Taryn gave me this pamphlet that arrived in the mail this morning at the office. I don't know what's worse: the title (Messages of the Stars? How new-age cheesy can you get? I know what she's trying to say, but the wording just ain't right. "Dear Polaris, Don't forget to pick up milk. Love, Orion's Belt"), or that this poor girl looks like she has a black eye. It's called concealer, Honey. Use it if your man popped you in your right eye last night because his dinner wasn't ready on time. And next time you better make damn sure that supper is on the table at 6 o'clock SHARP. You hear me?? Love, The Stars.