Google+ Followers

Sunday, 29 June 2008

Practice Hen Night

Well, they say practice makes perfect so me and my buddies Jules Genik and Kim Farnell did a dummy run of my hen night. And it's a good thing we did too because the restaurant wasn't quite what we'd expected. The food wasn't bad but it was a bit over-priced and the menu wasn't as extensive as we would have liked. To top it off, the service wasn't so hot (though perhaps we can excuse this because the Maitre 'D had a heavy cold--which he kept inadvertantly demonstrating to us). For the better part of the meal, we were also the only three in there which made me wonder why it wasn't more busy on a Saturday night in the middle of London. Then there was the thing with the two ambulances and three police cars outside that convinced us that perhaps this wouldn't be the best place for a group of women to feel safe after a few drinks and without male escort.



However, don't you just love it when you do something different with you hair and it works?

Here's me at the start of the night, looking somewhat glam (being a teacher, the glamourous look is something I rarely manage. No matter how hard I try, I end up still looking like a teacher!).

And here's me a few hours later at a club we found near Oxford Circus, looking a little tired. Don't be too hard on me--it's 1am and my bedtime is usually about 9:30. Special note: Jules has this lipstick that makes your lips feel like you've been supping the tabasco sauce. But don't they look lush?

And the nominee for the weirdest toilets goes to. . .

this club in London had toilets that looked like something out of Alien. I was scared to use them and opted for a hedge ticket on the way home. No not really, I did use them but I was still pretty freaked out.

Me and Kim, with Jules taking the photograph. Some sweet young male thangs made the passing comment: "There's some nice looking ladies!" Made our night! Although, standing next to Kim, I think I look like a hulking female impersonator!

In honour of hairstyles that turn out okay, Hen's nights that could have been turkeys if it hadn't been for the dummy run and getting compliments out of young stud muffins, here's my joke to provide a little counterbalance. . .
Saturn in 6th

A lady was walking down the street to work and she saw a parrot on a perch in front of a pet store. The parrot said to her, "Hey lady, you are really ugly."
Well, the lady is furious! She stormed past the store to her work. On the way home she saw the same parrot and it said to her, "Hey lady, you are really ugly."
She was incredibly ticked now. The next day the same parrot again said to her, "Hey lady, you are really ugly."
The lady was so ticked that she went into the store and said that she would sue the store and kill the bird.
The store manager replied, "That's not good," and promised he wouldn't say it again. When the lady walked past the store that day after work the parrot called to her, "Hey lady."
She paused and said, "Yes?"
The bird said, "You know."









Wednesday, 25 June 2008

Pretty Kitty

I love cats.

I especially love it when they walk on me when I'm in bed. I love the way they stick their cold little noses in my ear and purr. I love to watch them stretch. I love it when they meow at me because I'm not opening their tin of food quick enough. I love it when they rub themselves against my legs. I keep thinking I'd like to get them to paint like the cat, right.

Anyway, this morning my beautiful boy, Purrseus (below left), killed a mouse just for me. How do I know he killed it for me? Because he left it right where he knew I would be sure to step on it. Yuk. Try having mouse guts squashed between your toes at 6 am. I do love my cats though (we also have his twin brother Bubbles). So much that I'm going to declare it Caturday with a gorgeous range of Venus in the 6th house jokes. By the way, you might know that small animals rule the 6th house and big animals ruled the 12th. So how do you know if an animal is "big" or "small"? Well, apparently, if it's bigger than a goat, it's 12th house and if it's smaller than a goat it's the 6th. However, I forgot to ask: "what about goats themselves?"

No matter. . .here's a few cat jokes. Happy Caturday!

1. Did you hear about the cat who swallowed a ball of wool? She had mittens.

2. What is the difference between a cat and a comma? One has the paws before the claws and the other has the clause before the pause.

3. Why don't cats play poker in the jungle? Too many cheetahs.

Monday, 23 June 2008

And thanks to Claire Chandler!

Just a public thank you to my buddy and amazing Astrological Lodge of London president Claire Chandler for rescuing me last week. Thanks Claire (and Russ)!!


Here we are at Sue Farebrother's aforementioned, (but still not revealing numbers), party.

And to really give my thanks, here's my Mercury in the sixth house joke just for her (OK and for Russ too):
A mangy looking guy who goes into a bar and orders a drink.
The bartender says, "No way, pal. I don't think you can pay for it."
"You're right," the guy says. "I don't have any money, but if I show you something you haven't seen before, will you give me a drink?"
"You have a deal, my friend," says the bartender.
The guy reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a hamster. He puts the hamster on the bar and it runs to the end of the bar, down the side of the bar, across the room, up the piano, onto the keyboard and starts playing Gershwin music. The hamster can really play...
"You're right... I've never seen anything like that before," says the bartender. "That hamster is really gifted."
The guy downs the drink and asks the bartender for another.
"Will that be cash or another miracle, pal?" asks the bartender.
"Watch this," replies the guy. Again, he reaches into his coat again and pulls out a frog. He puts the frog onto the bar, and the frog starts to sing. The frog has a marvelous voice and great pitch. A fine singer. A stranger from the other end of the bar runs over to the guy and offers him $300 for the frog.
"It's a deal," says the guy. He takes the three hundred and gives the stranger the frog. The stranger runs out of the bar.
"Are you some kind of nut?" asks the bartender. "You sold a singing frog for $300? It could have been worth millions. You must be crazy."
"Not so," says the guy. "The hamster is a ventriloquist."

Saturday, 21 June 2008

Happy Birthday Sue Farebrother

My buddy Sue Farebrother turned an age I won't reveal! Here's a photo. We had so much fun SOMEONE couldn't hold the camera still (a-HEM).


To celebrate this mystery, I have a little joke just for her. It can only be Uranus/Mars (ruling sixth) cj the Sun of the solar return. . .in the eighth house.

A young woman was coming up to her 21st birthday and for all of the previous month, she had dropped heavy hints to family, friends and colleagues about the impending big day. The morning of her birthday, she had expected her roommates to have left a small but tasteful pile of presents and cards but she could find none. She waited for one of them to wish her a happy birthday and cue a deluge of happy wishes. Nothing. So she checked the morning mail, expecting the postman would need a wheelbarrow to make the deliveries. There was nothing but the electric bill. Not one to get to disheartened, she remained optimistic her work would bring the desired good wishes. Nothing. At lunch time, she went out and bought herself a little badge that said "Birthday Girl," hoping to jog some faulty memories. It seemed no one even noticed. She stayed at work later than she should have, still expecting someone at work might have remembered. No one did--and she was the last to leave. How can such a popular girl as myself be forgotten? she wondered. So she went home, still hopeful there might be some sort of surprise arrangements. She positioned herself by the phone, where she was still waiting some time later. Depressed, she got out the old peanut butter, smeared a thick layer on her nether regions and called her faithful bull mastiff to do the birthday honours. She was just forgetting all her troubles when she the front door suddenly opened and she was immediately surrounded by every friend, member of family and work colleague she had ever known. Before anyone could take in what was going on, they all yelled: "SURPRISE!"

Saturday, 7 June 2008

Pluto, RIP

Not too long ago, before the astrological rage to predict what would happen once Pluto was in Capricorn (this was when Pluto was actually a planet!), the Lord of the Underworld was on the galactic centre. I miss Pluto. But I'm happy astronomers say he doesn't matter anymore. This means we don't have to worry about anihilating ourselves anymore because we've lost the touch. In fact, since we're about to use up everything instead, we should just use it up faster. Oh wait. . .
All right, I'll admit it: I'm still annoyed about Boris' new law. So annoyed, I'm going to reminisce about when Pluto was conjunct the galactic centre (there's probably a Neptune transit here somewhere but that's not exactly new news (since everyone alive has a Pluto-Neptune aspect)) (yes I just did do tricky things with parentheses) (but don't worry, it will be all right in the end). There's no better way to remember the good old days than with a right old giggle. Here's to when Pluto was conjunct the Galactic Centre:
Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson go on a camping trip. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep.
Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend. “Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”
“I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes” replies Watson.
“And what do you deduce from that?”
Watson ponders for a minute. “Well, astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo so we should look forward to more refined, respectable hairstyles. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of the universe. But what does it tell you, Holmes?”
Holmes is silent for a moment.
“Watson, you idiot!” he says. “Someone has stolen our tent!”

Wednesday, 4 June 2008

Lights Out

Pardon the delay on the blog--on the night I spoke about Herschel, Uranus and Mary Shelley's vision of Horror at the Astrological Lodge of London, our electricity went off. Even more freaky, the photos of me on the night show mysterious orbs of light. I was joking that I had channeled Mary Shelley. . .maybe I really did!

Freaky. . .

As we're talking about Uranus, here's my super-Uranus joke, with Jupiter conjunct Uranus, perhaps with a Mars transit. . .

The year is 2222 and Mike and Maureen land on Mars after accumulating enough frequent flier miles. They meet a Martian couple and are talking about all sorts of things. Mike asks if Mars has a stock market, if they have laptop computers, how they make money, etc.

Finally, Maureen brings up the subject of sex."Just how do you guys do it?" asks Maureen.

The Martian responds, "Pretty much the way you do."

A discussion ensues and finally the couples decide to swap partners for the night and experience one another. Maureen and the male Martian go off to a bedroom where the Martian strips. He's got only a teeny, weenie member - about half an inch long and just a quarter inch thick.

"I don't think this is going to work," says Maureen.

"Why?" he asks, "What's the matter?”

"Well," she replies, "it's just not long enough to reach me!",

"No problem," he says, and proceeds to slap his forehead with his palm. With each slap of his forehead, his member grows until it's quite impressively long.

"Well," she says, "that's quite impressive, but it's still pretty narrow.”

"No problem," he says, and starts pulling his ears. With each pull, his member grows wider and wider until the entire measurement is extremely exciting to the woman.

"Wow!" she exclaims, as they fell into bed and made mad, passionate love. The next day the couples rejoin their normal partners and go their separate ways.

As they walk along, Mike asks, "Well, was it any good?”

"I hate to say it," says Maureen, "but it was pretty wonderful. How about you?”

"It was horrible," he replies, "all I got was a headache...she kept slapping my forehead and pulling my ears."

Back to school

*sigh*
Now I'm back at school (in my other life, I'm a teacher), this calls for a special joke with. . .a yod (there's a photo of one to the left). Here's my Mars in the 8th quincunx the ascendant sextile Saturn in the 3rd (clearly this could only exist in a quadrant-based house system):

A high school English teacher reminds her class of tomorrow’s final exam. She tells the class there would be no excuse for not showing up, except for serious injury or illness, or a death in the student’s immediate family.
A smart-ass jock in the back of the room asks, "What about extreme sexual exhaustion?" The entire class does its best to stifle their laughter and snickering.

When silence is restored, the teacher smiles sympathetically at the student, shakes her head, and sweetly says: "Not an excuse. You can use your other hand to write with."

Sunday, 1 June 2008

Cleaning up the underworld

I couldn't decide whether to sing sexy sexagenarian Harrison Ford's praises or blow cyber raspberries at Boris Johnson for "banning" alcohol on public transport. So I thought, in true Gemini-rising style, I'd do both.

Goddamn, that Harrison Ford is one hot old man. He's sixty-six this year? Blimey. Why am I on about Harrison? I went to see the Indiana Jones flick last night with my own sexy sexagenarian (well, I do have Capricorn one the 8th house cusp). A lot of these sexy sexagenarian's were born during the Saturn/Pluto conjunction of 1946 (actually Harrison was born a few years before so strictly speaking he doesn't count--however, he does have Pluto transiting his progressed Moon) which means that their second Saturn return would trigger that smouldering sensuality of Pluto in Leo. Think Steven Tyler of Aerosmith and Mick Jagger. Oh and for the boys, Susan Sarandon.

Boris Johnson has just banned drinking alcohol on public transport. Oh yeah right, that'll work. Who's going to enforce that one? Transport police? They can't even stop mobs of teenagers rampaging through the aisles emancipating everyone of their wallets and electronic goodies. I would suggest we should ban stupid hairstyles on men but half the male astrologers would be in the clink and we have so few as it is.
OK, in honour of today's sexy sexagenarians and stupid ideas from our new mayor of London that will never work, a special, triple conjunction joke appropriate for a Sunday.
Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune cj in the 9th house
Billy was a painter and alcoholic who was down on his luck. One day, the local vicar offered to pay him for repainting the local cathedral but because of his unreliability, would only pay after the job was finished. So Billy checked his inventory and after a few quick calculations, realised he would be quite short of paint. Not one to be easily discouraged, he mixed the good paint with some turps and got to work. When he finished, everyone was very impressed. The new paint job was just what was needed. So the vicar paid Billy and Billy went out to buy a few cans of Stella to celebrate. On the way back, Billy decided he would have a final look at his mighty fine work. To his surprise, a crowd had also gathered to join in admiration. Just then, clouds began to gather and very soon, it began to rain. It didn't take long for the crowd to notice that Billy's paint was washing away. The crowd turned on poor Billy and just as they were about to burn him at the stake, Billy cried out to God for help.
"I am so sorry, God! Please help me!" he hollered. Suddenly, there was a mighty crack of lightning and from the sky, a terrifying finger of flame emerged pointing straight a Billy. Simultaneously, the ropes that bound him, burned away.
"Now go," a voiced boomed, "re-paint and thin no more."