Sagittarius (23 November – 21 December)
In the spirit of “you are what you eat,” you decide to try to soften some of those rough fire-sign edges with a diet of exclusively super-cute foods: gummy bears, chickpeas, baby carrots, acorns, cupcakes, strawberries, and any cocktail that comes with a little umbrella. Diabetic neuropathy isn’t cute, Sagittarius. Take a breath, have a sandwich, and practice rediscovering your smile in the mirror.
Capricorn (22 December – 20 January)
The gravitational cycles of the stars can be powerful and hard to break. We don’t know much, but we know this, Capricorn: somebody is going to say something about Miley Cyrus and twerking this week. Stay strong! Remember the Macarena? This too shall pass.
Aquarius (21 January – 19 February)
Aquarius: I have your horoscope. It is alive and unhurt. Donate $2 to this literary magazine, or you’ll never see it again! IF you donate two or more dollars at the appropriate place and time (here and now) I will release your personal horoscope unharmed via email. [This hostage-taking brought to you by the spirit of Christmas!]
Pisces (20 February – 20 March)
Get this, Pisces! Mars is telling me that unbeknownst to you and everyone, you have an incredible, near Louis Armstrong-level talent for the trumpet! Unfortunately, you have never encountered a trumpet. Well. Being a patent attorney is… also… fun.
Aries (21 March – 20 April)
If you’re anything like this Aries, you’ve got a pretty serious flight delay ongoing or imminent. Here’s what you do: Immediately drink one pint of Sam Adams at the nearest Tequileria. Next, dissolve one small handful of Juicy Pear jellybeans into a travel-sized bottle of Listerine, and chill with that, okay Aries? That is your sippin’ drink. Add one-half (HALF!) tab of Ambien (so that we do not forget that we are gentlemen and ladies). Finally, pick up any publication with the headline “Best & Worst Beach Bodies” on the cover, but tear out and discard the half that degrades innocent care bears who are just trying to enjoy their vacations. And voilà! The minute hand will feel like it’s softly caressing your face while the hour hand has a gentle rummage in your carry-on baggage.
Taurus (21 April – 21 May)
CONGRATULATIONS! Taurus, you old dog you! Wow, get ready for your life to change, huh? Your Mom is going to be SO psyched. Hey, it’s going to be okay! What? Why is your face like that? … Uh oh. You didn’t… know about… ohhh… uhhhmmm…. maaaaybe… you should talk to your partner… or, go for that annual check-up a little early… not for any particular reason, but… shit. I am so sorry. Man, I always do this. Venus has really loose lips. Congrats, though, for real.
Gemini (22 May – 21 June)
Bored with your annually renewed membership to mainstream society, you decide to reposition yourself along its fringe, starting at the top with one of those Skrillex-inspired side-shaves. That night your girlfriends nearly snarf their Sancerre and inform you that you look less like a punk and more like the victim of a half-assed scalping. Your reinvention abruptly culminates in the purchase of one of those cute knit hats with ears.
Cancer (22 June – 22 July)
A pleasant evening out turns into a carnival of horrors when your friend takes you to a night of interactive community theater. The fourth wall is flagrantly and repeatedly violated; at one point an over-emoting Clockwork Orange knockoff sits in your lap stroking your face. Finally you are dragged onstage for what is supposed to be a climactic group dance celebrating the violent murder of your inhibitions. Unfortunately you never learned the hippie-shake and no one joins your desperate attempt at line-dancing. Someone lobs a hackie-sack at you; it strikes your face and then plops to the floor. You will spend the waning days of 2013 in mortified catatonia.
Leo (23 July – 22 August)
In the spirit of Occupy Wall Street, you decide that instead of having a bank act as your wealth-management middleman, you’re going to convert the guestroom into long-term beer-and-macaroni storage. In two weeks, mice have nibbled away half of the contents of your 401 Kupboard. Either diversify (raisins! canned goods!), or figure out what a Bitcoin is, or get a haircut and apologize to the nearest ATM.
Virgo (23 August – 23 September)
Yes, we get it, Virgo—your screenplay will be different.
Libra (24 September – 23 October)
After privately admitting that to you HAIM basically sounds like the soundtrack of a cheesy 80s movie, you watch the final embers of your beautiful extended adolescence quietly sputter and go out.
Scorpio (24 October – 22 November)
Inspired by the success of the Cronut, you will assemble a host of Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines products one night and concoct a blockbuster pastry, the Turducken Muffin: a bran muffin stuffed with a blueberry mini-muffin that is stuffed with its own lemon-poppyseed muffin morsel. Its wild popularity among your peers prompts competition from your friend Natalya, who claims to have successfully implanted a fourth muffin into the product, which she christens her Russian Nesting Muffin. Then your friend Claudette shows up with Le Muffin Cordon Muffin, and Seamus leaves you a tin full of Scotch Egg McMuffins, and you stop speaking to everyone and withdraw to write op-eds in the WSJ about how foreigners are horning in on our stuffed muffin enterprises.
A.C. DeLashmutt is a Virginian living in New York. Her writing has appeared in McSweeney's, The Washington Post, theNewerYork, Flash magazine, and elsewhere. She also writes plays. Follow her on Twitter @acdelashmutt.