You're a Bastard, Mercury Retrograde
(and I take your challenge.)

So Mercury is out of Retrograde by the end of the month, and this one has been a particularly bad one. Any time the retrograde occurs in a sign ruled by Mercury (Virgo or Gemini), it's exponentially worse. I've documented some of the things that have broken down for me. Right now, my car has been in the shop for 4 days and all they can tell me is that it's a very unusual but complicated problem. Yesterday, my Xbox wouldn't play DVDs, displaying a giant black box over the images in the bottom-center of the screen. Today, my phone froze. My wifi is still MIA.

Retrogrades are terrible for affecting technology and electronics, but communication as well. I had a pretty upsetting incident happen on Saturday morning, while I was at the bar watching the Michigan game with the Michigan crowd.

First though, the positive.

Had an interesting conversation with a couple who went to school at U-M. The guy and I talked about his experience of skydiving. I asked him if it was hard to decide to jump, and he said he was definitely scared. When he stood at that door, he apparently gripped the instructor's gear really hard without realizing, and the guy had to help him pry his fingers off. But he said once you're in the air, it was such an amazing rush. You just give in to it. A thought occurred to me, and I asked him, after having this experience, if it carried through in other aspects of his life, this ability to let go and face things head-on. He thought about it. His girlfriend chimed in that it had. That even though he had always been able to take on challenges, it seemed easier. I said, "Maybe once we go through our own personal test to learn how to let go, once we prove to ourselves we can do it and we realize how good it feels on the other side, it makes it easier for us to let go of other things so we can move forward."

He said, "I can see that. It was like, once you decide that you are ready to let go because you are the one who has decided when you're going to let go, it was the best feeling."

I looked at him like a wise man making a realization about life and death. That sometimes all these life experiences build into the final decision--when to walk into the light and darkness in peace when it's time to leave this world.

At the end of the game, they gave me their phone number and said to call them and hang out. To be honest, I find hanging out with couples a little awkward unless I know them really well. There are always weird dynamics. But they were really nice, and while I did feel put on the spot to give them my phone number (so that's the only time I have so far), I don't feel like it's going to be weird.

So I was feeling good off of that and took their table when they left. The crowd for the next game was coming in, but the place wasn't full so I took out my notebook and started doing my free-write.

This is when the retrograde bullshit started.

A big bull of a guy in an Oregon hat gets my attention and asks me, "Are you planning on staying, or are you leaving anytime soon?" I look around. The place is half empty, but I don't know if his alumni association has rented out the section, so they want me to move, if they're trying to put tables together, or what. So I ask him, "Why?" so I can know what he wants/needs, and I can see how I can accommodate.

He says, "No reason. Just keep hanging out. That's great."

I'm a little confused because he seems really pissed off at me. So I say, "Do you guys need the table? Because I don't mind moving to the counter."

"Would you do that? Game's over, Michigan," he says, still looking at me like he fucking hates my guts. I look at his Oregon hat and go through my mental files to see if there's any bad blood between Michigan and Oregon. Some people take college football rivalries seriously. But I couldn't think of any connection. I look at his friends for help, trying to read them to understand the situation.

His lanky friend in glasses says, "Ignore him, he's being a dick. You stay, have great time." His voices is dripping sarcasm. They're fucking with me. Why? I'm completely lost.

I look at the girl ol' glasses is with, and she's this mousy quiet thing with long straight hair. I look at her imploringly and she just shakes her head like, ignore these guys.

Glasses yells to the Bull, "Hey, stop being a dick. Leave her alone! Can't you see she's writing poetry?"

What? I'm not writing poetry. But even if I was, what the fuck was their problem.

But I was pissed off and decided, fuck 'em. Even if they're just being dicks because they want my table and I would have been happy to move, fuck 'em. So I put my head down and remind myself that this is a lesson to be a bigger person, and let go. I felt the bad feelings seeping out of me, and I outputted it by writing out a record of what was happening. I made myself flow those feelings into words.

Later, some girls came and I overheard the guy talking to them about their "seating situation." Like I was this monster bitch that just wouldn't move so everyone could sit together. The girls said they would just sit in the restaurant area at the other side of the place, and I'd had enough. I asked the girl if they would like to sit at my table. They were really surprised but happy, asking if I didn't mind sharing.

"NO!" I said, exasperated. I told them that I didn't know what the bull guy wanted because he seemed pissed at me, but had never actually asked me anything that defined what he wanted. They gave him a really hard time, telling me that he's notoriously socially-inept, and he was embarrassed saying he didn't realize the situation. He said he thought he did ask me but that I was rude. I said, "I wasn't rude. I'm the nicest person," and he said, "Well, you just have this wall of unapproachability. But it's all behind us now, right?" And he gave me a hug.

I think what happened was, he wanted my table, and he psyched himself out about talking to me, that it resulted in him assuming that I would be a total bitch anyway, and because of that, he started acting towards me like we'd already had a conversation and I'd told him to fuck off. And since this conversation never happened so I was completely unaware of where he was coming from, I was really offended and my feelings hurt.

So we laughed it off. They offered to buy me a drink but I didn't want one. I stayed long enough to be friendly, but I left as soon as I could. To be honest, people in Seattle are polite but they are not friendly. That's the reason why I say I would never settle down here. The people are polite but cold (a "jelly covered golf ball" as someone described to me today.). Seattle is a beautiful place that is conducive for me getting my work done. But as a place to join a community and lay down a home base, I really need to be around people who are inherently warmer.

*****

So those are the retrograde happenings so far. So charming. But the coup de grace was today.

We can call this one, "Julia vs The Bridesmaid Dress."

First of all, let me tell you how much I love my cousin, Daisy. I am going to put on a strapless lavender chiffon dress for her. I actually love the color lavender. I also like wearing dresses when the occasion calls. But the fact that I think I've got a karma zing coming for my antics at my cousin Miranda's wedding (the aforementioned drunkenness and hitting on), I'm convinced this dress will spell doom.

So I finally tried it on. Unbelievable. The size is wrong.

My upper body is pretty broad. Most people mistake me for a swimmer. The truth is, when you've had as many knee surgeries as I had as a growing adolescent, you spend a lot of your frame-building years on crutches. I was so good on crutches, I remember racing people in the parking lot; that's how fast I could go. So my shoulders are the product of serving as secondary legs for a few years. So while it's not because I have a big rack (though I personally enjoy mine), I tend to have to go up in dress sizes to accommodate my upper chest. The dress I got in the mail needs 2 more inches at the top to be able to zip up. This is a major problem.

So I spent the day running around to tailors to find someone who could help me with this problem. It's too late to reorder the dress and have it sent to me, and it's impossible to let out a strapless dress. The last tailor I went to was a little Korean lady. When I showed her the problem she said, "Oh no no no, this is impossible." She said it couldn't be done. I told her I heard she's a miracle worker and she said that this was too hard.

I took the dress off and left a message for Daisy. I figured she was going to kill me. Then I examined the dress and had an idea. I was originally told by Daisy that the dress would need the hem altered because it was too long. I asked the woman if she could use the fabric she trims to create some sort of flap to cover the back. Because from the front it looked fine, just that at the very top in the back, it doesn't fasten. So if she can create an elongated fastener to hold the top, she can sew in a flap to cover up the fact that my zipper is not zipped all the way.

She understood what I was saying and examined the dress. She asked me to pull it as tight as I could, and she measured that I would need about 2 inches, but the most she could give me was 1 and 3/4ths. Could I breath with that. She pulled it. I realized I would need to take very little breaths. And NOT laugh too hard. I imagined my seams ripping with the wrong movements. I figured, I only need to get through the ceremony and pictures. Then who the hell's gonna care if I rip my dress and flash my boobs all over the place. It's karma. Miranda's been trying to get me back for years. Plus, my family is a happy party family. I heard through the grapevine that when my cousin Albert asked my dad when they were going to go out drinking next, my dad said, "Daisy's wedding. What's the point of going to a wedding unless you're gonna get drunk?" Here come the Shih's. Represent! I think if I flashed boobs, it would just become another family legend.

So I realize, right now the two sides need 2 inches to be able to fasten at all, but she can only put one on that gives me 1 and 3/4. This means, I have to change my body composition.

This is what I mean about Mercury really fucking with me. It's one thing if I'm too fat and I need to lose weight to get into a small dress. But the problem isn't the waist or an overall ability to fit, but strickly related to my upper torso where I am the most muscular but leanest.

I'm going to have to lose weight and in particular, lean muscle. I basically need to tighten my frame. This is going to take a lot of discipline.

Daisy called me back and I told her not to worry, that I would problem solve it. And that I was probably going to show up at her wedding really cut. When I was working on my film projects, this is where I always excelled--once you're on the set, under the gun, the weirdest shit always goes wrong. And you have no choice but to deal with it then and there. I told her that I got the woman to agree to find a way to cover the back, and that I would lose weight to try to make my boobs smaller. "Oh my God, this is crazy," she said.

"Don't say I wouldn't do anything for you!" I told her. I told her not to worry and promised that it would all work out. And if they popped out, they popped out.

I will do my best to make it all work out. I'm usually good about leaning my body down when I have to. But you are a real bastard, Mercury.