The Year of the Goose


Dying trees on one of my favorite walks.

In general I’m not a summer person.  Don’t like the heat. Don’t like the sun up at 5 and down at 9.  Don’t like months without rain, watching plants die or staying inside on days when the air is unhealthy to breathe. I especially don’t like that every get-away spot is flooded with tourists.

But so far this summer has been the worst. In astrological terms, Gemini has been getting its ass kicked by a massive Black Hole.  And what frigging year of the Chinese horrorscope is it anyway? The Goose?  I think so. It’s the Year of the Goose, the thirteenth animal to visit the Buddha and therefore the unluckiest.


My mantra: it’s only money. Just relax.

I won’t go into a litany of my woes because that’s not the reason I began blogging. Instead let’s talk about goosing. Do you remember the first time some creep stuck his thumb up your rectum? For me it was at a Peter & Gordon concert I shouldn’t have been at in the first place. I was too young.  But I’d already honed my skills at escaping through the bedroom window (unfortunately I hadn’t honed my skills at sneaking back in. I always got caught. Every single time.)

Peter and Gordon seem too wholesome to have fans who goose young girls, don’t they?  It just goes to show, you never know where or when you’ll get goosed.


Hoorah, the sun is finally going down.

By the way, in the I thought I was wasting my time but... category there are people who spend their time researching whether or not Mother Goose was a real person.  Really?  Makes me feel less silly for googling “where did the term goosing come from.”  Turns out there’s a real simple explanation.  Can you guess?