As a mixed up teenager, wrapping my confused head around the icy truth that life is largely comprised of befuddling disappointment with blips of surprising success, I turned to things like Tarot cards, “auras,” friends who swore they were psychic and astrology to help make sense of it all. By “all,” I mean my love life.
When boys didn’t like me it almost always had to do with the fact there were major flaws in our sign compatibility, according to Susan Miller from AstrologyZone. I would explain away my failed attempts at love. “He’s a Scorpio and far too stifling for my free spirit” or “he’s a Virgo and just doesn’t appreciate my creative disorganization.” Just like Susan said. Thanks, Sus. Her astrological insight became my gospel.
I’m almost certain this is why roughly three-quarters of my ex-boyfriends have birthdays that fall within the weeks of early December. See, Sus says me and Sags get on like “peaches and cream.” Yet I’ve never seemed to nail anything down with a Pisces. Too fishy for my tastes. All this upstream/downstream nonsense –my Aquarian sensibilities demand something “more steady, more cerebral, more articulate.” We’re a heady bunch.
I can attest to the fact I’m not the only woman who’s afflicted with a case of HorrorScopeitus. The Scopeitus runs rampant with the fairer sex, conflicting about 85 percent of all women who date.
“Oh … he’s a Taurus?” a lady will exclaim over eggs at brunch. “Oh, well, that’s why it didn’t work out. Too stubborn, too selfish and too materialistic.”
This assertion will be met with a sea of nods and a chorus of agreements, like glassy-eyed followers of The Church of Signs And Planets.
Yet, I learned to keep my Astroddiction under wraps when I was in the process of getting to know someone new. I understand the cat lady, cookie dough eating, Jennifer Aniston movie connotations associated with astrology, and I’m really not that kind of a girl (or am I?). But like any embarrassing addiction (cough, cough, “The Real Housewives,” cough, cough), it was one of those guilty, harmless pleasures that I thought gave me far too much satisfaction to give up. I continued to read my horoscopes with a flashlight under the covers if need be and hid my True As The Stars Above book in a worn copy of War and Peace in order to uphold an intellectual exterior to strangers on the subway.
Then I met my my last boyfriend, my exact astrological opposite. He, a water sign bordering on fire, me, an air bordering on earth. We were both true cusps and together we comprised the four elements of the zodiac. I figured this meant we were astrological soul mates.
When I diligently typed in our birthdays on AstrologyZone and hit “match”, the computer practically spit out one of those skull and crossbones warning signs. DANGER, Susan cautioned. She reported a tempestuous union that could (could) morph into pure love, but only in an opposites attract kind of a way.
“Plenty of adjustments are necessary,” she advised and I solemnly agreed, thus rationalizing all our squabbles with a wink to our charts.
When the relationship fizzled and I had time to reflect, it seemed apropos that he, a home-loving Cancer would find fault in my detached Aquarian nature, yet his Leo cusp would be beguiled by my inherent logical aloofness. But wait! As I was just a few hours late of being a Capricorn, my hardworking ethos would balance out and find comfort in his warm and fuzzy Cancer crab bungalow. In this way we were perfect. An intricate paradox, him and me. Oh, so complicated! Or just not compatible — place your Vegas bets where you may.
My Astroddiction really bit me in the rear after our breakup. As a single gal back on the dating circuit, I gave credit where credit was undeserved to a simple sap with roughly a four in twelve chance of having a sign I viewed as dateable. These would be Sagittarius, Libra, Gemini and Leo. (Take note!)
I was told by the Internet Birthday Search Gods that this Leo I very, very briefly dated was a respect-loving lion that would be nibbling out of my hand. Indeed, he would be so dizzy by my Aquarian witticisms and would adore me so that AstrologyZone basically had us wedded in blissful matrimony at hello. I went into our third date with a ridiculous amount of security. You could say I was cocky. You could say I was sure of myself. I had this one in the bag, baby – “air makes fire burn brighter,” crowed Susan.
Burn baby, burn!
We’re a match! Guy I Barely Knew and me. After all, he was born on August 5th. Need I say more?
You’ll be shocked to learn we weren’t a match. At all.
As as an Aquarius, I’m far too progressive for this nonsense and my natural objectivity realizes it’s a sloppy, unreliable and unfair way to categorize and assess potential partners. I’m the humanitarian of the zodiac, after all. I’m better than this and you’ll be pleased to hear that I’m in recovery. I said goodbye to Sus. I’m trying something revolutionary and unheard of for me … I’m about to embark on date number four with a guy who I have absolutely no idea what day he was born.
What’s even more, I have no clues tipping me off in one direction or another. There have been no mentions of beach birthday bashes (late Gemini, Cancer, Leo, very early Virgo), ski lodge celebrations (Capricorn? Aquarius? Pisces?), Halloween double duty parties (Scorpio!). I haven’t held his ID ransom pretending to check out the photo only to sneak a peak at the birthdate. None of my old tricks, no oil to get the wheels turning, thus dooming or cementing our future in my head.
Yet judging by the orderliness of his apartment I’m leaning toward some strong Virgo vibes. But then again, he loves competition and is extraordinarily aggressive which just screams Aries, but his light, witty conversations have a strong, strong Gemini whiff to them.
Which, as you know, if that’s the case, then it’s meant to be with this chap and me.