Astrological Jack Frost*

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  That giant field of trash the size of California has been making its way here from Japan.  Some smart modeler guy says it's already arrived but we just haven't noticed it yet.  Aries, let's not focus on how that could have go undetected.  Instead, imagine that the beach will be turned into a giant garbage pile that's like a rusty version of Best Buy.  Let me know if you need anything.  C. ordered a bra, which I think is a good bet -- things without too many moving parts.  But Aries, I think you already have everything you need.  Enjoy it.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20) : The other day, I sought out e-bro to see how it was going.

“Betsy, how many people who read your blog even care that you love your kids?  Seriously, you’ve gone on way too long about that.  And your daily updates?  Fail.”

"Hmm, I just don’t have much to write about right now."

“Isn’t that your whole point, to write about nothing?  Just stop writing about your kids so much.  Nobody cares.  Well, actually, you could write about The Boy kid.  That’d be okay.  Or work.  Write about work.”

“When I write about work I just sound bitter ….”

“No, you don’t sound bitter, you ARE bitter.”

Taurus, don't be bitter this week.  Of all things, bitter is the most unbecoming.  Oh wait, maybe the most unbecoming is miserly.  Or enormous fat pods hanging from the armpits. It's a toss up between those three, I'd say.  Above all else, try to avoid the Unbecoming Trifecta.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  One of the cool things about having a blog is that you can tell what people searched for to arrive here.  That picture is just the last few days, so it doesn't really reflect just how many people worldwide are constantly searching for "ham in a can."  By itself, that's not so amazing, but what is amazing is that this blog is on about page 24 of google results.  Those ham in a can people are seriously desperate, and I hope they find what they need here.  But Gemini, I spend way too much time wondering wtf is going on with those ham in a can searchers.  I suspect serious problems.  (Really, once you start thinking about it, you won't be able to get off -- try to imagine just one scenario in which you'd need to go to page 24 of the search results for anything.  Now add the canned ham.  See what I mean?  Don't even start on the "big bump on inner thigh" thing, because that's even worse - this blog is hit #310 for that search.  I can only hope they found what they're looking for here, because I'm guessing Hit 311 is even worse.)  Gemini, if you're having an actual emergency, please close this screen and call someone useful.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Have you been tracking this thing that's been flying all over the internet?  Me too.  It's super sad and pathetic, and just goes to show that Gawker is aptly named, and I'm not proud that I've read the whole thing and half the comments.  Cancer, don't waste your life like this. 

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The amazing Leos are so organized they put the rest of us to shame.  Making lists and creating order seem so effortless -- do you Leos even believe in the second law of thermodynamics?  If you want some evidence of it, swing by, I've got plenty to share.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):   Is this pathetic, or hilarious?  Virgo, be more hilarious than pathetic this week.  I think you've got what it takes to make that happen.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  If you were thinking of making these, I've gotta warn you, they aren't as easy as they look.  Be sure you have an alternate wick on hand, because the fact of the matter is that the pith of an orange is not super flammable.  We already knew that, right?  When's the last time you heard of a house burning down and learned, yep, it was the oranges.  Idiots were keeping a giant box of satsumas in the house, and poof, the whole thing just combusted.  Never.  No one has ever said that, but soon, you just wait, I'll be the number one hit for oranges burning, and each week I'll get hits from those orange arsonists, and this, my friends, is what leads to the insomnia of the bloggers. 

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Tis the season for the cocktail party.  Let's all try to be interesting this year, shall we?  It takes a tiny bit of pre-planning.  You should have three topics at the ready that meet the cocktail chatter criteria:  interesting, don't require a huge long introit, and non-controversial.  I'll tell you mine, and so far, they're working swimmingly.
  1.  Puholz.  That's all I have to say, and the men all go on about the 10 year, $250 million guaranteed contract, the 297 batting average, and so on.  This one is good when you really want a safe escape path.  You toss the name into the conversation circle, and then you can make a cruelty-free exit.  
  2. Degrees of separation.  It's been reduced from the 6, that we used to all be connected to Kevin Bacon with, to 4.7.  Based on the ginormous FB sample set. 
  3. Blue whales.  Spotted on the WA coast.  (I think the giant field of flotsam may actually be a better topic.  I thought enormous marine mammals would go down sweet with the coffee from a styrofoam cup laced with non-dairy creamer, but alas, the whale thing kind of flopped.)
Scorpio, be prepared or be bored.  Those are your choices.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Some offices have parties at this time of year, the kind where people dress up a bit, bring a partner, eat nice food.  My office is having a potluck tomorrow that only some of the people are invited to.  It will take place during the work day for 30 minutes in a double-wide cubicle with one chair in it.  This is how we celebrate in the government.  I will try to avoid my rant about potlucks (see Taurus.)  Wait, no, I'm not even going to try.  It's a potluck, people!  Don't come around with your stupid sign up list on a clipboard and tell me what to bring.  I bring what I bring and you eat what shows up.  But since we have a list, I'll tell you what people have signed up for so far:  a bucket of KFC, a gallon of apple juice, and a small can of mixed nuts.  I have so many questions, but I'll just ask this, Sag:  do adults even drink apple juice? 

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): I was sitting at my desk the other day in front of the full spectrum light with my giant baggage handling earmuffs on, when my boss walked in.  I thought I'd try to engage him in conversation, which is increasingly difficult.

“Hi there!  I heard Temple Grandin say that fear is just as bad as pain.  What do you think?”

“Um, yes.  Here’s your new hard hat.”

He handed me a white hard hat with the county logo and my full name on it.  If I had a metal lunchbox, I would be my own worker-man cliche, but I don't.  I put it on and wore it all afternoon, but no one commented, making me fear that I am that person.

The point, Capricorn, is that fear is just as bad as pain, but you can avoid it by just letting go.  Easier said than done, which is where the hardhat comes in.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  For the past seven weeks, 5 coworkers and I have playing the lottery, not as a fun game, but as a desperate measure.  We each kick in $5 a week, and so far, out of about $200 dollars worth of tickets (I know!), we've won two free ones.  Now that's some freaky odds, wouldn't you say?  Odds of winning a free ticket are 1:3, so we should have claimed about 60 by now.  Two wins is such bad luck that it comes all the way back around and becomes good again, if you follow.  That's what your week will be like, Aquarius.  (Before you judge us too harshly for all that waste, let me just let you know that we are completely aware that this is loser behavior.  In fact, the originator of the whole thing has gotten so embarrassed by walking down to the gas station every week with a wad of ones to blow on the lottery that he makes us do it now.  I used to think the lottery proceeds were at least helping the state budget, but my research indicates that a big chunk of the money goes to help problem gamblers.  Yeah, I know.)

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Who doesn't love a girl in a sparkly dress, Pisces?  Just have it back by Saturday.  Godspeed, except for the god part.

*A word about the title:  I was trying to be clever, but couldn't summon it, so I looked on the internet for things that rhyme with forecast.  Thinking maybe I'd get a tiny jump start on clever.  Yeah, they have Jack Frost as rhyming with forecast.  Have I been pronouncing those things wrong all these years?


  1. Now I have a craving for those little oranges...I wonder if it would work with a tangerine?

  2. Spellchecker function not working? See: Pujols

  3. Sure, I think a tangerine might work, Delores. And E-bro, see what a good conversation starter that was? Why, we're already chatting about it!

  4. Thanks for the advice about the three topics. I think that "ham in a can" will be one of mine.


  6. Madame Librarian, I believe the call you received involved some cheese that had expired many years prior to the date of the call, and she wanted to know if it was safe to bring it to share at a party. Thank god for librarians, who keep our potlucks safe.

  7. Does that mean the gift basket of oranges I bought should only be given to people I can't stand? Along with the old canned ham. I'm still trying to figure out what cat fur slugs are. Thanks for the laughter.

  8. yes yes! it was a cheese ball! (but it very well could have been a canned ham) omgosh you are amazing! Do you remember where I put the silver star earring that I want to send to the person who made it so she can fix it? Also i am looking for my felted blue scarf....


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