My Fellow Inebriates,
Here’s your booze horoscope:
Aries, you’re back to your pissed-off self, and some poor sap is irritating you. He/she isn’t even doing anything! It’s all you, Aries, so get your anger management on. Mellow out with some apple brandy or rum. Call a Capricorn friend to chat (don’t yell). Buy a small present for someone. Whatever you do, stay away from rowdy bars; you don’t need any more stitches.
Taurus, you’ll have a three-way with a married couple on your next holiday, a moral lapse preceded this week by an unfortunate mixture of Jagermeister, Monster, Sunny D, and root beer. This combo makes you lose your mind and throw away all your discretion, paving the way for a holiday orgy so publicly lewd that you’ll never live it down. Nice going.
You’re preoccupied with mating this week, Gemini, and love is optional. Another Gemini grabs your attention, but you don’t have much luck with same-sign hook-ups. This one’s no exception; it will fizzle quickly, leaving your mind abuzz with prickly resentment. Nothing helps this problem more than Wild Turkey with Drambuie.
Cancer, your calendar feels packed, but is your problem a full dance card or just disorganization? If you take a look you’ll realize you’re not planning properly. You’re saying yes to every trivial thing that comes up and letting people waste your time. No wonder you have no time to get loaded. Take time out for a luxury Champagne this week and tell everyone to get stuffed.
Leo, the stars are vaguely predicting an enriching experience for you…say, sometime in the next three weeks. Expect to become more attuned—not just to your five senses but to the paranormal. The portal to enlightenment is, perhaps predictably, Blue Curacao with Malibu. Although you’ll perceive all kinds of crazy shit this week, your mental state is surprisingly healthy.
Melon liqueur, white creme de cacao, and milk. Your mixology continues to reveal a slight mental imbalance, Virgo. Consider hitting the psychiatrist’s couch, taking up yoga, or getting on a plane to Tibet. Or maybe just go and observe the People of Walmart. They won’t harm you and they’ll probably go out for drinks with you. Open your mind.
Libra, the stars like you this week. You have a lot of influence over people, which increases your social sphere. Ties with your partner are strong, with Thursday your best day for communication. Your power week takes you to the heights and then drops you like a rock. You descend into a binge featuring red wine and vodka—combined. Yikes, the stars are mean.
Someone is pressuring you, Scorpio, but you don’t have to give in. Did you give in when they told you not to make a big vat of white rum, tequila, peach schnapps, triple sec, and Bacardi 151? Did you give in when they said you couldn’t have that big vat in the office lunchroom? Did you give in when they said you couldn’t sleep beside the photocopier? Hell, no.
Sagittarius, your work is in the doldrums and you don’t know why. (It’s boring.) Your brain checks out of meetings, pondering cocktail onions and the comparative merits of sweet and dry vermouth. Perhaps you should talk to your colleagues. They might be able to make your days more interesting, or at least recommend a good gin for your flask.
You’ll have a drastic change of opinion about a work project, Capricorn. You’re horrified at how sluggish your pace has been, the slackers who surround you, and the dried vomit in your third drawer down. This is what happens when you do the unthinkable, Capricorn. You’ve dried out, and the world looks ugly. But at least you can be the DD for your friends.
Aquarius, there’s no use freaking out at coworkers, even if one of them is trying to destroy you. Half the time they’re just as messed up as you—riding the highs and lows between gin-and-tonics and Red Bull. Level out your brain chemicals with some solid food. If you hold it together for the work week, Sunday won’t let you down. But keep your eyes trained at work for that backstabber!
Pisces, a not-unexpected meeting occurs this week. It’s one of those dreadful interventions in which your most beloved relatives and friends tell you what a douche you are. They’ve made a big gathering of it; they’ve got hors d’oeuvres and somebody’s carved pineapples and bananas into special shapes. Your head hurts from this outpouring of love and self-righteousness. But it’s better than that time you spent a night in jail after pissing against a wall.