Sarah: Bring on the Ophiuchus, Kunkle, I am ready for you

So, I don’t think Ann and I are the first, or last, people to talk about this Zodiac sign shift business (I’m guessing Twitter saw a dramatic spike in #identitycrisis and #whitepeopleproblems trending topics as a result) but it is a far too compelling a subject to pass up for a PCP. Compelling as in, “Oh no, the musical ‘Hair’ doesn’t even make sense to me anymore, why is life worth living?!” Or another common worry, “What about the people who were born exactly at the time and date of this change, what sign would they be?! OMG MIND FUCK!”

Really, though, my take on the ordeal is a lot less Y2K than all of that. I was a Virgo, and now I’m a Leo – big deal, things change. Remember when Ronald Reagan was a Democrat? Neither do I.

Although I could care less about what my horoscope says at any given time, I would actually like to be able to have a coherent, confident answer ready if ever someone were to ask “Hey, what’s your sign”? (and I’d rather it wasn’t “Um, do you mean post-astrological shift or before”? especially if that someone is hot). There’s also the chance this could all blow over, and there would be a collective agreement among prominent members of the astrological world for everyone to go back to whatever sign they were – but for the time being, I’m a badass Leo.

That’s really what this is about, it seems; instead of a finite mandate of what our astrological signs are, we have been given a glimmer of hope that we can change who we are destined to be. Maybe I want to adopt the Leo name because it’s so much more en vogue! It was fun to embody the Virgo’s “virgin lady” for a while, but a lion could make a much cooler tattoo were I to get one. I guess you could say I’m really looking forward to embracing my inner Leo. And to those of you who have consequently donned the Virgo designation I’ve left behind: Those are some big shoes to fill.

Ann: New chart be damned, I’m never getting rid of that tattoo

Though Sarah may have taken a willy-nilly, “Dazed and Confused” approach (her usual demeanor) to the Zodiac sign calamity currently being debated, I am on the precipice of an identity crisis of astronomical proportions, and let’s be honest, I’m sure most of you other horoscope devotees can feel my inner melancholy and utter shock.

I feel like we’re all trapped in a crappy Lifetime movie where anything bad can and will happen. Thanks to Parke Kunkle, the Minnesota astronomer who made this spectacularly shitty 2011 announcement (and later retracted it), we’re all being forced to shed the vestiges of our former astrological selves and embrace some foreign, new identity. To Mr. Kunkle I send a proverbial, fuck you.

This feels like shimmying into a pair of Levi’s that just don’t fit right anymore. I’ve always been a balanced Libra and according to the new zodiac chart, I’m now a Virgo. I’m sorry, but a virgin lady playing a mandolin doesn’t kick ass quite as much as those downright sexy scales that us Libras used to be able to boast about.

But I think perhaps the biggest mindfuck, as Sarah puts it, with this entire scientific “discovery” is the fact that a 13th sign has been added. Consider my mind blown. Since when did it become OK to start adding signs to an ancient and up until now, untouchable, chart? Who the hell is Ophiuchus, “the serpent holder?” Beyond the unsettling Slytherin undertones associated with Ophiuchus, we’re now dealing with an uneven and unlucky number of signs. What if you suffer from Triskaidekaphobia (fear of the number 13)? Prepare to be plagued by a life-long fear of your own sign.

Maybe I’m overreacting, or maybe I’m not as progressive as Sarah, but I refuse to embrace my new sign. Libra for life.