Guess Who's Getting Married? This girl!

Well, peeps, I have an announcement:

I'm getting married.

I know. Holy shit, right?

Listen, no one is more shocked than I am. I wasn't sure this day would come again. I wasn't even sure that I wanted it to come. But I just got the news.

The Universe is hurling a husband in my direction as we speak.

Also, it turns out that my intended is Louis C.K. Yes, the comedian, Louis C.K. No, I don't officially know him yet. But that's no biggie -- we're all equals in the Twittersphere so it's probably only a matter of time before he falls in love with me. Because let's face it, I'm pretty fucking charming on Twitter much of the time. For example, I'm sure he'd want to go back and read all my half-drunken tweets from last week, in which I repeatedly flipped a giant cyber-bird to Downton Abbey after the season finale.

My point is this: Men, all men, want to hear my insights on Downton Abbey. Even Louis C.K.

It's in the stars, bitches


Here's how I know I'm getting hitched to Louis C.K. A psychic told me so. OK, she didn't use his name exactly but I'm not an idiot. It didn't take me long to figure out what she meant.

This psychic is my  friend's roommate. For years I've been hearing stories about her. For example, my friend was in the kitchen cooking one of her dead grandma’s recipes. Psychic Roommate walked in and said, “I’m trying to take a nap but your grandma [who, as a reminder, is dead] won’t leave me alone. She says not to put too much saffron in the pot pie.” And then, her duty done, Psychic Roommate shuffled out of the kitchen to nap in peace.

Finally, after seeing Psychic Roommate at various social functions for years, I decided to let her read me. And by "let" her, I mean I made an appointment and paid her money.

Messages from beyond


At my reading, there were a few key indicators that let me know Psychic Roommate was the real deal. For example, when I asked if anything was going to happen in my love life any time soon, she burst out laughing as if someone had just told her the best joke ever.

I'm telling you, the girl is good.

Later, I recounted the love-life portion of my reading to one of my married friends. She replied, "So basically, you're going to get laid once over the next year. Bwah haha hah!" I laughed along with her but inside I was thinking, "Please God if there's any chance for sex this year, make it happen. Throw me a bone, dude. Throw me a fucking bone."

Anyway, as my reading was winding up, as a complete afterthought, I asked Psychic Roommate one final question. "Here's something you can tell me. Will I ever get married again?"

Yes, she said, but I wouldn't meet him until more than a year had passed. She tried to key in on some details and all that "they" -- meaning the peanut gallery in the next dimension -- would give her was that he had brownish/reddish hair.

Seek and ye shall find


So here's the thing. Whether you believe in psychics or not, hearing something like that will get the gears moving in your sick little brain. There will be a small part of you that will start looking for someone with brownish/reddish hair. You won't be able to not do it.

Similarly, that sex I'm supposed to have at some point over the next few months? The guy is supposed to be older. And when it's all done I'm supposed to walk away laughing and going, "What did I just do?" So yeah, now every time I meet an older man I can't help but think, "Is that him? I know we're talking about my IRA right now but are we going to end this night with our faces in each other's crotches?"

Now if you've been reading the old bloggity for any length of time, you know that Hippie Trish is usually not too far beneath the surface. And Hippie Trish is always on the lookout for Signs from the Universe.

After my

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