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A glimpse into the dark heart of the zodiac

If you're reading this, fellas, then you've survived yet another Valentine's Day.

That's the good news.

The bad is that accursed "holiday" will return, as inevitable as death itself, next Feb. 14.

To be honest, I really don't hate Valentine's Day. I enjoy buying gifts and eating out at a fine restaurant as much as anyone, but my research suggests that I shouldn't bother.

You see, I'm as star-crossed as they come when it comes to all things love. Literally.

(Taking a deep breath.)

I'm a Virgo. And if you know anything about us, then you probably don't want to know us.

According to the fine folks at Wikipedia, we Virgos are "prone to being overly-proud, fussy, nervous, pedantic, petty, self-conscious, harsh, paranoid, scared of being sick, aloof, calculating, hard edged, overly critical, judgmental, pretentious, snobby, nervous, timid, compulsive, fold under pressure, perfectionistic, stubborn and conservative."

Sure, the Wikis also say a few charitable words about us being "industrious" and "nurturing," but when you read the above laundry list of shame and ill will who in their right mind would spend the time drilling through our emotional armor to take advantage of any good points we Virgos might have?

To be fair, I was born on Aug. 24, so I exist in that hopeful cusp between Virgo and Leo. I'd like to think a few positive Leo qualities — bright, magnetic, powerful, etc. — may have seeped into my cosmic DNA. But I doubt it.

Any unfortunate woman who has spent any amount of time would testify before a federal grand jury with zero fear of perjury to my pervasive Virgoness. I'm easily embarrassed, which then turns to hopeless self-reflection and caustic moodiness at a moment's notice.

I cannot look at anything without immediately detecting flaws reaching down to the molecular level.

Looking through my eyes is much like peering through those of the Terminator. Everything is washed of color, while data printouts detailing threats or imperfections flash before me.

It would be tragic if it wasn't the best way to live your life.

Sorry folks, but there are worse ways to be than ever-prepared and full-time on the alert. Nothing makes me angrier that dealing with people who drift through life as if in a blue fog of ignorance.

I find that those people often hurt those in their orbit without really thinking too much about it, almost as if the wreckage they cause is purely accidental.

I can say, with pride, that if I choose to hurt someone then I always have a well-planned, thorough reason mapped out, complete with an escape route and back-up plan.

This does not bode well for my long-term romantic interests. Apparently, we do not do marriage well. Most Virgo information I find suggests we tend to remain bachelors or spinsters for most of our lives.

Spontaneity is not our strong suit, nor are wide-sweeping declarations of love and affection. I think it's safe to say we are the worst the zodiac has to offer. Fine.

All of this sheds light on why I'm so horrible at Valentine's Day. It goes against everything I hold dear, especially when it comes to gift giving.

I can't help but think pragmatically when shopping for gifts. Frivolous things hold no special place in my heart. Whereas more romantically endowed men know the perfect little shiny thingy that'll win them their loved one's heart, I remain vexed.

I could buy flowers, but they die so quickly, withering away before my eyes, a constant reminder of my mortality and the entropy currently making and unmaking the entire universe.

I could offer a gift certificate for a deep-tissue massage. But what if there's an injury? These things happen. And I'll be damned if I pay for someone to lay their oily fingers on my girl in a familiar way.

Yeah, that's a sad, frustrating glimpse into the Virgo psyche.

However, there's not a day goes by that I don't wish we could take over the world. Perhaps soon we will.

I hope then you enjoyed your Valentine's Day. It very well could be your last.

Reach reporter Chris Conrad at 776-4471, or e-mail cconrad@mailtribune.com.