Roses Are Dead, Violets Are Too: The Visiting Visionary

Aquarius
Aquarius, your new sign should be Whine-arius. Everyone from Fresno to Phuket is aware of your desperate hunt to find a snuggle buddy for Project Runway. If you stopped trying so hard (the “Hook a Sista Up” velour track suit is just too much), love will find you. Try looking inside yourself and fostering your innate gifts. Aquarians have an astrological knack for crocheting, paleontology, deep sea diving, and calligraphy writing. Nurture your talents; pick up a fossil or something. I foresee good, hot, loving come your way this spring. (Real love this time, not just love in the form of a box of Lindor chocolates.)

Pisces
Who do you think you are? Hannah Montana? Well, her papa, Mr. Billy Ray himself, called and told you to stop being such an achy-breaky heartbreaker. If you keep planning three dinner dates a night, you’ll get fat and you will get caught. And if you keep accepting those dates, but then rejecting them for their mismatched socks, you’ll reach the pearly gates solo, my dear. Take a dating hiatus. Use this time to go brush up on your decoupage skills. Try selling your creations at your local arts and wine festival!

Aries
Oh, great and powerful Arian, February is your month to revitalize. Revitalize your mind with Full House and Punky Brewster marathons. Revitalize your body with Big Macs and pecan pies. Revitalize your soul with hugs from iguanas and tigers at your local zoo. (Just avoid the tiger exhibit if you are in San Francisco.) Finally, revitalize your more intimate areas with a Doc Johnson Anal Plug. This plug is the ideal size for penetration without aggravation. Recline my Valentine, your month of paper hearts and pink pajamas will be stress free and love filled.

Taurus
Taurus, you so crazy! Always la vida de la fiesta. We all love nights of pomegranate martinis and vodka sodas, however the stars and planets think your partying is swinging out of control. Last Saturday’s wife-beater and granny-panty Like a Prayer rendition did not channel la mama de Lourdes. I’m not sure if faint recollections of waking up in puddles of puke and pizza still provide Sunday brunch entertainment at your age. Take the month of lovers to love yourself. Choose a less harmful poison. Take up tightrope walking, underwater welding, or random one-night stands. Try pretty much anything, actually, to save the world from your drunk ass on stage, ’cause sista, you ain’t Kelly Clarkson.