Horoscopes. Fake ones.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): I've been trying to drill down into the chores that I avoid to figure out why.  Laundry:  I don't mind dumping the dirty clothes into the gigantic washing machine that PSE gave me, or adding the soap.  I don't mind setting the dials and I especially don't mind while the machine is running when I am free from the terrible burden of it all.  The happy little jingle that it plays when the cycle is over is fine with me.  Moving the clothes into the dryer is no big deal, and cleaning the lint screen is actually fun! Carrying the dry laundry to a chair or couch isn't so terrible, and I find matching the socks strangely rewarding in a boring way, like mahjong.  The parts I do mind:  1.  Turning the shirts right side out; and 2.  Putting the clothes back into the drawer.  Now that I've narrowed it down, I feel completely ridiculous.  Really, turning the shirts inside out?  That's the kind of person I am?  Pisces, I know this is a super long rambling thing about socks, but that's only because I love you fishy people so well.  The point is, my dear ones, that chores aren't really so terrible.  I was about to hire someone to help turn the shirts inside out the shirts, when I discovered that I can take the shirts off in a whole different way, eliminating the problem altogether! I hope this doesn't create wide-spread unemployment of the right-side-out work force.  Pisces, think outside of the box!  Or out of the shirt.  Enjoy this week, free from burdens.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  The other day, while walking my dog, I came upon a man and his dog, both unleashed.  While the dogs sniffed each other's butts, the man said, "Happy New Year!  I was just spreading my wife's ashes over here.  We have the ashes of two other dogs under this tree, so I thought I'd keep it going." I thought it was sad and kind of sweet at the time, but Aries, I wonder what he's trying to keep going?  Spreading wives? No! Stop spreading the wives.  And another thing?  Does it seem, in retrospect, like he was behaving suspiciously?  Aries, let's snoop around that tree this week and see what we can figure out. Bring your DNA testing kit.
  
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Did you know that it's not "dead reckoning", but rather, "ded reckoning"? Short for deductive reckoning?  And then, as a double entendre joke, changed to dead reckoning, because it isn't such a great navigational method and people end up dead.  Don't end up dead, Taurus!  Well, actually, we will end up dead, but try to stick around for a while.  We need you!

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):  Ai Weiwei says, "Optimism is whether you are still exhilarated by life, whether you are curious, whether you still believe there is possibility."  It all stems from curiosity, Gemini.  Right now, write a list of 6 questions you have.  Every day do that until you have a giant list of things to get you up each day, even in the deep dark winter.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I went to an intuitive eye-reader the other day, because I'm skeptical and curious.  She said I was tidy (!!), inflexible, structured, and have ADD.  When I said, "hmm, that doesn't sound quite right," she looked me hard in the eye for a long time and I felt guilty, like I was hiding my rigid tidy self.  Even though she had only looked into my eyes for a few minutes and I've had a lifetime of being unstructured and messy, I figured she was probably right so I came home and said to my house, "take that, messy house -- you are NOT my soul type."  At which point my house laughed in my face.  While the other people showed pictures of their lovers or crushes, I showed her a picture of my dog.  Turns out my dog is also a Server, Scholar, Artisan, just like me!  I always thought my dog was kind of scholarly.  The eye reader also told me to drink more coffee.  Woo hoo!  Life is good.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I once told a friend that I was reading about narcissism.  "No, please don't," he responded.  "Talk to me.  Tell me about me.  Tell me what you think I want.  Read the books I've read, remember my stories, tell me how I am.  Am I happy?  Am I?" he would ask.  "Of course you're happy," I would always say, and he would look relieved.  Leo, feign happiness until it's real.  

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): I have many hobbies, and I feel guilty when I don't tend to one or another, like a woman with too many children -- I don't have special time with each.  Which is stupid, I know.  No one but me feels sad for the bugs that won't be drawn because I'm too busy with the parade and trying to grow a hat from mycelium and what ever happened to the podcast?  But I think about the hobbies as if they're children, neglected children, and I become a bit paralyzed thinking about a poor beetle or wasp that never comes to life.  Virgo, am I making any sense at all?  Can we have a drawing night soon?

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): I think my favorite podcast right now is Oh No Ross & Carrie.  They don't just report on fringe science and claims of the paranormal, but they take part so you don't have to!  They're so funny and kind and they travel to places like Arkansas to attend a Flat Earth conference.  Libra, see if you can research some claims this week.  Let me know how it goes.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): I don't know if I've revealed this or not, but I'm in Aromatherapy.  I've been in regular therapy before, and I'd like to clarify that aromatherapy is way easier.  No tears, no difficult introspection, and cheap!  Not to mention that it smells good.  I've been wearing an aromatherapy necklace, as a message to the world that I'm trying.  Scorpio, is aromatherapy cheating?  Is it a spiritual bypass?
  

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Have you heard about the Humanity Star?  A giant disco ball launched into space that orbits the earth, supposedly reminding us to look up and appreciate the fragility of the planet.  It seems bizarre to me, like if the gorgeous moon and the vast array of stars aren't enough, why would some fake star change anything?  What do you think, Sag?

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): It's taken some time to get used to the idea you can just drive to a store and buy marijuana.  I hardly do this because it rarely interests me, but, every single time i've been to a pot store, this particular scenario occurs:  there's a young stoner at the counter who asks the middle-aged person what they're looking for.  The person describes an elaborate thing:  I'd like something where I can take one or two hits, laugh really hard for about half an hour, and then focus nicely for an hour or two, and then sleep really well."  It's always that -- the laughing, the focus, the sleep.  And the young clerk always delivers.  "Oh, yeah, we've got that.  It's an indica sativea blend, laughing Buddha with a high CBD content blah blah blah..."  And the customer looks so relieved, and buys whatever is suggested.  The two things that strike me:  everyone wants the same things.  Laugh more, focus longer, sleep better.  And, the same people some of whom probably don't believe in western medicine, easily believe a cute young stoner.  My wish for you, Cap, is more laughter, better focus, solid sleep.

Aquarius (1/20-2/18):  Speaking of pot stores, it cracks me up that so many carwashes now have pot stores attached to them.  Like, they were selling weed already, but now there's a nice little store where it happens legally. But that is merely a distraction from the real issue.  When are we going to get to the bottom of the Russia investigation?  Jeez, hurry up already, Meuller!

A little rant about the planet, The Leaf, and polyamory.  I just fixed a bunch of random clicky noises.

Polyamory, Bit Coin, and the Nissan

trying something new...

Horoscopes: The Thoughts and Prayers edition

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Sometimes when I don't know what to write about, I think back and try to visualize what the pie chart of my thoughts for the last 24 hours would look like.  Many days, it involves bacon, which is kind of weird and possibly a little bit creepy.  But I also think a lot about how the world seems to be going to hell in a bucket and what can I, as one tiny little human, do about it.  Then I get all tired out and think about bacon again --actual and metaphorical.  But let's try the usual things, Pisces: be kind, show up, create. Remember that everyone is struggling in The Big Dark, and there's no harm in holding hands or holding up a light. 

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  Last week I got coffee somewhere and the barista asked my name.  I told her, and she was all, "OMG, I love that name!"  Which sounds fake, because it's sort of a dumb name, and I figured she said that to everyone.  If part of your job is to ask people their name all day, it's nice to gamify it in some way, and there aren't too many options, so I was okay with it.  Saying you love someone's name isn't a terrible way to alleviate boredom.  But she kept going:  "When I was little, I'd always pretend my name was Betsy, and now that I have a child, when we play pretend, I always get to be Betsy."  It seemed way over the top because the name is primarily used for cars and cows and sewing machines.  But she sounded so sincere. Aries, be as sincere as possible this week, and gamify the mundane.  (Which reminds me of my range anxiety, but that's a whole 'nother matter.)
  
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  It feels like we're living in that brain teaser, I don't remember exactly how it goes but there are two villages, one full of liars and one full of truth tellers, and you are allowed to ask one question to figure out which village you're in.  If I had to guess, the liars are in the village that runs the internet, the health care system, the power grid, public lands, and women's uterii.  (Is that the plural form?).  Taurus, be part of the truth-telling village, 

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):  I don't know why they call the people "repairmen" anymore.  I'm thinking they should be called "replacemen" because this is how it goes, every single time:  You wait at home during some assigned time period.  At the very last second of that time period, some 18 year old guy shows up and says, "Oh wow, this is an older model -- what is this, from 2014?  Yeah, it doesn't make any sense to repair it at this point.  We'll have to get you a new (insert giant expensive appliance here).  No worries, we'll get that to you in two weeks!"  From now on, I'm going to gather up all my appliances every three years, throw them directly into the ocean, and buy all new ones. Oh Gemini, I'm so sorry.  That's not a horoscope at all.  In fact, that's a terrible cynical little thought.  My wish for you in this big dark time is that you are the master of your appliances and you laugh out loud at your good fortune every time something works.  May it be so.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Every time someone complains about something easily solvable, without proposing any action, let's just say, "Sending thoughts and prayers!"  Example, "Oh, brr, I'm so cold!"  "Sending you thoughts and prayers!" Or, "I see your shoe is untied.  Thoughts and prayers!" Try it.  It doesn't help one little bit.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  There's a local "buy nothing" FB page that has a super sweet feature, "Make a Wish Wednesday", which is one of the highlights of my week.  I should probably be  embarrassed to confess that, but frankly, it's a bit of a relief to say it outloud.  Here's how Make a Wish Wednesday goes:  all the townspeople list their wants, and sometimes, people offer things up.  People ask for string and gravy boats and toys and 2 x 4's.  Recently someone asked for a dollop of glue to fix some eyeglasses.  I've been thinking about that for quite a while now.  It breaks my heart.  I picture someone sitting on the couch, squinting, waving a very tiny little sign, "I NEED GLUE!"  Leo, make your own little sign this week, and wave it boldly.  Make your needs known in a direct and kind way.  The world loves you.  Love it back.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): I guess I was thinking about that glue person so much that I dreamed that I met him.  I was on an airplane, and the guy next to me pulled out some broken eyeglasses, and I told him about the glue, and he was like, "That was ME!"  And I was sort of blown away by how able-bodied he was, and yet, his strategy for glue was posting on an obscure FB page.  It was only a dream, Virgo.  This week, nestle into the covers and dream dream dream.  And, as Pete Nelson says, if you can't fly with the birds, at least you can nest with them.  Find a treehouse!

"Sorry, there's no room on the couch.  I've had a big day."

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): I started the podcast because I'm afraid that all I talk about is my dog.  And who wants to be around that?  But jeez, dogs are so excellent.  And this particular dog is so interesting, and she likes all the stuff I enjoy, like walks and bugs and naps and eating.  And the dogs, they never give up.  They are hope at the ready.  They can be laying around on the couch, and then, the instant you make a motion toward the door or the food bowl, BOOM.  High alert, something good is going to happen.  Libra, be hope at the ready yourself this week.  Things could turn around in an instant.  Love the humans and the four-leggeds with all you've got.

"Sure.  Go to work and leave me here."

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): The attention span in Alabama seems to be 10 days. There is a solid movement of people who believe that the earth is flat. You could spend the rest of your life watching long, unedited youtube videos filled with "evidence" of the flat earth.  The flat earthers call the rest of us "globers".  Providing further evidence that we see what we want to see, believe what we want to believe.  So, Scorpio, take that and make something good with it. Also, I want to talk to some flat earthers, if you know any.  I'd like to figure out where it went wrong in their lives.  See how one gets to a place where facts don't matter, and people decide to believe something that was proven wrong centuries ago.  Scorpio, see if you can hook me up.
  

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): I listened to a podcast about someone who cured his own misery, and it both cracked me up and struck me as a good idea.  He got up each day and tried to focus on how much the world was screwing him over, how he was the victim in every single interaction and situation in his life. He had the opposite of a gratitude journal:  he would write everything down and elaborate on why it was so bad.  He would document that nothing was his fault.  Everyone else was to blame and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.  After a few weeks, he tried the reverse:  imagining each person he encountered was a graceful, loving, flawed human, doing their best, with no intention to harm him or anyone else, and he had the capacity to influence his life.  After this experiment, he decided the second way was just way better.  He's never looked back.  Try it!

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): One thing that interests me about the whole #MeToo thing is that every single woman I know has been sexually harassed, coerced into sex, or raped; every woman I know lives with some degree of fear that every situation she's in has the potential to lead to violence, unwanted touching, or sex.  A growing pile of men have been accused and many have lost their jobs, but of course, this is merely the tip of the iceberg.  These are only the people who are famous enough, who's accusers are brave enough, who's details are verifiable, and who are famous enough to bother hunting down.  Millions of men are living in fear right now, afraid that their victims will come forward, afraid that their wives and lovers will learn about their transgressions, afraid that their professional reputations will be damaged, afraid that they'll lose their jobs.  I guess that's why we don't hear about men apologizing before they're accused, which makes all of the apologies seem a little hollow.  As if maybe they're only sorry they got called out.  Anyway, Cap, apologize before it's demanded.  It makes the world better.

Aquarius (1/20-2/18):  I went to the Grocery Outlet yesterday, which I usually avoid because it seems horrible and represents what I don't like about the world.  But I was in the neighborhood and I needed batteries and ended up with batteries, a bottle of wine, and a bag of dogfood.  "Birthday?," asked the clerk?  I looked at the items assembled and thought it does look like a pretty good party.  "No, just a regular day."  She repeated herself and I realized that she needed to type in a birthdate to sell me the wine.  I liked it way better when she saw my items and thought, wow, that's a helluva party ahead.  Aquarius, party like you have a bottle of wine, 5 pounds of grain free dog, and two AA batteries.  I dare you.

Emergency?

In which we learn the many uses for maxi pads, and that Reyna isn't planning to share her food bucket during the apocalypse

trying something new...

I was reading a book about chickens...

I'm trying something new, podcasting.  My yoga teacher, Sara, said it's okay if I try out a new hobby, so it's not like I didn't get permission.  There's a lot to learn which is super fun, but bear with me on the audio quality and mistakes.  Thanks for listening!

Episode 1...

Horoscopes from the Afterlife

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): The sky this summer was yellow, ash-filled, irritable; the world created a new palette: red at night, yellow in the morning, gray in the middle.  It's been strangely dry, electric, apocalyptic.  One bad thought could ignite the entire planet.  Use caution, Pisces.  Keep a cool head and a warm heart.  

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  My dad used to always say, "Live each day as if it were your last."  I think a bunch of other people said it too, but he's the one I heard say it the most.  He didn't mean it in a hedonistic, spend all your money now way, but more in a, 'mend fences, use your time well' sort of way.  I've taken to thinking, "Live each day as if yesterday were your last."  Because if last week was the apocalypse (fires, hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, North Korea), this is the post-apocalyptic after life.  It turns out, Aries, that the after-life is pretty good!  Our friends and dogs are here, and we still have IPA and trees.  Be grateful for each bonus day we get.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I've been feeling a little left out because I haven't been fired from the Trump administration yet.  Upon getting fired, it looks like you have a lucrative speaking or dancing career ahead.  But I do have this to report:  I applied for a job at Amazon Mechanical Turk -- companies that need menial computer tasks post jobs, and people get paid by the click.  I thought, gee, I'm a really good clicker!  I should do that.  You can make $5 an hour if you're fast.  Anyway, I applied.  After two suspenseful days, I got this:  

We have completed our review of your Amazon Mechanical Turk Worker Account. We regret to inform you that you will not be permitted to work on Mechanical Turk.  Our account review criteria are proprietary and we cannot disclose the reason why an invitation to complete registration has been denied.

Take that, Spicey!  And Comey.  And Flynn.  And Priebus.  And Bannon.  And The Mooch.  Etc.  I got fired without even having to work at all! I'll see you in our lucrative after-life careers. Taurus, live as if you already got fired.

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):  Lately, when my dog jumps onto my bed, at every point of contact with her paws, the comforter sparkles like phosphorescence at the beach.  That can't be from the regular life can it?  Sparkling dog paws?  I've never heard of that before.  I didn't even google it because, why bother?  This is the afterlife, where I don't waste my time noticing things like this:  If I type "How long do..." into my browser, the number one question is... drum roll... "How long do snails sleep."  THREE YEARS!  That's one long nap, Gemini.  See if you can fit something like that in this week.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Another thing that smacks of the afterlife:  The other day, my eye doctor, after revealing that she started school with the intent to become a certified nurses assistant but upon discovering how hard it was, decided to be an opthomologist, kept saying things like, "Yes, you have a bit of macular degeneration, but I'd say you have a happy life, don't you?"  Or, "Well, your vision has declined quite a bit, you're forming cataracts, but I think you have a pretty happy life!"  It seemed weirdly comforting, and the kind of metric used in the afterlife, not the primary one.  In the regular life, you're all, "EEEK, I'M GOING BLIND!!!"  But in the after life, it's all, "meh, pretty happy, wouldn't you say?"  Which is why I like the afterlife so well.  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  She gave me the pitch about Lasik.  I declined, and started talking talking about that Annie Dillard essay where the deaf children get hearing and discover that the world is a loud unpleasant place, and cover their ears, shrieking like some Edvard Munch portrat.  I told her I was afraid it would be that way with me and vision.  She looked confused but passed me off to my favorite glasses guy so I spent a million dollars on glasses because wtf, this is the afterlife and it doesn't really matter.  

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): I've been struggling to find a gracious and kind way to let men know when they're mansplaining.  I assume they don't realize it, and when a white guy about my age explains to me that "new" means, well, you know what it means. I guess he just thinks he has a more complex understanding of the word than I do. (This is an actual word that was explained to me.  I'm not exaggerating!)  But if you pipe up, "Jeez, I know what NEW means," you're easily dismissed as a tender defensive snowflake.   If you smile and nod and say, "Thanks, that's super helpful, I had no idea," it persists.  Suggestions, Virgo?  I think sarcasm breeds bitterness, and there's enough of that in the world already, so I bite my tongue from saying, 'wait, give me this again -- are you saying that "new" means recent, unused, not old?  How do you ever keep track of all this, you smart man?  Oh, how I wish I had man parts so this stuff would come more easily!"  I don't say that because it goes against one of my core beliefs.  But I so want to be able to gently point it out.  Any tips, Virgo?   Luckily, though, there's no mansplaining in the afterlife, but some of my readers may still be in regular life.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): At first I thought we were all in the afterlife.  The floods, hurricanes, wildfires, Trump administration -- it's end times for sure.  But then I took a picture with my gigantic iPhone that doubles as a surfboard. (Or, if you're Marcel the Shell, it's an aircraft carrier).  Anyway, my picture came out green, unlike all the other people's, which were regular colors.  So I've started to wonder if it's just me in the afterlife. I've started asking people, "can you see me?"  I initially asked, "Does your hand pass right through my body," but that seemed to be borrowing trouble.  So now I say, at random intervals, "you see me, right?"  Or if no one is around, I just try holding something to see if it passes through me or stops at my hand.  Most often, I can stop objects, like plates with my bare hand.  This will be useful in my new job as a waitress!  The afterlife is so full of opportunity!  More on this later.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): And this:  at the art show the other day, someone offered me, for free, a hissing Madagascar cockroach.  She has 35 babies that are up for adoption.  "You can train them," she said.  I'm kind of thinking about it, because jeez, 35 trained cockroaches.  I could create one hell of a parade if I made them little kilts and taught them to play the bagpipe.  Oh, how I love the after life!  It's like a giant after party, it is. Have a giant party yourself this week, Scorpio.
  

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): More evidence:  I bought paper towels the other day, something I do very rarely, but jeez, the afterlife is VERY STICKY.   So I peel off the paper towel, and it says, "Good Morning, Beautiful!"  And the next sheet says, "Here's to a great start!"  That's weird, right?  Positive affirmations on the paper towel, which, as far as I know, is normally used when some sort of mini home disaster occurs?  I can't imagine how the sayings got on there.  Board room chatter: I think we should add happy sayings on the disposable towels, so that when someone has sticky stuff dripping all over everything, and there's honey on the floor, and on your shoe, and on the dog, and every freakin' surface is sticky and there are bees and hornets everywhere, they are reminded that it's morning, and they're beautiful!  Sag, it is morning, and you are beautiful.  Keep it up.  Well, keep up the beauty.  Morning, this too shall pass.

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): The real beauty of the afterlife is that I have so little expectations for it.  For one, I don't even believe in the afterlife, so it's all a gigantic bonus, like when you play pinball, and you know the little ball is going to eventually go down the shoot and it's game over, but instead, just this once, they give you an extra ball.  And you're just plain happy.  That's what the afterlife is like.

Aquarius (1/20-2/18):  The afterlife forces us to shift from the glass half-empty, the world is going to hell in a bucket, things aren't turning out as planned approach, to gratitude.  It's easy to despair, I know.  I've spent my adult life crawling around in the bushes, tying plastic flagging on the jurisdictional wetland boundary and requiring people to plant one tree here, 30 trees there, but it turns out to be deck chairs on the Titanic.  I could have been a day trader or sold junk bonds for all the good it seems to have done.  But, as Hemingway said, 'You lose, of course.  The point is how you conduct yourself as you're going down.  That's it.  We may be perpetrating the largest mass extinction in a while, as if we're our own meteor, but that's how things go.  Each of us, doing our best, being exquisitely kind and conscientious, teaching the children and the dogs and the hissing cockroaches that it does matter, every last moment, every kindness, every weird orange sunset, every time we wonder, or worry about, or wait patiently for someone we care about.  That's all there is.  Enjoy every last drop, Aquarius.