Aries (3/21 – 4/19): Okay, every time I see a picture of Anne Romney, I think yeesh, she looks like the mean back-stabber on an overly-dramatic soap opera. Then I saw this picture of her in 1964, and all I can say, Aries, is what happened? I wish I had the stomach to really study photos of her over time and overlay them on a timeline of her life, because yikes. there must have been a particular food consumed or something. Luckily, Aries, you remain young and lovely, so don't worry your pretty head about the fact that this isn't a real horoscope. Just don't let a genuine smile turn into something horrible.
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): In the freaky news department, Nokia has patented a tattoo that acts as a receiver for text messages. Okay, not that I'm cheap, but how many different cell phones have you had in the past few years? Wait, I know, you're thinking, huh? Nokia wants to turn me into a cyborg, and she's worried about replacing the tattoo? Anyway, Taurus, nothing lasts forever, and thankfully, that holds for this week, which is long. The first day will seem like three days, and then the second day will seem like one long day. . . I think my favorite quote from The Jerk is this:
I know we've only known each other four weeks and three days, but to me it seems like nine weeks and five days. The first day seemed like a week and the second day seemed like five days. And the third day seemed like a week again and the fourth day seemed like eight days. And the fifth day you went to see your mother and that seemed just like a day, and then you came back and later on the sixth day, in the evening, when we saw each other, that started seeming like two days, so in the evening it seemed like two days spilling over into the next day and that started seeming like four days, so at the end of the sixth day on into the seventh day, it seemed like a total of five days.
W - G > S + Bwhere W = what you want to do
G = guilt
S = what you should do
B = Bonus points, (usually equal to zero, except to the person who accrues them.)
Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: Last week I got a beautiful envelope in the mail, and inside it was a beautiful poem, and it all came from Madame Librarian, and pretty much made all of last week, and on into part of this week. It makes me wish I were the sort who would send lovely poems in hand-decorated envelopes to my friends and relations, but alas. This is as close as it comes.
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): I've been trying a little harder to open my heart center to Pinterest, because I know some of you lovely people are fans so I don't want to get all Arizona about it. I asked N. the other day, "Hey, what do you think of Pinterest?"
"Is that on the Internet," was his predictable reply.
So I started explaining from scratch -- actually, before scratch. "So, N., you could have a Pinterest page, and tag a fishing pole that you like." (N. is a lot happier if fishing is in the conversation.) "Then, other people who like that same fishing pole might also tag it, and I guess you'd see that they liked that pole too. Maybe you'd make new fishing buddies."
"Or maybe I'd just make some new 'like the same fishing pole as me' random people on the internet."
This is possible, yes. But is there a downside to that, Leo?
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): One time I tried opening my heart center to Gogol Bordello, and for a while it worked. I was completely joyful listening to gypsy punk. Then I started to feel like it was too much punk and not enough gypsy. Virgo, rejoice. Your week will be so full of gypsy that it will feel begin like you're sleeping in a tent and reading palms for a living. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Oh Libra. That was some yummy looking food you made. This week, amidst all the swirling, be thankful you aren't Mitt Romney's dog, Beau, who was lashed to the top of the station wagon for that 12-hour drive. Or that monkey who went to space. (Does it seem like I know way too much about the Romneys? Please forgive me.)
Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): My dear Scorpio, it's been a long, dark winter, and you should get out of here and go to Hawaii. I'm serious. Send me a post card! Or at least a text message.
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Rick Santorum is praying for Dan Savage. Dan Savage says, "Rick can pray for me. I'll gay for him. And we can call it even." Sag, your week will be a little like that. A little pray, a little gay. Don't get bogged down in the details. Focus on the happy bits, gather them like confetti, and toss them back out there for someone who needs them.
Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Today, I went to talk to my boss about who is going to take over a particular thing I'm working on, and somehow the word "posthumously" came up. But it came out of my mouth in a way that was wrong, like post-humously, with a long "o". Neither of us could really remember if it was a word, or what it was about. He got all squinty, and said something like, "Now, is that the stuff you put on pita bread, or in the garden?" Which was kind of funny because he had the wrong mix-up. The actual mixup was about how it should have been "pahsthymously" but he was reverting back to that old standard, the hummous/humus confusion, which is what we do in the government, refocus on the mixup we know. Oh, I just remembered what it was we were talking about. Capricorn, this will happen to you all week long. Remembering way too late to be interesting. Just go with it.
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): Yeah, what it was that I remembered was why we were talking about post-humously. Yes, we got on a little tangent about the mormon religion and the posthumous baptism of Anne Frank and Elvis, because it turns out that some big information will be revealed at work today. Big. Like the oracles! I know! I probably won't be able to write about it, but new religions will potentially be formed. Anyway, back to the story. Did other mothers pack up their children and a bucket of chicken to go to the Hill Cumorah pageant? Is it wrong to go watch another person's religious ceremony as theater? It was before the days of real special effects, so the thunder was pretty amazing and always woke me up, which reminds me of your week, Aquarius. Your week will first put you to sleep, and then wake you directly up.
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): I've been writing suck-up-y e-mails lately, writing to people saying things like, "Hi! You don't know me, but I have briefly met someone that you supervise three steps down the ladder, and seriously, you would totally like me! You have a pancreas, and so do I. You have molars in your mouth, and I find them in my sink. So much in common, you and I. You probably should hire me, because I think of myself as the sort of person who, plunked down into a work place, any workplace, would find something useful to do. If someone needs a shot administered (or consumed!), sure, I could figure it out. A report written or read? Bring it on! Need me to stand there wearing a 4G apparatus? I'm on it. I know! You really shouldn't let this opportunity pass. Let's do lunch, shall we?!!"
Pisces, it's all making me feel tired and a little shrill, so you really don't get too much of a horoscope. I'm sorry.