Horoscopes: The Goose Edition

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  At my booty call job, I was asked to create some spreadsheets to track permits.  
"Why am I doing this?", I asked my boss. 
"Because the brand new custom software that KC hired an outside firm to develop over several years and for several million dollars, which is undoubtedly one of the reasons you don't have a job anymore, doesn't have the capacity to track permits.  We've decided to move away from using white boards to monitor the status of the several thousand permits we issue and inspect.  I believe there was an issue with the marker smearing." 
"Can we do some alternate nostril breathing (ANB) together before we talk about this?" 
"Just one round." 
"One round together, but then I might continue doing hands free ANB." 
"Really?  Can you do that?" 
"I'm not sure.  But I can certainly concentrate on one nostril at a time."
 We continued to talk about this project, but every so often he'd say, "Are you listening or just thinking about your nose?"  Aries, don't think too much about your nostrils this week.  Think about them just the right amount.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I went to a casino with The Nurse recently, and it was a weird basement-y place decked out to look like a Carribean Christmas. I doubled my money in an hour, which is, I suppose, the allure, and why my grandfather ended up sleeping on someone else's couch as an old, formerly rich man.  We sat down at the blackjack table, and after a bit I said to the man next to me, 
"So, you're from Boston?" 
"What are you, psychic?" 
"Uh, you have a pretty strong accent." 
"So what are you, a linguist?" 
"No, but I know one.  And, you're wearing a Patriots hat.' 
"So what are you, a haberdasher?"
Anyway, Taurus, I think millener is the term.  But be who you are this week.  I think you're a baker!  (Is "candlestick maker" still a career option?  I haven't heard of anyone choosing that lately, and yet, we still have candlesticks.  Go figure.)

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Speaking of candles, I was thinking back over 2013 and one of the
highlights was being the co-curator a tiny wax museum that involved one fly that fell into some candle wax.  We didn't get many visitors, and something happened to the fly -- time travel, or zealous cleaning person -- I'm not sure.  At any rate, I found a dead fly the other day and dropped it into some wax, trying to get that going again.  It wasn't the same, Gemini.  It seemed less magical and more horrible than I remember.  Do you think it was due to the color of the wax?  When will I ever see you?  

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21) Have you heard about the new thing where you wear a special little cap with probes that measures your brain waves, and feed that into a knitting machine which creates the scarf of your thoughts?  Yikes, that could be awkward, depending.  It also sounds like I'm making this up, but no.  Cancer, see if you can knit one of those scarves manually.  Without the cap, without the machine.  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  As long as I'm reflecting on highlights of the year, this was a damn good cake.  Leo, eat more cake.  Laugh and be merry.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I have this thing that I call cancer of the ear, not to make light of cancer, which is a serious thing, (or used to be, before my niece cured it, but that's another story).  Anyway, it's not like a regular earache.  I was telling the lovely yogini about it, and she said that her father had a bug fly into his ear, stay in there for a while causing havoc, and then flew out!  Wouldn't it be cool if all cancer were in the form of an insect that just flew away?   But Virgo, be curious about the bug.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   Anyway, speaking of inventions, I've just learned that the Neanderthals, (the "th" is pronounced "t" these days, don't ask me why) invented string, and strung necklaces together.  String things together this week, Libra.  Tie unlikely bits up (in a humane, consensual way, of course), and celebrate string, one of the best inventions ever.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was working on my spreadsheet the other day and came to a little problem, so I asked E-bro to help.  But then I got irritated and snappy, because he wanted to problem-solve it, (which, to be fair, was what I asked him for), but in fact, I just either wanted the answer, or I wanted to figure it out myself.  But as I was apologizing I noticed that I was actually sort of high from all of the spreadsheet work.  Mostly in a good way.  I believe trained monkeys could do this work, but as we all know, they wouldn't.  Have a good week, scorp!

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  My little R. was home for a nice visit and brought his lovely friend who should probably travel by scallop shell because she looks exactly like Venus.  At any rate, I didn't see nearly enough of them, but that's the opposite problem that many have at the holidays (too much relatives), so I'm grateful for that.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): I think of all these things to write about, but when I sit down, two things happen:  1.  My mind goes blank; and 2.  I play freecell "while I'm thinking," (of course, all I'm thinking about is black nine on red ten.), or I write to my PP.  What's addictive about Freecell is that, unlike life itself, every hand is winnable.  In life, I haven't stumbled upon many hands that are winnable, but the win is in being gracious as we fail, not lashing out, not lashing in.  Drowning gracefully and gently without all that unseemly flailing.  Happy b-day, Cap.  It's your season.

Before.  Goose stuffed with citrus

After.  Note that the closest goose has a weird problem of
missing limbs, that strangely, none of us noticed until the end.
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):   I thought I could create a podcast out of a lovely recent day, but I think it turns out you need more skill and magic than I have at my disposal to pull it off.  There are some snippets I liked, though, and there's one at the bottom of this post. It's pretty amateur-ish, David Goose Part 1. It may seem like route-talk, but you've gotta start somewhere.  

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20) Pisces, did I hear you say, "If I needed a hat, Betsy would just make me one!"  Of course she would.  Pick something out, my friends.  And another little clip here, Garbage. Please forgive me if it seems like too much blah blah blah.    


  1. I'm so glad you're back, Betsy :)

    Nice catch on the haberdasher vs. milliner. That guy was a complete pidgeonholer-wannabe. Or perhaps lacked your conversational skills and knew it.

    Your podcasts are way more interesting than the news on TV.

    1. Why thank you! I know, pigeon-holer-wannabee. (Is that a real thing?) Happy new year, Jennio!

  2. What are you, a psychic? Says an Aries not concerned with nostrils, but loaded down with spreadsheets replacing the multimillion software.

    1. I'm not a real psychic (or even a real haberdasher), but I'm sorry for your spreadsheet load!

  3. And suddenly, there is your voice in my quiet house and you sound exactly as I thought you would.
    Compostable plates go IN the compost. Too true.
    You are a wonder, lady. That knit scarf from brain waves thing? Who thinks of stuff like that? I swear.

    1. Oh, I hope it wasn't creepy to have a disembodied voice arrive. Although it's good to consider that a bit of me traveled to FL. If you could take my voice to the beach, I'd be most grateful! And, I'm also most grateful for what a reliable reader and commenter you are. I sometimes don't have the stamina to post a comment when I have to type in the verification code. I know. I'm weak.


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