Zodiac Fuss!

OR

So, the internets are all abuzz about the so-called "new Zodiac" signs. It's quite crazy considering how many people claim not to believe in "that sort of thing." Apparently, there have always been two different Zodiac systems – Tropical and Sidereal – and people are just now copping on to this fact. This is the biggest thing since sliced Beatles. People are weird.

Typically, I reserve knowledge of my sign for browsing the Horoscope sections of out of date magazines when waiting for the dentist twice a year (of course, this happens less and less now due to the constant companion of my iPhone, but I digress) and then gasping in astonishment at how accurate the prediction was based on what I remember happening 3 or so months ago. Now I'm having conversations left and right about this "new" Zodiac: people want to know if my sign changed, tell me if theirs has or hasn't, and then discuss the impact of these changes.

But what I find really strange is that I am oddly bothered by the fact that if I were to take store in the "new" or Sidereal Zodiac, I would not be a Leo anymore. And I can't really figure out why I'm bothered by this. Astrology is not something that I have ever invested that much in and I rarely think about my sign unless asked... But I guess over the past 27 years, it has become unwillingly part of my identity.

When people ask me my sign or when my birthday is, they tend to nod and smile understandingly, like "Oh, you're a Leo! That all makes sense now." And, sure, when you look at the characteristics of a Leo, some do fit me quite well. Is this why they have come to partially define me – other people's response to this information? That seems pretty likely.

The one thing that has always bothered me, however, are those people who, when meeting your Significant Other, always want to know both of your signs. They then proclaim how wonderful the math is, or else, shake their heads as if they have some greater understanding of your relationship than you do. I just don't why the fact that I was born at the end of July would make me incompatible with someone born in, say, September. Funny how these things work and ingrain themselves into your brain... I do tend to look up that sort of thing when I'm bored...

According to Wikipedia (which, you shall see, is pretty much my go-to source), the difference between Sidereal and Tropical Astrology (Tropical is the one we've all been going by) is in the opinion whether the system should be fixed to the seasons, i.e. the orientation of the Earth relative to the solar system, or to the background stars, i.e. the orientation of the Earth relative to the galaxy. Tropical Astrology chooses the former, Sidereal the latter.

And according to Sidereal, I am a Cancer not a Leo.

This may also be arbitrarily accurate in the same way the Leo traits seem to fit me. I have always thought of myself as more of a Water sign rather than a Fire sign. When I think of what kind of super powers I might have, I always picture myself with Magneto-type powers, only instead of metal, it would be with water – the ability to manipulate water and move quickly through it. I feel free and relaxed in the water, more so than anywhere else... maybe I've secretly felt like I was a Cancer all along? Though, it probably helps that my birthday is very close to the Cancer/Leo cutoff even on the Tropical Zodiac...

None of this really impacts my life much either way.

So, if at the end of all this, being a Cancer means that in some crazy way me and Boyfriend, who's birthday has stubbornly kept him a Virgo, are more "compatible" then I'm on board with whatever crazy system everyone wants to fashionably believe in.

I require pearls

I made my first from scratch Red Velvet cake with cream cheese frosting this weekend. It caused in to realize that I need a string of pearls. Yes, you read that right. Pearls.

Let me start over...

Last week they painted the inside of my flat. Without warning. It was kind of a disaster. And, gasp!, I had to bake for a dinner party I was going to. But, silver lining: I was able to use my Mom's newly remodeled kitchen to bake. It's like 5x as big as my kitchen and, right now, like a billion x less filled with paint dust

So, my mom comes home to find me mixing the last of the cake batter together - part dry, mix; part wet, mix; repeat. I'm pretty sure that she has no idea who I inherited my culinary skills from because all she can do is make scrambled eggs (but for the record, they are the best scrambled eggs ever. We call them "rubber eggs" because that's what her dad called them. I judge all other eggs by this standard... ) She seemed impressed by my use of the electric mixer that she got as a wedding present when she married my dad in the '70s. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who has ever really put it to much use.

ANYWAY, I baked the cakes and then made my first attempt at cream cheese frosting all while watching Julie & Julia. I think they provided moral support of some kind because my frosting came out surprisingly well. I did a victory dance. Seriously. Then I licked the beaters.

This all has a point, though, I swear.

See, the dinner party was on Saturday night and I was putting all this together on Friday night because I had to work on Saturday during the day. So, I bring my cakes back to my newly painted flat with the plan of frosting and assembling the layers after work before the party.

The next day I get off work, take a quick shower, and change for the party. I decided to wear a vintage style dress. I throw an apron over the dress and assemble and frost the cake. It actually looked pretty good, too!

My first Red Velvet Cake with cream cheese frosting. Note the skull and cross bones plate.

Then I realized that my friends were coming over to carpool to the party and that my house was still covered in paint dust. Which is why I was holding a broom and sweeping the house in a vintage dress, heals, and an apron when they all arrived.

All I was missing was the pearls.