used to be a student of mine and she’s graciously agreed to save my ass by delaying her move to NY a couple of months in order to be in a play that I’m directing this Fall. It is a relief to have her on board. She’s a gifted, young actor, and a joy to work with. We ate Chinese food. She’s vegan, but wasn’t a dick when they mixed our rice up and gave her fried rice,  which she cannot eat because there are eggs in it.

They brought her more rice.

Later, we compared our fortunes.

Her’s is the top fortune. How oppressive, the use of the masculine pronoun as stand in for all! I’m joking, but I kind of agree. It’s annoying at the very least. She asked: “The best that is in who?” I said: “I think it’s supposed to mean you, it’s just that whoever made these cookies has been brainwashed by a patriarchal culture.” “Oh,” she said.

Mine is the bottom fortune. We can only hope it’s true.

On my way back to work, I spotted a dog, a Jack Russell mix, wandering alone along the sidewalk on a very busy street. I pulled into an alley, parked my car, and approached the dog. The dog was friendly – her name was Maggie. I called the phone number on her tag and she rolled over so that I could pet her belly. There was no answer, so I hung up. I double checked the number and dialed again, again no answer. So I left a message. Then I started going door to door. Most people aren’t home in the middle of the day, but an older woman with a German accent answered the door at the first home I approached. Maggie was not her dog and she had never seen her before. My phone rang – the number from the collar – I answered. A girl told me that Maggie was in fact her dog and that she should be inside. She indicated that she was at work and would call her roommate to find out what the hell was going on. She called back shortly to let me know that her roommate wasn’t home, but that the side door to the apartment should be unlocked, and asked if I could take Maggie in. Maggie was not at all interested in going inside. I had to drag her.

The German woman went on and on about how nice it was that I would stop and do such a thing. Do people not do such things?

After, I went back to work. Work was uneventful. I found myself wondering what Maggie was doing in that big house all afternoon by herself.