Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Horoscope
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Feb 4, 2009 at 12:00 AM
ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, after all the sad-teeth looks and fallen lap-sits and Winnebago revelations, to finally get what you want? Without having to cajole and dissemble, without having to compromise? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I know you like to feel that you’ve won an argument or made your point, but what’s the sense in that, Aries, if you don’t get what you want?
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Wow. You really said the wrong thing back there. That was highly inappropriate. First of all, you have to have a much better sense of your audience if you’re going to make it as a “public speaker,” and wearing a necklace of dead fish heads is also unlikely to endear you to the ladies at the book club. Oh Taurus, when will you let the fire go out on its own? Quit throwing matches.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There’s nothing wrong with being a weekend warrior, Gemini. Nothing at all. Nope, it’s fine to defer and delay your passions to a strictly administered time period once every seven days. There’s no reason at all you should feel sad about spending your weekdays thinking about your weekends and your weekends trying to forestall the arrival of the weekdays. Nothing is wrong.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Oh glorious guitar anthem, you reveal so much to us about ourselves: how we like to nod our heads in a synchronized fashion; how we enjoy pretending we’re holding an instrument in our hands and that we, in fact, are playing music on the invisible instrument; how we like to stare across the room and lip read. Cancer, will you play me a guitar anthem, that I might feel again?
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 2
Do you still have your Christmas tree up, Leo? Don’t you think it’s a fire hazard? I realize you love the idea of letting the natural world exist inside the house, and that the piney smell of the needles reminds you of purity and innocence and that girl from Maine you met at sweater camp. But I’m here to say that none of that’s worth dying for in a conflagration of Santa flames.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Why can we talk about some things and not others? Why do people get awkward and childish when the conversation turns to serious topics, like death and polyandry? Is it because we’re raised with virtual paper bags over our heads, shame-sacks that prevent us from seeing, from hearing, from feeling the wind of truth upon our cheeks? Yes, Virgo, that and all the Splenda™.
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Sure, I like to dance, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to cancan with you in the middle of the streetcar. Libra, your manic “quirkiness” and perpetual desire to be spontaneous and/or filled with wonder belie a deep void. Somewhere along the way you got your ass handed to you by life and now you try to avoid thinking about it by going topless at the Dairy Queen. Is it working?
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Did you ever hear the story of the diminutive decorator who got wallpapered into the study wall by her overzealous assistant? The pattern was so bright and intense that no one noticed for five years. The study itself was the location of an unusual amount of drama, most of it interpersonal, and people always said it was a degree cooler than the rest of the house. Avoid that room, Scorpio.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Shucks and hellfire, Sagittarius, that is too much sand to be carrying all the way to the beach. Why do you have to try to improve everything around you, as if you could perfect the entire world by adjusting the light or propping up the table or switching seats? You should worry more about adjusting the only perspective you can control — your own. Or maybe it is too bright in here…
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So, that’s that. And here you were about to write a long, stupid letter, half-drunk on such a weak elixir of nostalgia it’s pretty much just all ice water at this point. So. Don’t play the old songs or look at the photographs; don’t recite the old poems, either. Spring is coming you great sack of maudlin waffle, so you best start doing some sit-ups. That’s it, Capricorn, the new year starts now!
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Fuck the haters, I love Wednesdays. You know why they call it “hump day”? Because that’s when the fun starts, when the anticipation of the weekend is at a perfect mix of the possible and the magical; but mainly it’s called that because people like to hump on Wednesdays. I guess my point here (ha!), Aquarius, is that the simple answer is usually the right one. No need to complicate things.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Dude, I think you could use a massive infrastructure investment. Your bridges are rusty, your roads are cracking up, your filtrations plants are crumbling and your water towers are most definitely leaking. You may say, Pisces, that you can’t afford the kind of money it will take to invest in such wide-scale improvements, but I’m telling you that you have no choice. Fix thyself.
Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, after all the sad-teeth looks and fallen lap-sits and Winnebago revelations, to finally get what you want? Without having to cajole and dissemble, without having to compromise? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I know you like to feel that you’ve won an argument or made your point, but what’s the sense in that, Aries, if you don’t get what you want?
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Wow. You really said the wrong thing back there. That was highly inappropriate. First of all, you have to have a much better sense of your audience if you’re going to make it as a “public speaker,” and wearing a necklace of dead fish heads is also unlikely to endear you to the ladies at the book club. Oh Taurus, when will you let the fire go out on its own? Quit throwing matches.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There’s nothing wrong with being a weekend warrior, Gemini. Nothing at all. Nope, it’s fine to defer and delay your passions to a strictly administered time period once every seven days. There’s no reason at all you should feel sad about spending your weekdays thinking about your weekends and your weekends trying to forestall the arrival of the weekdays. Nothing is wrong.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Oh glorious guitar anthem, you reveal so much to us about ourselves: how we like to nod our heads in a synchronized fashion; how we enjoy pretending we’re holding an instrument in our hands and that we, in fact, are playing music on the invisible instrument; how we like to stare across the room and lip read. Cancer, will you play me a guitar anthem, that I might feel again?
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 2
Do you still have your Christmas tree up, Leo? Don’t you think it’s a fire hazard? I realize you love the idea of letting the natural world exist inside the house, and that the piney smell of the needles reminds you of purity and innocence and that girl from Maine you met at sweater camp. But I’m here to say that none of that’s worth dying for in a conflagration of Santa flames.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Why can we talk about some things and not others? Why do people get awkward and childish when the conversation turns to serious topics, like death and polyandry? Is it because we’re raised with virtual paper bags over our heads, shame-sacks that prevent us from seeing, from hearing, from feeling the wind of truth upon our cheeks? Yes, Virgo, that and all the Splenda™.
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Sure, I like to dance, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to cancan with you in the middle of the streetcar. Libra, your manic “quirkiness” and perpetual desire to be spontaneous and/or filled with wonder belie a deep void. Somewhere along the way you got your ass handed to you by life and now you try to avoid thinking about it by going topless at the Dairy Queen. Is it working?
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Did you ever hear the story of the diminutive decorator who got wallpapered into the study wall by her overzealous assistant? The pattern was so bright and intense that no one noticed for five years. The study itself was the location of an unusual amount of drama, most of it interpersonal, and people always said it was a degree cooler than the rest of the house. Avoid that room, Scorpio.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Shucks and hellfire, Sagittarius, that is too much sand to be carrying all the way to the beach. Why do you have to try to improve everything around you, as if you could perfect the entire world by adjusting the light or propping up the table or switching seats? You should worry more about adjusting the only perspective you can control — your own. Or maybe it is too bright in here…
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So, that’s that. And here you were about to write a long, stupid letter, half-drunk on such a weak elixir of nostalgia it’s pretty much just all ice water at this point. So. Don’t play the old songs or look at the photographs; don’t recite the old poems, either. Spring is coming you great sack of maudlin waffle, so you best start doing some sit-ups. That’s it, Capricorn, the new year starts now!
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Fuck the haters, I love Wednesdays. You know why they call it “hump day”? Because that’s when the fun starts, when the anticipation of the weekend is at a perfect mix of the possible and the magical; but mainly it’s called that because people like to hump on Wednesdays. I guess my point here (ha!), Aquarius, is that the simple answer is usually the right one. No need to complicate things.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Dude, I think you could use a massive infrastructure investment. Your bridges are rusty, your roads are cracking up, your filtrations plants are crumbling and your water towers are most definitely leaking. You may say, Pisces, that you can’t afford the kind of money it will take to invest in such wide-scale improvements, but I’m telling you that you have no choice. Fix thyself.
