By Olivia Ciacci

Our resident Miss Cleo


Whoa there, cowboy, don’t lose your grip on that saddle-of-sanity just yet — you’ve got a whole new year to wear it thin. Speaking of saddles, you probably won’t be doing much sober riding this time of the year. A little stumble in your swagger might make everyone else look just a wee bit better, but don’t count on it. Make sure you fit a nice group IV into your spring semester schedule — an early-morning trek up science hill might be a good excuse to run away from whatever you woke up with.


You’ve been meditating the whole darn vacation. Balanced people like you are so obnoxious — maybe the stars will provide the rest of us with a bit of entertainment and thwart you. Keep an eye out, Taurus. Your outer facade of calm is quite a blatant attempt to compensate for the reality of your existence. Go ahead and surround yourself with mood lighting and fake hookahs from Urban Outfitters — it’s not going to do you any good. Not even photography can save you now.


You must be so excited to choose some new courses! Think of all the new people you’ll meet! Wait, will people think you’re a social climber? Who are you trying to be friends with, and why? Take a course on personality or popular culture and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to be considered a social climber — better than not being considered at all. If that doesn’t work, take an intro language class. Not being able to speak the language equals not being able to screw yourself over by speaking.


Like nearly everyone else at Yale, you thrive on the exchange of feelings — more specifically, your own — because if someone else has feelings that are more worthy of attention than yours, he’s probably even more mental than you are. You might want to stay away from seminars this semester, unless you’re feeling up to the challenge of listening to others long enough to convince them you like them. Chances are you’ll get stuck with a bunch of Geminis, and then you’ll really hate life.


Could you not force your friends to coordinate their schedules with yours? And no, this is not the time to calculate how much more likely you are to be a Rhodes Scholar than anyone else you know. If you don’t have years of travel, your own Olympic medal, several books published, and a genuine personality, chances are you should shut up to save what few friends you have, and take a childhood development course so you can figure out where your parents went wrong.


Got your New Year’s resolutions posted on your wall yet, or are they in flocks of post-it notes all over your super-sized calendar? Or are you living the Memento lifestyle, tattooing a new batch of memos on your body every day? Got plans for summer yet? Next fall? Next spring? What about tonight? A social life?! Oh no! What if they ask you about your plans?! What if they see those notes tattooed all over your body! How do people like you hook up anyway? Calm the heck down and take Death.


Do yourself a favor — don’t hook up with Virgo. Instead, become a social smoker and start wearing coats with fuzzy linings. Since you’re ruining your lungs while killing fuzzy animals for fashion, repent and take Intro to Environmental Engineering. If you invent a cigarette that doesn’t pollute the air or rust your vocal chords, maybe you’ll beat out Leo for a Rhodes Scholarship. That fresh smell is called “reality,” by the way — chances are you’ll just take the course Credit/D/Fail.


Like Alanis, you too have made some bad — let’s say artistic — decisions. Wearing nothing but your long hair on the subway and speaking Canadian is no way to meet people. It’s one or the other — half-assing is no way to excel. You need to learn Canadian, first of all — there’s one and a half credits right there. And could you please put some clothes on?


There’s something more dangerous out there than Scorpio naked — it’s you, addicted to caffeine, nicotine, Red Bull, sex, and eyedrops. Don’t rent your hair or beat your breast, take some philosophy courses and ease up. But this is no ordinary ho-oroscope — February is approaching, after all. Those eye-drops ought to help you with the blood vessels you burst last time you pulled an all-nighter, and you’re going to need those eyes if you don’t want to hump statuary by mistake.


Structure is a beautiful thing when you can’t see past your own Nalgene, but hopefully you’ve thrown yours out in an attempt to fight the image. That’s right, nobody is going to tell you how much water you’re drinking every day! If you’ve disregarded measurement in favor of a more “free” state of being, some crazy creative writing courses might just be screaming your name. Hopefully those screams are actually coming from the vocal chords of Fate and not Virgo, who has post-its in her underwear.


Have you exhausted your political science resources? Your independent study on international policy just isn’t keeping you up at night like it used to? Everyone at home thinks you’re going to be a lawyer, but you hate your family? Go for it — piss them off! Declare yourself a film major. Grandparents dreaming of lawyers in the family love that. Why are the stars being so nice to you? I don’t know, maybe they found out you were the one who tattoed “EASY” on Virgo’s ass. They liked that.


Dude, seriously, your Nalgene isn’t filled with water, and the accessories you bought to match it are absolutely ridiculous. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing those stupid signs from the mannequins at J.Crew — which one will you be: the Yoga teacher, the Dad, the Best Friend, or the Huge Drunk Obnoxious Loser who tried to grope Virgo at three consecutive parties? Dude, you’re the one with the Nalgene — you tell me!