On the Darkside, this makes you a vain, shallow, petulant spendthrift with an unerring eye for style over substance and a lifelong dedication to the quest for an easy meal ticket.
ANNOYING HABITS
Punctuality
You're always late because you take so long to decide what to wear (and to tear yourself away from the mirror), but look so gorgeous, and are so limpidly, charmingly abject when you do show, that you are forgiven.
Toothpaste
You don't have toothpaste in tubes, since squeezing involves effort. You have three kinds of pump-action dispenser instead, and there is always an intimate friend around to help you choose which flavor you want.
Temper gauge
0 to boiling point in 20 seconds, but rarely, and only if you think appearing to have lost your cool will get you what you want. You pout, flounce, toss your curls, and stamp your little foot; it always works.
personalityshallow, superficial, shrewd
Vanity, fickleness, idleness, extremes, follies, whims, and inconsistencies--that's what little Librans are made of. You can switch from Jerry Springer to Mother Teresa, Che Guevara to Attila the Hun, Einstein to Homer Simpson without missing a beat. People say: inconsistent; you say: what? Brightsiders leap gallantly to your defense (you skewered them with a spare cupid's dart millennia ago), claiming that this is a symptom of your endless cosmic quest for equilibrium; garbage--it's a sign of a shallow mind trying to fill an empty vessel.
You may smile for the cameras, but underneath you are an antsy malcontent, restlessly searching for satiation. Whenever you get what you want, you don't want it. It happens every time, but being an airhead's airhead, you never learn. As you can't fill the void with stuff, you turn to a cheap and renewable resource: other people. Sometimes a little empathy tourism is all you need (hey, guys, let's go see the poor!); at other times it's out with your My Little Emotional Vampire suit. You simply can't help using people--and they do fall over themselves to let you, but as an accomplished parasite, you know better than to kill the host. The only pain you are likely to suffer is RSI of the pinkie, from too many willing fools winding around it.
Of course you could have been a contender, but you couldn't be bothered--why work when you can sip mint juleps and watch other people's muscles ripple? You can look after yourself though; underneath that ditzy surface is a double-entry bookkeeper trained by Capricorn; there is a column for favors out (what you do for other people), and one for favors in (what they do for you). You always balance the books at the end of trading every day and are quick to send around a debt collector if anyone owes you.
You're not the sweet, helpless little cupcake you want us to think you are, are you? You love the feeling of power you get when you bunch your iron fist in its velvety glove. You're the zodiac's drag queen, a masculine sign that outclasses it's inner girlie when it comes to frocking up and what were once known as feminine wiles.
And now let's examine your Unique Selling Point: your famous inability to make a decision. Oh, how you can dither. It's true you are in danger of starving in the midst of plenty; confronted by heaps of goodies (lovers, diamonds, etc.), you can't bring yourself to choose one, because that would mean forfeiting all the others. What you'd like best is to have your cake and eat it--and own the cake shop, to ensure a reliable supply. But then you're not really hesitating, are you? You're playing for time; gathering data, like the wily probability theorist you are, computing the odds on the best possible outcome (for you). Don't think we haven't noticed that when you dither deliciously with admires over two gorgeous gifts, you're always in Tiffany's (never in Wal-Mart); and we know you figure that, if you dither long enough, you'll get both.
b***h rating
A+ or D. Depends on where you're standing, really. You'd never dream of saying anything nasty to anyone's face (they might slap you and leave an ugly mark). Instead, you whisper poisonous remarks behind your fan or victim's back, about their bad hair or unsightly shoes.
Collective noun
A diplomatic word in the ear for non-Librans. You may find yourself, for some bizarre zodiacal reason, at a masked ball thronged with Librans. Operatives insert discreet carbon rods to prevent charm levels from reaching critical mass; eyelash flutter-speed registers Force 9 and rising. You are enmeshed in a Flirtation of Librans. Lash yourself to a handy mast.
FAVE DEADLY SIN
"Oh dear," you dither winsomely, "how can you possibly ask me to choose just one deadly sin, when they are all so rich and charming and handsome?" In the interest of finishing the book, let's offer you a choice of three. After some soul searching (like you've got a soul?) you go for Vanity, Greed, and Sloth (but you hedge your bets by writing pretty apologies on scented notepaper to the other four). Why are we not surprised? We're just grateful that your main motivator is Sloth, which means that you rarely act on your worst impulses.
blame your planetidle, vain, and heartless
Besotted admirers, bloated with your signature dish of full-fat flattery, darken the skies as they hover in stacking formation over airstrip Libra; you've already maxed your credit card (and everybody else's within melting-glance range) and it's only the second of the month; you've changed your shoes (and your mind) 49 times today. Surely this can't be all down to sweet little you? Of course it isn't--you didn't get where you are today carrying your share of any load, so blame your planet; in your case, Venus.
As I told Taurus, it's named for the goddess Venus, the saccharine Roman version of the Greek Aphrodite, the flint-hearted tease who went through lovers (gods and human) like a stiletto through sour cream, and who just loved stirring (she started the Trojan Wars on a whim). Her attributes (that's just god-speak for accessories) are mirrors, and a girdle that makes the wearer irresistible. You like her already.
Venus is the second rock from the Sun, Earth's nearest neighbor, and the planet most like us (see--mirrors again). Astros often call it our sister planet and drone on about how harmonious and lovely it is, gliding along with us in almost twin orbits. Obviously these are astros without sisters of their own. And it has the slowest rotation rate in the solar system: it takes 243 Earth days for Venus to make one languorous twirl on its own axis. Supermodels won't get out of bed for less than $10K; Venus won't even get out of bed. That's power-sloth.
who's got your number?check out the opposition
Your polar opposite sign is Aries: the zodiac's incoherent, inconsiderate, mad axe person. What would a mellowed-out slacker like you want with a short-fused loose cannon like your average Arien? How do you have this—shall we say—understanding? Well, like good cop and bad cop, or arch villain and fixer, you need each other to make the Darkside work for you. It's all about elements (undesirable one, of course). You are Air; Aries is Fire. Together you make towering infernos--but while you appreciate the flame esthetic, Aries just loves the smell of burned boats in the morning.
As you toss restlessly on your lounger, immobilized by all those life-changing decisions (Democrat or Republican? Apollo or Dionysus? Killer heels or mary-janes? Rocky-road or cookie-dough ice cream? Champagne, Kool-Aid, or chocolate malt?), don't you hear, deep inside, the sound of the zodiac's marine sergeant, ordering you to quit stalling, move your butt, and just get on with it? Do you ever wonder where your celebrated whim of iron comes from? Or why you don't dissolve in a sea of indecision more often than you do?
Respect your inner Arien; it provides a nano-nugget of resolve, with just enough critical mass to tip the scales in favor of a decision, finally. Alright, it may not mean equilibrium, but it does allow forward motion; take it slowly--if you're too dynamic, you may have to get out of bed.
sexeasy, teasy
At first provocative glance, you are sex on wheels (well, you've got the Brightsiders fooled). Hmmm. You flatter and flirt, fondle and kiss, and make boudoir eyes at your prey; but you don't do unbridled lust because that would make you sweaty and out of control. When you look deeply into your lover's (or lovers') eyes, it's because in those dark pupils, made huge by desire, all you can see are the reflections of two perfect little yous. So let's be frank, you are in it for the money, or the sports car, of the Rolex; you do sex because it's better than working, not because you can't help yourself.
And no one could say you don't do a professional job; you know everything there is to know about seduction, deferred gratification, and teasing, and you've got a very naughty toy box; but by the time you have adjusted the mirrors, lit enough candles to constitute a fire hazard, slipped in and out of something more comfortable several times, and reconfigured the satin cushions and velvet throws, your partner has usually fallen asleep. You don't mind: less mess and more beauty-sleep for you.
DARKSIDE DATE
As your default mode is gigaflirt, you can get a date while you're asleep, or dead. Supply is never a problem; but your demands are, since you only want datees if they are beautiful and come in batches. This is because you simply cannot choose, although you have enough spare charm to fuel a rewarding evening with half a dozen lovesick saps (they all bring gifts) and make them all believe you are their soulmate (you work out who's most cost-effective later). Your ideal date is with a sugar daddy/momma, handsome, well-dressed, and loaded; you don't care that they have the wit, wisdom, and conversational skills of a carpet tile. You go somewhere obscenely luxurious (you're not paying), where you can be seen and snapped by the paparazzi. What's the point of being gorgeous and lovely if no one’s sees you at it?
What kind of love rat are you?
You couldn't call it ratting--it's more like plate spinning. Ersatz affection comes easily to you, so it's not hard to keep the more lucrative of your lovers hanging on (you get more goodies that way, and they may come in useful); you just do a weekly round of flattery and ego massaging to keep them all sweet.
IMCOMPATIBILITY RATING
Aries—too much action and not enough lights and cameras.
Taurus—they trample and gore anyone you smile at.
Gemini—same games, same tactics, same scams: stalemate.
Cancer—they indulge you, accept your alibis, wait up for you with hot chocolate; hi, Mom!
Leo—they expect unconditional adoration; so do you ...
Virgo—macrobiotic love potion?
Libra—you know how magnets with the same polarity repel each other? Well ...
Scorpio—they know you know that they know that you are a tease and a daytripper.
Sagittarius—when you are prettily piqued, they don't notice.
Capricorn—they buy you diamond earrings, but keep them in their own safe.
Aquarius—you are from Venus, they are from another galaxy.
Pisces—their scales are a lot more slippery than yours.
relationshipslove the one you're with
You meet, you greet, you smile, you do eye contact and call people by their first names--you're just as good at this relating business as the Brightsiders say you are; but out of sight is out of mind capacity, so you have to dump regularly. So when you meet again the people you just met, you simply don't remember them and redeliver your charm schtick. Great for you; Groundhog Day for them.
At your weekly salon, you are the grande horizontale, stretched benign and slothlike on the only sofa, receiving gifts and billets doux with unaffected grace and charm from your admiring horde. But you can adapt; if cosmic circumstances conspire, and you are faced with a single scruffy, graceless Z-lister, you simply make them over to suit: if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with, as they say in the song. But actually, you are always with the one you love, because the love of your life is you. It's rubbish about you looking for a soulmate to achieve cosmic balance--you've already got one; it lives in your mirror.
They say you are in love with love, but what you are really in love with is the power of love, and what it can get you. You are a great one for marriages of convenience (especially yours) and will ensnare a plain but loaded supermarket heiress or software Ubernerd before the mousse has settled on the Veuve Clicquot. Nor can you see anything wrong with bigamy, trigamy, or infinitigamy--making a final choice is always so dull and limiting.
worka four-letter word
An active connoisseur of leisure like you should not really be made to work, should you? You adore luxury and lovely things, but feel sure there must be easier ways to get them than by the sweat (yuck!) of your beautifully Botoxed brow. If you haven't inherited or married money, there is the courtesan/gigolo/mistress/toyboy option; OK while you're young and fit, but not very secure, and you love security.
So you go for "work" that suits your style; it doesn't matter what you do, as long as it doesn't involve actual work, ugly clothes, or unpleasant locations, and there are enough people to make up a quorum of admirers. You were teacher's pet at school, and it doesn't take you more than a toss of your curls to be the boss's pet at work. (You have never seen anything wrong with the casting-couch system.) Once embedded, your work tools of choice are lethal charm, power flirting (with all genders), and high-caliber manipulation. You look soft and easy (a big girl's blouse is a great disguise), but in any situation you are always working out what's in it for you; you constantly flutter your long, Hollywood eyelashes so that rivals don't get a chance to look into your cold, calculating eyes.
What you are really good at is looking busy, while doing nothing but surfing for your next vacation; you're equally skilled at gliding serenely across the treacherous lake of office politics while paddling like fury below the surface. Surely they don't expect you to put in all that effort and get some work done as well, do they?
DREAM JOBS
As we all know, you are allergic to the words "work" and "job," so while you are blagging your way to promotion, you dream of painless careers--in which you get shedloads of cash and your picture in all the best mags, while doing something you'd do anyway for fun. Here are two:
Fashion maven
Achingly chic in head-to-toe black (black is the new black), you dictate what everyone else should wear, which means that you get to make people who are more successful than you look ugly and foolish, ha-ha.
Spin doctor
It's the old-straw-into-gold routine: take any piece of info, especially the dull or damaging kind, and spin it in a web of silken verbiage until it gleams. You make Rumpelstiltskin look like an amateur.
crimes and misdemeanorshow bad could it get?
So what sort of criminal would you be, if sociopathy became the new world order? How would you spend your days (or maybe nights) if you really lived on the Darkside? Well, they do say that the Devil makes work for idle hands, and few mitts are more idle than yours, Libra, so you should slide effortlessly into a life of crime--but of the deluxe variety: casino heists, an audacious art scam (with you as the gorgeous, pouting, bent insurance investigator), smuggling rubies on a luxury yacht, credit-card fraud, kiting (writing dud checks). With your persuasive flirt power, you'd make a creditable industrial spy. It might be an idea to avoid upmarket jewel theft--you'd still be dithering over whether to snatch the emeralds or the sapphires while the alarm bells yammered. And you always avoid doing anything that involves violence to the person (especially your own).
Of course you respect the law; the scales of justice belong to Libra, after all; maybe, because they do, you believe you know exactly how to tip them in your favor. While you might privately admit to a fair cop if you really have done the dirty, you will be outraged if mistakenly charged for the one crime you did not actually commit. You are very at home in court, radiating innocence and rueful charm in the dock so that impressionable jury members (and some judges) fall in love with you and let you off.
If your charm stalls, and you are locked up, the screws just dust out your usual cozy cell and compete with each other to bring your early morning tea.
WHEN SCALES GO WRONG
Libran misdemeanors are la crème de la crime; they are designed to replace work (nasty cold word) and capitalize on Libra's many natural assets--calm, poise, discretion: so no violence, adrenaline, or tight corners, and always some poor devoted sap to take the rap.
Credit-card fraudster
An ideal career move for the bored shopaholic: you know exactly what to buy for quick and easy disposal, and your charm keeps the sales clerks so enchanted that they don't look too closely at the signature.
Fence
Paradise! You get to look at, handle, and fantasize about luxury goods, art, antiques, and jewelry, then you get to manipulate rival buyers; no one threatens you because you've got the goods on everyone.
at homelove shack
You live in a darling little cottage or a stylish loft, or a bijou townhouse or the penthouse suite of a cosmopolitan hotel, depending on the wallet size of whichever dear friend (usually Taurus) is footing the bill. Between essential frock shopping and agonizing over what flavor cheesecake to order in from the deli (or room service), you fidget constantly with the decor and the soft furnishings. You adore visitors as long as they come in braces or trios, so that you can group them at certain angles for exquisite symmetry, but will send them out of the room if their clothes clash with the drapes.
DOMESTIC DISHARMONY
Aries—they lock you out of the bathroom while they strip down a vintage V8 they got on eBay.
Taurus—they refuse to let you rearrange their cushions.
Gemini—they blackmail any influential people they bump into outside your boudoir.
Cancer—they fill the refrigerator shelves with food so there is no room for your makeup.
Leo—they expect to be waited on hand and foot; so do you.
Virgo—constantly tut-tutting under their breath about something they call the rent.
Libra—no chaise is longue enough to accommodate both of you at the same time.
Scorpio—they throw out the flowers you kindly arranged to soften the angles of their room.
Sagittarius—they bring their mates around and practice drop-kicks with your raw-silk cushions.
Capricorn—they blow out all your scented candles, claiming they are a fire hazard.
Aquarius—their overstuffed bookshelves ruin your feng shui.
Pisces—they fill up their fish bowl and the pink champagne you keep for special guests.
Decor
Tasteful yet restless; one tiny patch of wall is pockmarked with paint samples of previous seasons--les beiges d'antan, a fossil record of your chameleon taste. Guests often get the unnerving feeling that there are more of them than actually came in: that'll be the multi-mirror effect.
Sharing the Libra lovenest
As long as they are babes, new batches of sacrificial maidens and youths are always welcome chez Libra (you can always use the extra cash, even though you're not actually paying the rent). They have to bring their own mirrors, stick to your bathroom rota, and be prepared to move on quickly when you fire the current meal ticket.
playtimethe darkside of fun
Your many vacations are designed to let the rest of the world watch you doing what you do best--nothing, but with style. And though you don't like to blow your own trumpet (mainly because it ruins your bridge-work), you would like to point out that, were it not for you, entire economies would crash. You would never dream of self-catering when you can support whole villages by staying in multistar hotels and ordering room service every hour. And how could you refuse to support local shops, fascinating markets, and megastores by selflessly burning plastic throughout your waking hours? Where would the indigenous hammock and cocktail-umbrella industries be without your unflinching dedication to idle pleasure? And how would the more attractive young locals learn a second language, and so improve their prospects, if you weren't as admirable assiduous as you are in the vacation romance area? And they say Librans don't work hard!
Vacations from hell
* Anything with Sagittarius or Gemini that involves walking further than from the lobby to the pool, or carrying anything heavier than your makeup bag.
* A wilderness adventure; there are no shops, and there won't be anyone to flirt with once you've seduced your companions, Aquarius and Scorpio.
* A working vacation cleaning up the environment with a**l-retentive Virgo; you might sweat, break a nail, or look slightly unattractive in overalls.
Road rage
Driving is a bit too much like hard work, so you avoid it, relying instead on the kindness of strangers, your account with a taxi company (funded by a dear friend), or a limo-hire firm (funded by an even dearer friend). When an incredibly dear friend gives you a car of your own, you very sweetly exchange it for an automatic, or hire a young chauffeur. People don't let you have maps, not after they have experienced one of your 48-hour which-route-is-best sessions.
Gamesmanship
You don't like games that make you sweaty, so you persuade everyone else to play something you know you can win. This is usually Monopoly. If you do lose, you sulk petulantly (but prettily) until the other players bend the rules to let you back into the game. If you had anything so uncouth as a ball, you would take it home only if it hadn't got dirty.
