Groundhog Scopes

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Ms. Pasta stopped me in the hall the other day.  "Could we trade shoes?  My feet are killing me."  Obedient me was all, "sure!"  Soon, my own feet were killing me, probably because the fashionable high-heeled boots aren't created in the shape of a human foot (unless you have a foot that's shape like an isosceles triangle.)  What did we learn here, Aries?  I'm not sure.  But focus on comfort this week, and if someone suggests you walk a mile in their shoes, take a look at the shoes first.  Empathy doesn't require an actual shoe swap.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I love Miranda July more than you know, because she's written a whole book about what she did when she was supposed to be writing, which offers that comforting bit of irony and fate that I wish would apply more to my life.  But that would require that I accomplish cool stuff while playing solitaire, and this planet isn't about that.  For Miranda, it's as if the writing has to come out of her and if she tries to avoid it by reading the PennySaver, well, the book will be about that, because there are words in her that will find a way out no matter what.  Inside me are red twos that need to be placed on black threes, and I'm not trying to whine here, but that is a little disappointing.  Anyway, Miranda finds the tender sweet bits in being annoyed and annoying, and writes about them so that you care more about her and everyone else.  Read it, Taurus.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Why are there flies in my kitchen in the middle of winter, Gemini?  Is it a sign?  Are they tiny little horrible spies for the other side wearing microphones, catching me saying stuff like, "R, make your own sandwich, will ya?"  Is there something dead somewhere, and if so, should I call someone?  Oh Gemini.  Fly paper?  Please advise.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Yay for Washington for legalizing same-sex marriage.  It's about time.  Cancer, see what you can legalize this week.  Could you start with something small, like driving with one headlight out?  Because I'm probably about to get pulled over for that, and I don't want to go to jail.  No I don't.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  N'3lvra is about to retire, because along with the slow down in housing starts, there's been a big downturn in the advice column industry.  Back in the day, she got a few letters every day, but people seem to be reducing, reusing, and recycling, and generally having fewer problems, and she's all for that, except for the other part.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Who's shooting all the sea lions in Puget Sound, Virgo?  Here in Shangri-latte, we're supposed to be ironically vegan (in a way that allows consumption of the occasional maple bar wrapped in bacon), and full of heart-centeredness.  Really, who could shoot one of those big slobbery whiskered guys?  I just hope Punxatwany Phil is okay.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I'm not worried about the short people, Libra, because they can go to the petite section of the store.  And I'm not worried about the tall people, because they can reach everything on the high shelves.  I'm worried about the mid-height people, and from now on, this blog is going to be devoted to them.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The news is confusing lately.  The Susan G. Komen foundation, the largest breast cancer organization, has stopped funding breast exams and mammograms conducted at planned parenthood.  Meanwhile, the "don't tread on me, we're the tea party and we're not about insider Washington" is about to nominate one of the biggest insiders around as their candidate.  Is it just me, Scorpio?

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  I heard an interview with that woman who spent three unplanned nights in a snow cave on Mt. Rainier after planning to be out snowshoeing for just a few hours.  Of all the scary and arduous parts of her story, the one that really freaked me out is that they had to stay awake in the tent all night because they knew that if they went to sleep, they'd die.   Me, I hang out in my little cubicle all day, come home, have dinner and one beer, and if someone pronounced that I have to stay up until 10  o'clock or I will die, I wouldn't know how to pick.  Hmm, sleep or death... can I have a few minutes to think about it?  Sag, have another cup of coffee.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Does Mitt remind you of the Manchurian Candidate?  Even just a little? Anyway, I think there should be an "occupy Mitt" movement.  Oh wait.  Never mind.  Anyway, this train of thought reminds me of a secretary at a job I used to have who explained that if people aren't really showing up in their lives, there are aliens waiting to "walk in".  That was her term, and she was pretty sure her sister was a walk-in.  It gave new meaning to that sign you see at beauty salons, "walk ns welcome".  Yeah, they aren't so welcome here, Capricorn.  And don't occupy Mitt -- I was just kidding.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Starlee Kine went on a rant the other day about how the phrase "it is what it is" is just so wrong, and I have to agree, even though I say it on occasion, especially about my job.  Starlee said something about that being the mantra for complacency, and we're not for that, Aquarius.  Make what it used to be what it isn't anymore.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  We won $7 in the lottery this week.  The thought of splitting that 6 ways was causing my coworkers to get out their calculators, until we agreed to roll it right back into from whence it came.  I've been waiting all day to use the word "whence", so there it is.  Anyway, the sad truth of the matter is that when winning big is discussed, the topic immediately turns to taxes, and forming a corporation to accept the winnings, and so on.  I have this weird sense that that's not normal, and it might have something to do with cubicle fungus.  Is that an actual thing?