Man, I spent so much time trying to figure out that whole Scorpio woman and Virgo man thing. I wasn’t doing it for fun or reading some magazine in the checkout line. I was doing it because my life was a total train wreck, and I needed something—anything—to explain why the person I was working with, who was also the person I was living with, was constantly trying to burn down the entire operation.
I’m a classic Virgo. I like lists. I like the schedule. If you tell me to build a fence, I measure three times and cut once. She was pure, unadulterated Scorpio energy. She didn’t want the fence; she wanted the drama of building the fence, then immediately tearing it down and secretly plotting to build a moat instead. It was exhausting.
The Startup Spiral
We started this small media consulting firm together, which was my first mistake. I laid out the business plan. I color-coded the spreadsheets. I had the five-year projection with contingencies for market shifts and global pandemics. I felt ready. The first week, she threw out my Gantt chart because, as she put it, “It lacks a certain edge.”
I tried to manage the logistics. I signed the leases. I handled the payroll. I managed the client deliverables. But every single time I put structure in place, she came in like a wrecking ball. She loved the high-intensity chaos. She thrived on pitching huge, impossible ideas to clients and then leaving me to figure out how to pull it off with zero budget and 48 hours notice. I’m a Virgo, I adapt, but my adaptability is a slow, methodical process, not a sudden, dramatic pivot. It created this deep, toxic resentment.
Here’s what I learned about that compatibility score through sheer, painful experience:
- The Virgo man thinks the Scorpio woman is a ticking time bomb he can defuse with a memo.
- The Scorpio woman thinks the Virgo man is a buzzkill she can ignite with passion.
- Neither of us was right, and all we did was clash until the whole thing imploded.
The final straw was the big presentation for that pharmaceutical company. I had everything prepped, the data was solid, and the slides were beautiful and factual. She walked in ten minutes before the pitch and tossed out the entire deck. She demanded we use this moody, abstract photo montage she’d put together the night before, backed by some obscure 80s techno track. We lost the contract, obviously. When I confronted her, she looked at me and said, “It’s better to fail spectacularly than succeed boringly.”
Hitting Rock Bottom and the Exit Strategy
That loss basically finished the firm. It was a spectacular failure, just like she wanted. I was left holding the bag—I mean, the actual legal debt. Suddenly, the woman who loved ‘intensity’ and ‘edge’ decided she needed a ‘change of scenery’ and was gone. I spent the next four months living on instant noodles and trying to untangle the financial mess she left behind. Every single spreadsheet she touched was a disaster, a true masterpiece of emotional accounting. My Virgo brain almost shut down from the stress.
I had zero income. My savings, which I had carefully amassed for years, were gone. I was sitting there, looking at these online compatibility scores, trying to find a reason why someone I trusted could just torch everything. The internet told me we should have been a “power couple.” The reality was we were a controlled demolition.
I realized I had to totally ditch that industry. I couldn’t handle the drama anymore. I started sending out resumes for the most mind-numbingly boring jobs I could find. No creativity. No ‘edge.’ Just clear, unambiguous tasks.
I ended up landing a job in local government procurement. Yeah, seriously. Procurement. It’s glorious. I deal with bids for office supplies and utility vehicles. It’s nine-to-five. It’s unionized. We have seven different types of leave. My biggest daily stress is making sure the forms are filed in triplicate.
I found out later, maybe a year and a half into my new, steady gig, that her new venture had also stalled out. She called me. Tried to add me on social media. She used a bunch of cryptic language about how she “missed my grounding influence” and how “we were a force.” Then she straight-up offered me a partnership, saying she’d even pay me back the old debt, plus an extra ten percent if I came back to “handle the details.”
I looked at my desk, covered in precisely organized folders and laminated flow charts, and I just laughed. I immediately blocked her number and all her social accounts. The compatibility score? It doesn’t matter what some chart says. My real compatibility score is with a guaranteed 401k match and a predictable Tuesday.
That toxic mix of passion and structure only guarantees one thing: a massive clean-up job for the Virgo man. I cleaned up the mess once. I’m not doing it again.
