Horoscopes: the weird guilt edition and NOT REAL PROBLEMS edition

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Weird guilt:  That last bit of the toothpaste tube -- it's hard to squeeze out the final three to seven brushings.  (How lazy am I?)  But if I throw it out too soon, sheesh, we all know that's wrong.  There's something attractive about the brand new easy-to-squeeze tube, Pisces.  For the good of our teeth and the planet and a good night's guilt-free sleep, however, we must eke out every last bit of toothpaste before we discard.  I didn't make up the rules, I just enforce them.  (That's what we say in the permit biz all the time, btw.)  Oh shoot.  Pisces?  It turns out I'm writing about toothpaste? Yes, it's come to this.  I'm sorry.  You solve for X, I'll solve for why.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  Confession:  I'm turning into hot plate woman.  My stove/range/oven (Grrr, why isn't there one word for the whole damn thing?  Range?  Really?  I don't even know what a range is, and you probably don't either unless you're some appliance savant.  You know that's true.  But the whole thing isn't working.  Well it works for its intended function (it heats up), but an alarm goes off constantly, and there's a message that flashes saying, "Call a certified technician."  Right?  I say this has been going on for "about a week", but it's probably more like 6, and the whole thing fills me with dread for these reasons:

1. I hate the phone.  There is no other way to solve this problem without picking up the phone.  Well, that, or embracing Hot Plate Woman as my thing.
2. If I do make a call, they'll try to pin me down to a whole day when I'm supposed to be home.  I know exactly how it goes, and you do too.  I'll wait all day and at 5:45 p.m. they'll call and say they won't be able to make it, but maybe tomorrow.  That will go on and on until we all die.  And there's more, but I'll get to it.  Can you say INFP, Aries?    

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): Taurus, I know you're wonding how this story is going to end.  WIll she throw out the toothpaste, make the phone call, write another blog post?  The suspense is palpable, as they say.  (They always say things are papable, though, when they aren't at all.)  There are somewhere between two and seven basic plots, and it's unclear which one this is:  tragedy?  comedy? rags to riches?  (Or maybe it's more like riches to rags.) I'm kind of hoping for Stranger Comes to Town, myself, but Taurus, there's no telling.  Meanwhile, let your plot for the week be Overcoming the Monster.

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): Confession:  I check on my bees too much.  I'm like a cross between Lenny in Of Mice and Men and Clingy Girl in new relationship.  (Do I seem too eager?  Am I calling too much?  YES. if you have to ask, the answer is yes.)  I think about them all the time, wonder if it's too soon to go look, worry if I'm dressed okay, if I smell okay. I spend time in the garden and woods nearby hoping to "accidentally" bump into them.  "Oh, wow, I had no idea I'd run into you here!"  But Gemini, is being eager such a crime?  Capture you're inner Lenny this week.  Pet the kitten but don't squeeze it to death.


Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Do you even know what I mean by 
"hot plate woman?"  It's that person who lives alone and watches soap operas from a couch that's covered with cats and hoarded things, and the most complicated food ever prepared comes from a Campbell's soup can, not purchased ironically in homage to Warhol, but as Good Food.  And one burner is plenty.  I am on the slippery slope towards her, but with podcasts instead of soaps.

Have I mentioned that I've spent a few days at a beautiful mental hospital recently?  Sheesh, no, I wasn't a patient.  I was doing research. I bet you didn't see that coming.  Your plot, Cancer, has been "voyage and return".  That's where you go on a journey and come back empty-handed but with more depth of character.  This week, let it be a comedy.  Welcome home.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  There should have been Real Guilt, apparently there wasn't:  These are the conditions that Einstein placed on his wife (who agreed to them!).  They divorced anyway.

CONDITIONS

1. You will make sure:
1. that my clothes and laundry are kept in good order;
2. that I will receive my three meals regularly in my room;
3. that my bedroom and study are kept neat, and especially that my desk is left for my use only.
2. You will renounce all personal relations with me insofar as they are not completely necessary for social reasons. Specifically, You will forego:
1. my sitting at home with you;
2. my going out or travelling with you.
3. You will obey the following points in your relations with me:
1. you will not expect any intimacy from me, nor will you reproach me in any way;
2. you will stop talking to me if I request it;
3. you will leave my bedroom or study immediately without protest if I request it.
4. You will undertake not to belittle me in front of our children, either through words or behavior.

Leo, bring your unconditional genius out into the world this week.  No rules.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  The thing is, I could spin the whole thing to make me look better.  Like, I'm WAY too important and busy to be held up by a mere repairman.  But that's not the truth.  The truth is, I freakishly avoid appliance repair, in part because the problem is always right at the price point of whether to replace or repair.  I know how it will go:  The repair person will come and charge $150 for a home visit to diagnose the problem, and the diagnosis will be that it needs some part that must be ordered from a third world country that we're polluting shamelessly, and then it will cost $250 to install, and the guy will say, "well, it is already 10 years old (as if that's old); if I were you, I might just replace it."  Does it seem like I've already made up my mind how it's going to go?  But mark my words, Virgo.  It's one of the 2 main appliance plots.  This week, let your plot be one that involves taking a walk to the secret spot with me!

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  More about Hot Plate Woman:  where the guilt comes in is that it's been so seamless to eliminate cooking.  Microwave water for coffee, eat pb&j sandwiches, salad, crackers.  I think of myself as someone who eats well, cooks.  A good cook, even.  Um, hmm.  

Hot Plate Woman self-portrait

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Confession:  I signed up for Twitter because one of my favorite people asked me to follow him.  I mostly signed up to see a picture of a weirdly formed egg that he tweeted (GRR, I don't even want to be typing that word, tweeted), even though I had already seen the egg on his phone.  I never really got back to twitter.  But I got a few e-mails this week from random people thanking me for following them, which I didn't know I was, so I logged on today.  Turns out I'm following 1,532 people!  And I have three followers of my own, one of whom I know.  Scorpio, not to be creepy or anything, but I would totally follow you in real, not on twitter.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): The even sadder thing about the whole Hot Plate Woman biz is this:  I am sincerely considering making a box oven, the way the girl scouts do.  Someone suggested it, I think as a joke.  But really.  With a shoe box, a roll of tinfoil, and a bag of briquettes, I wouldn't be weird hotplate woman who can't make a stupid phone call, but rather a resourceful, off-the-grid person.  I would be cooking my granola and chocolate cake in a shoebox.  More on this in the future, Sag, to be sure.  

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):  Joyous occasion:  I'm taking a 5 hour Yoga Nidra class today, which is sort of like learning how to take a better nap, which I think I'm already quite good at.  I've also spent a bunch of time on Adobe Forms this week creating little things for my phone, which has also been rather joyous and more than a little pocket-protecterish.  Your week, Capricorn, will involve a bit of pocket protector, a bit of napping, and a lot of head-scratching, not due to infestation, but rather, puzzlement.  Make the best of it.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):    Confession:  I usually use other people's phone numbers when I shop at Safeway to get the discount.  Not because I'm buying creepy stuff that I don't want NSA to know about -- I buy ordinary stuff like bananas and crackers.  Things that a hotplate woman would need.  But if I use my phone number, they say, "Thank you Mrs. Last Name of Ex-Husband That Never Was My Name Anyway."  Now, when I use your phone number, they say "Thank you Mrs. Last Name of Other People", and it makes me laugh, but it's also so damned presumptuous, that assumption that women are property, and sharing a phone number means you're Mrs Somebody.  Not to stray from the point, but I'm not a fan, and will never be Mrs. Somebody Else's Last Name.  (I know what you're thinking, Aquarius.  Duh, is what's on your mind.)