Horoscope, schmoroscope

Today, my quickie horoscope said "You deserve to be in love. Make it happen. Fiery magic just keeps getting better." I deserve to be in love. Nice. As if I didn't know that.

Of course I deserve to be in love. Same as I deserve fame and fortune. And nonfattening chocolate delivered daily.

But if I could just "make it happen," don't you think I would have done so already? Like I was waiting for a sign from the stars -- oh, the portents are good, Venus is in retrograde, blah, blah, blah -- but now, suddenly, now, I can MAKE IT HAPPEN! Simple. Just like that. (You can't tell, but I'm snapping my fingers.) Dude, if I could make it happen, I would so be out there making it happen. You know. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Have you any idea how long it's been since I've made it happen? But truth is, and independent research (i.e. Glamour, Cosmo, Jane, etc.) tell me that it'll just come upon me when I'm least expecting it, or not looking for it, or whatever. How can these two contradicting theories both exist in the self-same dating universe?

What I want is for the perfect guy to just be introduced to me, to be a friend of a friend, and suddenly, it'll all be smooth sailing. None of this trolling in bars, hoping the pickings aren't entirely picked over, and that I'll get picked up, rather than end up in a pickle. After a rather devastating shock and a readjustment of my ideas about some people's seeming "perfect" relationships, I want the fairy tale, the ease of friendship that is more than just friendly. I want the trashy romance novel meeting of opposites, fall-into-bed, meet-each-others-best-friends-and-family, bodice ripping, hunka hunka burning love, intimate connection.

Why is that too much to ask?