SO TELL ME MRS. RITA, WHAT'S IT SAY IN MY TAROT?

I really try to be good and not get addicted to too many things. Some slipped through the cracks. I can't help myself when it comes to caffeine, boys with mischevious eyes, Madonna, ocean views, and singing in the car. In no particular order. There's one more, though, one I keep lurking right below the surface, so you'd have to be in a bookstore with me or randomly walking down a touristy boardwalk to know about it... fortunetellers.

I'd like to begin by exonerating myself under the broad umbrella that I am a Scorpio. I am therefore programmed (by the cosmos, duh) to be really into this stuff. Proof positive: any bookstore is inevitably out of Scorpio volumes. But yes, as for the evidence against me, I stipulate to the following: I'm the person who stays an extra 10 seconds at the front of the line at a cafe to read the paper's horoscope, hastily taped to a coffee mug. I bring my friends in droves to experience my mom's coffee cup readings. (She does it lightheartedly. I don't.) I know the 'good' astrology sites to procrastinate on. I have more than once covertly found out a guy's birthday, and maybe once or twice noted an eclipse in my business planner.

So a few weeks ago mom and I were wandering through Balboa Park when, lo and behold, there was a woman with bleached blonde hair, a green velvet top and colorful skirts, body adorned in 2042902409 rings and bracelets, a tiara, and WINGS. I mean, does that last accessory not call for a pause in our trek? We walked up to see what was going on. She had a little collapsable table and was doing readings for 'donation only'. Palm reading, handwriting analysis, tarot card, dice, Tibetan spirits, Aztec something or other, *everything*. It was fortunetelling Disneyland. And in a recession, I mean, this woman must really love her craft to expect nothing for her psychic pains. Fast forward to the fact that she was creepily accurate (you know it's accurate when they say things that bother you. The ass-kissers are never any good.) So today mom has her over for a tea party with some friends, and I'm going to drop through.

I'm not sure what she's going to say that would be much different than 2 weeks ago, but I think it's part of the human condition to hope that things will change that quickly. Suddenly, the dead-end job will disappear (actually, astrologyzone.com predicted that back in February and it did...). Or the Next Big Thing is right around the corner (if it's a guy, all the better). You will reconcile with a long-lost friend. Someone is thinking of you. Success will be yours if you make a call on Wednesday. Yes, this type of stuff actually cheers me up.

There are definitely the crazy stories in my family of what people around the world predicted (yes, this fascination has followed my mom's family and me across continents and generations), but it's mostly just fun. I think life gets too serious, and fortunetelling gives you a minute to step off of whatever track you're on.

When and if I feel I can cough up the money (ok, and pride) for one of these services, it's inevitably during a most stressful period in my life. (Like when I jumped into the $3 palmreader's booth in Santa Monica on a walk in between finals. She looked at my palm and told me I was "a snob." If she hadn't been gripping my hand, rest assured she would have had a close up of my finger. But I digress...) The whole world of the paranormal is so far off the logical spectrum on which I live and breathe; it's my guilty pleasure.

So we'll see what happens this afternoon. In any case, it beats the hell out of doing work.

And now, if you will excuse me, a lady with wings awaits me...