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Roses Are Dead, Violets Are Too: The Visiting Visionary

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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.)

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!

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, 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.

Some people find happiness in sunsets, ice-cream, and beaches. You, Ms. Electra-Anderson find it in the corners of dark bars, usually while lying on your back (or side or knees or head). Face it Gemi, you are a big old slut-bag. If you really want a Valentine, try a dinner date. Nothing fancy, heck, even Denny’s or Applebee’s would get ’er done. Just take your love life out in broad daylight. Humping is needed and accepted, but get to know the person (for god’s sake, you whorey beast!) between your legs just a little bit before bending over (or under or sideways or backward or forward …).

Embrace your inner Britney and just go crazy this month! Valentines Shmalentines—love yourself, screw everyone else. Take this month to do everything you secretly dream about. Kick off your shoes and run around gas station bathrooms. Go commando—flash your junk! Party like an heiress with Paris and Lindsey. Make babies and abandon them to a pot-smoking wanna-be rap star. Shave your head. Wear eye-popping neon pink wigs. Get stoned, high, or cracked-out and “dance” on stage at MTV’s Video Music Awards in your skivvies. Just avoid darling Brit’s latest antics and do not land up on a stretcher in the mental ward at Cedars Sinai Hospital.

At a local bar on the second Friday of this month, a man will ask you if you are tired. He will ask you this because he will proclaim you have been running through his mind all day. His name will be Gollum. The gnarly odor coming from his mouth will be masked by his long flowing black beard and accompanying mullet. Fear not, he will leave you alone if you do him one favor. Gollum will ask you to rub his bare gargantuan belly three times in counter-clock wise circles. He will not leave you alone until you do this. Upon completion, you will be forced to drink heavily until you meet a fabulous new man. Unfortunately, he will only prove his fabulouslessness for the night. Correction, for a very few moments of the night.

Screw work; take on an archeological getaway! Don’t bother wandering to the far corners of Egypt or Tibet. Just go on your own personal backyard excavation. Use a shovel, buy a metal detector, or get your puppy in the mix! Who knows what ancient treasures you may find lurking in your grass. Muffy Merrywhether from Melba, Idaho recently took her first archeological getaway. She found an ancient pigeon bone which won her thirty-nine dollars on PBS’s antique road show! Use this month—one that’s traditionally lucky for lovers—to make yourself lucky in treasures.

Roses are red, violets are blue,

Libra oh Libra, you smell like poo.

Tom’s Organic deodorant is not cutting it, but your curry-onion BO is. Your stanky-ass is cutting it right through the nostrils of your coworkers, public transportation partners, and residents of neighboring countries. My smelly Librans, you will not find your prince or princess charming if you smell like doggie dookie. Try daily showers and proper grooming techniques in order to reign in a keeper. Read a literary feat on grooming to learn how to make you smell more like flowers then farts. I predict many hot valentines will emerge in the late hours of the afternoon once your odiferous issues are reconciled.  

Scorpio, we all know you love meat. Scorpions are often found hidden in secret corners noshing on corndogs, t-bone steaks, bacon-wrapped hot dogs, and pork. Well I cannot really blame you, I love me some animal carcass too, but you have got to control yourself. Protein is a close cousin of cholesterol and cholesterol is the sister of heart disease and obesity. If you have a valentine this year, don’t you want to live to see your little meat-eating infants rolling around? If you answered “yes” to the aforementioned question, I suggest a fresh green salad and some steamed broccoli on your V-day dinner date.

A potential lover will start a conversation with you that will go like this:

Knock knock.

Who’s there?


Olive who?

Olive you.

Run. Run fast. Run far, far away.

Renew your Fandango account and buy some movie tickets this month! See The Bucket List or Alvin and the Chipmunks—you will find your one true love. Odds are they’ll be either eighty-two or seven, but real, true love knows no bounds, except when it is against the law. Ensure that you do not encounter any Mary Kay Letourneau-like circumstances as this will result in jail time. On the plus side, it may land you a spot on Dateline NBC or 20/20. Similarly, avoid an Anna-Nicole Smith-like situation. Although your eighty-two-year old may provide you with a lifetime of wealth, you may end up dead with a one-eyed, patch wearing baby.

Shyla Batliwalla is the great, great granddaughter of the one and only Mr. Nostradamus himself. She discovered her psychic lineage by way of a DNA lab in the north of France after predicting an acute acne breakout in February of 1998. By a rare cosmic fluke, she also works and writes for DivineCaroline in San Francisco.

The Visiting Visionary is a monthly column written by a different guest horoscopist each month. We’ll focus on a new topic every month so that our Visionary can foretell how it will affect each sign.


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