My Balls & Chain
A piercing story about art, love, and genitals
Madonna’s astrologer predicted precisely when I’d meet my husband. Cheryl, a comedian and astrologer, was part of a gal-pal threesome; Madonna and Sandra Bernhard were the other two. When I met Cheryl in 1989, Madonna’s and Sandra’s careers were peaking. Cheryl still had to make a living as an astrologer and decorative painter. The small company we worked for had big clients in the Hamptons. It was there, after days painting faux techniques on every wall, baseboard, and door of a new vulgar McMansion built on a former potato field, that Cheryl read my chart:
“You’re a consummate artist…blah blah. You should also write…blah blah blah.”
I was single, in fact, freshly heartbroken, and wanted some good news on the love-life front.
“You will meet Mr. Right at the very end of 1993!” Cheryl said definitively.
“Fantastic! Wait, it’s 1990. What do you mean I have to wait three more years?”
I whined.
“Sorry,” She said. “You’ll have a few false starts. But Mr. Right doesn’t come along until the very end of 1993. It’s as clear as day.”
I met Doug on the dance floor on Crisco Disco night at the Crow Bar on East Tenth Street, deep in the East Village, on December 29th, 1993…
