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. (or rather, since I’m an empowered woman, why he’s going to get to marry me, lucky bastard): 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 not for more than a year. 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 psychic reading, I went home and was surfing through my DVR. I saw that I had a whole bunch of Louie episodes stacked up from months ago. In case you don’t know, in Louis C.K.’s show, he’s a single dad and a comedian in New York City. I sat down and watched parts one and two of the episodes titled “Daddy’s Girlfriend.” I kept thinking, “Louis is soooo living my life, but from the dude’s point of view.”

Then I got on Facebook and a friend of mine had posted on my wall. “I finished Downton Abbey. I need another TV recommendation. Whatcha got?”

“You must watch Louie,” I replied. “It is hilarious in the most deliciously painful way.”

And then I had a total Oprah moment. Oprah, the all-knowing, all-seeing oracle that she is, says that there are no coincidences. All things happen for a reason …

The wheels started turning …

Hmmm. That’s weird. All of a sudden Louis C.K. keeps popping up … he’s a not a usual life reference for me … in fact, I completely forgot that I had his show on the DVR … and then he just came up on Facebook … and wait! I just remembered that I wrote a blog post about his show months ago … and what was that post about? How I don’t want to die alone… 

And then I remembered something else: Louis C.K. has brownish/reddish hair.

Or maybe it’s more like reddish/brownish hair. But honestly, I can’t remember if Psychic Roommate said reddish/brownish or brownish/reddish. (If you ever go to a psychic, take some notes, people.)

And his hair is, admittedly, more red than anything else. But it could be seen as having some brown hues in certain light, I think.

My point is this: I can’t ignore that Louis C.K. just unexpectedly starting showing up over and over and over in my world right after this reading.

It was all so clear. He’s the guy.

Details, schmeetails

Louis C.K. doesn’t know that I exist. But since I grew up with an emotionally unavailable father, I cannot resist a man who completely ignores me. Because then it’s like a challenge to be absolutely fucking relentless in trying to get him to pay some goddamn attention.

So my plan? Tweet the heck out of Louis C.K. until he follows me back.  I have to admit, this is a half-baked idea, as most of my plans are. Louis C.K. is not one of those comedians who lives by his Tweet stream. So even if I pummel him with tweets he’ll probably never respond. And then I’ll finally have to be like, “FOLLOW ME BACK OR I AM GOING TO CARVE YOUR NAME INTO MY FOREHEAD, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!”

Some more admissions in the “half-baked” category: I know so little about Louis C.K. I don’t even know if he’s married in real life, which might make it hard for him to marry me per this Universal Decree I’ve just received. But whatever. I trust him to handle that technicality. I’m pretty sure anyone who has aspirations to be my future husband would ensure that he was unmarried first. And that’s the kind of consideration I can appreciate.

One more admission: Until five minutes ago, I thought his show was called Louis C.K. In fact, it’s just called Louie.

But listen. When have I ever let something like research or details get in the way of my life plans? Screw that shit.

Louis C.K.: Prepare to be wooed. I’m comin’ for you.

Pssst. Follow me @singlemommaTSJ.

 

Read the next Letter to Louie here.