Bitter Holiday Horoscopes To Warm Your Icy Heart

By Alison Stevenson

New Year’s Eve is your night. You’re going to have tons of fun. You’re level-headed, Aquarius. All I want you to remember this season is this: We all die alone.


’Tis the season to not drink at the workplace holiday party. Remember what happened last year? No, you don’t. That’s the problem. You’re pushing 30 and your dependence on alcohol to have a good time is no longer cute. It’s still funny, sure, but definitely not cute. This is a wake up call. No, I’m serious.

You fell asleep on the boss’s desk. You need to wake up.


Face it, he’s not going to get you anything special. It’s going to be another Target gift card. Yes, you will be upset. Should you leave him? Well, if I were you I would. If you stick with it, at least keep this in mind: The key to a successful relationship is to never have faith or hope in your partner. You have some interesting decisions to make this month, Taurus. Good luck!


Going home for the holidays is especially hard for you because your brother is so much more well-adjusted than you are. Unlike you, he is able to commit to one woman and they are very happily in love. You see that this love is real. You see that it’s possible. Yet, you still choose to send me paragraphs and paragraphs of texts about men’s “biological need” to sleep with as many women as possible, because that’s what the cavemen did, while at the same time insisting that monogamy is “archaic.”


Surprise, surprise. The stars are not in your favor this month (don’t ask me what that means, I don’t know). Your secret Santa got you a pair of socks. That’s what you always get, socks. From your parents, your siblings, romantic partners, and friends. You have an entire dresser at home dedicated solely to socks.

It’s not because you love socks, it’s because you’re so goddamn bland that people genuinely think this is a gift you would enjoy. Spice things up a bit this year, Cancer. Roll up to the Christmas party wearing a monocle or a top hat. Maybe include a foam finger in one hand. Take a cue from Aries and barf in anything that’s not a toilet or trash can. No one will think you’re cool for doing this, but maybe at least they’ll get you something other than socks.


You decorated, and it looks perfect. It looks like Pinterest and Etsy made hot love to one another, and came all over your two-bedroom apartment. You’ve made your home so lovely that there is no more famine in the world.

Your mason jars wrapped in white string lights are so goddamn adorable that they literally erased Donald Trump from existence.

Your real pine tree, adorned with all those hilarious ornaments depicting your favorite ’90s cartoons, is responsible for ending racism.

You don’t need to do anything this holiday season, Leo. You have already done enough, and it only cost you $2,406.


Well, everyone knows that Virgos are notorious devil-worshippers. You tend to feel left out during the holidays, because you praise Satan, who does not have a birthday to commercialize. I understand what you’re going through, but please don’t let this feeling of loneliness stop you from doing what you do best: sacrificing various farm animals in the name of the Dark Lord. Stay true to you. Don’t feel pressured to sing a carol or wear a stupid red hat. Your clothing and music must remain as dark as your soul.


Well if it isn’t the pushover. We haven’t forgotten what a wimp you are, but it’s nice to know that this month something big is going to happen. You’re finally going to try and kiss your crush under the mistletoe. You have been day-dreaming about this for weeks, like a goddamn seventh grader.

God you’re pathetic.


I know how you work Scorpio. You manipulative asshole. This month you are going to do exactly what you did this time last year. You’re going to deceive me into thinking we have a strong connection and then post a picture on Instagram of you kissing some girl at an ugly sweater party. Maybe this time, don’t beg me to send you tit pics.


You’re spending this holiday season wondering if you should buy a new car. You just put an offer on a house in the suburbs, and mention your 401K in casual conversation. You’re becoming someone I hate. We can’t be friends anymore.


You’re an awful singer. When your friends say you remind them of Christina Aguilera, they mean to say that you’re a deeply narcissistic shell of a human. They are not at all referring to the sound of your hideous voice. Stop trying to make karaoke happen. Everyone just wants to have a nice meal, without hearing your over-the-top runs on “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”


New Year’s Eve is your night. You’re going to have tons of fun. At midnight, you’ll have someone to kiss and it’ll be very cute. Your resolutions are reasonable. You can achieve them. You’re level-headed, Aquarius. All I want you to remember this season is this: We all die alone.


That psychic who told us that we would meet our soulmate this month was clearly, very wrong. We are still single. We are still struggling to make rent. We’re still going on Tinder dates with “creative types” who always seem to have “just gotten out of something.” We have given up all hope, which is really for the best. Let’s just keep inviting fuckboys over to eat us out late at night. Let’s continue kicking them out afterwards so we can order pizza alone while watching reruns of Wahlburgers. We don’t have a New Year’s Resolution. We don’t need anything to be different. This is our destiny.

Illustrations by Katie Tandy

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