Horoscopes for the New Year

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I received a text the other day from one of my favorite Pisces; he sent me a photo that demonstrates his prowess with sorting laundry by color.  It was the first text I've ever received about dryer lint, so you can imagine the complicated joy I'm feeling right now.  Pisces, find your own complicated joy this week!  You might have to

Aries (3/21 - 4/19): One of my [many] problems is that now that I need reading glasses, which is recent, I have trouble reading on my side in bed, the preferred position.  The side bar presses into the side of my head, and the glasses shift upward, away from the eye area.  Is anyone working on this problem?  It seems like a pillow with a cushioned half-pipe embedded for the glasses arm might work.  Can you work on that, Aries?  Because here's what we know:  the only think you have control over is working hard, doing good things, behaving well.  Everything else is out of your hands.  And what could be more important than creating a half-pipe pillow for the reading impaired?
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  While I was searching the internet for glasses though, I came upon these bed prism glasses.  I suppose if you want to lie on your back and hold your arms up in the air for hours at a time, turning page after page while wearing super dorky tortoise shell prisms, well, go for it, but Taurus, they haven't solved the side-lying problem.  Although, for lots of reasons, I am the perfect candidate for the prism glasses.  I know.  Taurus, think about the prism this week, and what it teaches us:  that light is full of color!

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): I know someone who's been trying to reduce the moisture content in honey that isn't fully cured, which has led me to wonder how to expedite evaporation.  Which factors are more important:  increasing surface area, external temperature, ambient humidity?  Of course that led me to want a chocolate fountain.  Because what's better for increasing surface area than a waterfall made of sticky sweet goo?  Gemini, may your week be all about sweetness and increased surface area.  (Try not to get too sticky.)

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I looked into chocolate fountains in the usual ways:  E-mailed a list of likely suspects who thought I was planning some sort of chocolate orgy; looked into renting which isn't cheap (Like, $450 for 2.5 hours.  I know!); and finally, Ebay.  Remember when ebay was new and so were beanie babies?  Yeah, me too, but Cancer, that has nothing to do with your horoscope.  I was just bringing you back to that time when we learned that the very first thing you do before you bid on something is check the shipping and handling fees.  I forgot about that, because now we're all Amazon Prime, some nice lady will bring whatever you order to your house for free in like, 15 minutes.  So, I bought a fountain for $17.  Shipping and handling was only $43, but it came immediately, and strangely, it was the same nice Amazon lady.  It came instantly, all the way from Florida, because the seller must know that when you need a chocolate fountain, you can't wait even a minute.  Cancer, don't waste a minute this week on things or people that don't bring you great joy.  This is it, Sistah!

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): So, after first having buyer's remorse about the costly shipping and handling, and the fact that who needs a tacky chocolate fountain, anyway?  Well, Leo, I turned that ship around and decided to own it.  I am that person, the one who may show up at every potluck from this point forward with the fountain.  Leo, look for chances to turn your own ship around when necessary.  Or drive, full speed ahead, when you're on the right track.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Honeybee males are all fatherless, sadly.  Which is hard to wrap your brain around.  How can a creature involved in sexual reproduction be fatherless?  I have to think about that like, a thousand times a day to keep it straight.  But here's how it goes:  Queen bee goes on one (or maybe a few) mating flights where she hooks up with a bunch of drones (male bees, not Amazon delivery service).  After this, she has enough sperm to last a lifetime.  A short lifetime, but that's all she gets.  She then lays eggs for the rest of her cloistered life.  If she dips into her stash of sperm to fertilize them they grow into female worker bees, but if she doesn't, they grow into drones.  So, the male bee has a grandfather but not a father.  If your week gets complicated or seems to lack mystery, Virgo, come back to this puzzle.  

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Do you guys remember chutes?  Am I making this up, or did houses used to have more chutes?  I remember friend's houses with laundry chutes, and there were dumbwaiters in my favorite books, and then when I worked in the Smith Tower, there was a really cool mail chute. (In fact, if you're ever in Seattle and need to mail a letter, I suggest you go up the Smith Tower to do it.  You can hear it dropping all the way down.)  And there were those pneumatic tubes at the bank.  Did we give up on chutes, Libra?  I don't know why we would do that.  This week, Bring Back The Chute!  (And, if you're not to busy, can we get a few bumper stickers, please?)

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I've been trying to figure out pluperfect, not as a verb tense, but as a state of being.  I think it happens after the complete exhale, when you look back fondly at that one excellent breath that will never occur again.  Do it, Scorpio.  Celebrate with breath. (And, if you need to really celebrate, hit me up, I have a chocolate fountain.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): I woke up a few weeks ago with a back ache, the way I do, and though fer chrissakes, it's time for a new mattress!  And it was, Sag.  I ordered a Casper bed online from my bed, like a shut in. (Practicing, in case it becomes true.) And just like that, poof, a new mattress arrived on my doorstep in the tiniest box imaginable, considering it held a giant mattress.  It was like one of those dinosaurs that you drop into a glass of water, and it grows from tiny to huge.  Exactly like that, but without the water.  Or the dinosaur.  I put it on my bed frame, and it grew in all directions to a full queen size mattress, and I think it might become my best (although a little one-sided) relationship ever.  It doesn't expect a damn thing from me, and is just there, waiting to provide comfort, day and night.  I would totally recommend it.

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):  I read a review of this book, which I can't wait to read.  One of the points is that so much of our sense of self is tied up in the future, the person we'll become when we get it together, the person we're striving to be.  But eventually, Cap, that sense collides with our mortality.  This is it.  How we behave today is who we are.  Live it, own it, celebrate your good fortune.  

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18) I bought a ticket for the gigantic powerball lottery, and now I'm a little terrified that I'll win.  I think that would ruin my life to come into wads of cash all of the sudden.  That's not what the humans need, Aquarius, and I'm a little sorry I got swept up in the frenzy.  Luckily, the odds are terrible.  

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  1. The reading on your side in bed thing just takes practice, I think. This Taurus has been doing it since the age of two. (Yes, I was both reading and wearing glasses at the age of two.) Although it is possible that a lifetime of wearing glasses while reading on my side in bed has caused permanent ear-piece-shaped divots in the sides of my head.

    1. Oh, it's not so much the divot, as the displacement of the glass so that it isn't in front of my eye anymore. How do you address that? Good on early reading, btw!

    2. Hmm... I'll have to pay attention to how I manage that this evening. I'll report back if I make any important discoveries.

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  3. Thank you for the link to that book. It looks well worth reading, the kind of thing that will haunt a person forever but enrich at the same time.

    And my mind is still so filled with the preview that I read, I can't think of anything else to say. Except this: If you win the lottery, know that you have the smarts to not ruin your life. Of course.

    1. I can only hope. My number has a three in it, so if you hear that's in the winning number, it's probably me. Jeez, I hope not! Happy New Year!

  4. One of the few really good things about being nearsighted all my life is that I still don't really need glasses for reading regular books in bed. I am so grateful.

  5. Glasses for reading in bed-you will collect several pairs and you bend the shit out of the oldest pair while reading. And you'll get a crimp in your neck which will be permanent so your massage therapist/chiropractor will be delighted.

    Chocolate fountain-OMG. Does it bubble up? Can you get chocolate burns from it? Is it good for fondue?

    Bees/crickets and now a chocolate fountain. You have all the ingredients for a party/housewarming/survivalist meeting.

  6. Oh! Oh! Speaking of chocolate fountains, here is one you ought to visit: http://www.atlasobscura.com/places/chocolate-waterfall (Also, if you are not yet acquainted with Atlas Obscura, it is high time you were.)


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