Predicting the Future

I'll be honest--I'd made plans for blog posts for the entire week.  But today was too stressful for too many reasons that I'll elaborate upon later, and I just couldn't make something with a narrative structure come together.

However...I did take an extremely long bath to decompress from the day.  And while singing The Dixie Chicks: The Hits (this doesn't exist, that I know of, other than in my head), I noticed that my hands were incredibly wrinkly and the lines in my palms were deep and prominent 

So, dear readers, I'd like to invite you to take a stab at reading my palms.  As far as I can tell from my reading on the internets during periods of extreme boredom, there are a few schools of thought with palm reading.  Some want to read the left hand, some the right.  Below, I've included both for your future-reading pleasure.

In the future, perhaps I'll visit an actual palm reader in Austin.  Because as all Girls fans know, this is where the magic happens.

Photo credit: http://25.media.tumblr.com/40a5123a068c7fd00388b583010db566/tumblr_mhdbu0Y6mv1qzv4fjo1_500.png

So here are my palms.  Predict away in the comment section, if you please.

Here's Righty:

Photo credit: http://www.verbalmigration.com/skeptic-palm-reading/skeptic-palm-reading.jpg

And Lefty:

Photo credit: http://www.chuanonline.com/images/palm%20reading%20diagram%20illustrated.jpg

If, and when , I do visit a palm reader, I'll post about the experience.  A gift goes to the person with the closest analysis of my wrinkly palms.

Post your readings below.

The Internet Dating Chronicles: eHarmony and the End Times

About a year ago, I grew frustrated with the men I was meeting through OkCupid, a free online dating website.  They were cute and funny on their profiles and in messages, but in person, they weren't great for a a variety of reasons.  A few were Ok, but they were clearly looking for something other than what I had to offer--bigger boobs? lower BMI? a smaller head? less sweat? dating with all the "perks" and none of the exclusivity and emotional connections? Could be any one of them.

So I decided to sign up for eHarmony.  What can I say?  I fell for the advertising.  A huge quiz that makes me feel like a teenager with the best edition of Cosmo ever that will match me with my soulmate?! Sign me up!  I thought that a paid service with all those questions might lead me to men who were looking for something a little more serious.  Because, let's face it, I've always been more on the serious side when it comes to relationships, even though I tried my damnedest to change that in my year of internet dating.

Well, eHarmony was no better than OkCupid in the end.  The only benefits were that I finally started weeding out some "matches" based on their initial contact before we suffered through the awkward first date.

If you've never used eHarmony (take a moment to thank your lucky stars), here's how it works.  If you see a profile you like in the mix of gentlemen holding Samurai swords on the beach and dudes hanging out with small children in a way that makes them look kind of like pedophiles, you have three options:

1. The Wussy Option: send an "icebreaker" with a pre-written statement like "your profile brought a smile to my face" and hope he responds
2. The Internet-Socially Acceptable Option: hit "start communication" and send a list of 5 multiple choice questions written by the good Christian folks at eHarmony.  These questions fall in a range between "which activity would you prefer on a Saturday night?" to "What is the relationship like between your parents?"
3. The Balls-to-the-Wall Option: screw all the eHarmony nonsense and go straight to direct messaging.  

I've weeded guys out from their profiles plenty, but I got more savvy about paying attention to their responses in the initial communication phases.  In Option 2, the second stage of communication asks you to send a list of "must haves" and "can't stands" to each other.  If he says he must have someone who is organized, I take that as code for neat freak who couldn't handle even a little clutter.  Goes in the no pile.  If he says he can't stand someone who is depressed, I take that as doesn't want to hear about my feelings at all, especially anything I'm unhappy about.  Goes in the no pile.

But if we get past that point, you get to send three open-ended questions to each other.  For me, this is the fun part.  You, again, choose from a pre-configured list of options like "how does life look for you right now?", "if you had three wishes, what would you ask for?", or "describe your best friend."  Here, you also have the option of creating your own questions, which can be helpful if you like nearly everything you've seen so far, but all those photos of him in bars bug you or you think he might be a mama's boy based on his in depth description of how inspiring she is when the question specifies that he should not talk about his parents.

After that clearance, it's on to normal messaging.  And after that, it usually doesn't take long before you actually meet in person.  Imagine that!

I'll be writing to you about the three gentlemen I met through eHarmony (and OkCupid) in the next few weeks, though likely not in the order in which I met them (I do what I want!).  Here's a few of the gems from eHarmony I'll be writing about:

• The Doctor: this guy took the Balls-to-the-Wall approach since he was in his last few weeks of his subscription to eHarmony.  He was the most intimidating on paper but like a fluffy bunny in person.
• Lady Name: this guy took the socially acceptable approach.  He was my first and only fellow teacher and the most frustratingly awkward ending of a date.
• Male Nurse: I took the Wussy approach with him.  He was so stinkin' handsome.  I still get a little sweaty thinking about his face.  Sadly, we only went out twice.

Obviously, I wasn't so impressed by any of these dates or guys I saw online that I continued meeting these people in person.  I just couldn't take any more bad dates.  I think I had somewhere between 10-15 bad dates over the course of a year.  Maybe that's normal for some people, but it was more than I've ever dated in my entire life.  If that's what dating is like, I think I might be ok just being on my own and dating a guy I actually like once every five years.  Maybe....  Anyway, the magical eHarmony system did not match me to my soul mate, or even a kindred spirit.

This past month, knowing that my subscription is almost up, I opened my search to include  more than just the Austin area.  I included THE ENTIRE EARTH!!  

Apparently a lady like me is wildly popular in Canada.  Do they just want me for a Green Card?

At this point, the internet dating websites are just a form of entertainment.  What kook from some random place in the world wants to be loved by me today, I wonder as I click on the link in my inbox from eHarmony.

My experiment in internet dating has ended, but I will capture the good, the bad, and the ugly in a series of posts.  Get ready, friends.  It's been a bumpy ride.

Secret Single Behaviors

According to The New York Times, "1 in every 4 American households is occupied by someone living alone."  The article goes on to discuss some of the strange behaviors that humans cultivate when left to their own devices, away from the civilized world.  I will now cop to some of my own Secret Single Behaviors (SSBs) I've developed in my 8 years of living alone.  Beware: some of it isn't pretty.

Being a Filthy, Filthy Human Being
Now, if I know that people are coming over or if I have people visiting on a regular basis, I keep my humble abode pretty tidy.  The cleanest I've kept it in my adult life has been when I've had boyfriends or when I had weekly parties at my place.  But 99% of the those 8 years have been spent with me knowing that people pretty much do not come to my apartment ever.  Therefore, shit can get crazy.  Piles of laundry in the dining room.  Plates from dinner on the coffee table.  Plastic bags from HEB and Target flying about my apartment like the most beautiful thing in the world.  And personal grooming can become an issue, as well.  Some weekends, if I don't have a reason to leave the apartment and join the world, I may wear the same clothes and not bathe until Sunday evening.

Interesting Fashion Choices
Often when I come home from work, I know I'm not going out again.  That means shoes get kicked off and go flying into a pile of laundry or stack of books.  Pants drop and may not leave the spot where they fell.  And I may do one of two things--walk around for the rest of the evening in the nice shirt I wore to work and my underwear, or change into "house clothes."  House clothes are the items you never want any living person to see you in.  Some of my prized items include:

• a nightshirt my mom gave me for Christmas when I was in 3rd grade that now barely covers my ass and is so thin that you could see straight through if it weren't for the giant Santa hat wearing bear drinking cocoa on the front of it;
• a heather grey deep v-neck tee from American Apparel that has a hole the size of a cantaloupe in one of the armpits (this might be worn with comfy pants, but is more often than not worn with just underwear);
• a pair of red gingham pajama pants with hokey sunflower trim around the ankles, of which come up around my calves because I've had them since high school and have washed them so many times,
• my burnt orange UT Snuggie;
• a men's large pullover hoodie that is most comfortable to wear with the hood up;
• and any kind of fabric headband to keep the hair out of my eyes.  My current favorite has green, shiny sequins on it and makes me look like a flapper.

But my favorite fashion choice is no choice at all.  Hanging out in the buff is the way to go, my friends.

Taking Far Too Many Baths
Hugh Grant's character in About A Boy has that segment in which he describes how a man can be an island if he uses his units of time correctly.  Baths are something that fill up units of time for me.  Bored?  Take a bath.  Really bored? Take an hour long bath with a fizzy bath ball or eucalyptus scented bubble bath.  Use the time to meditate, shave your legs, get creative with *ahem* other shaving, or turn on some music and sing along because the acoustics in the bathroom really are the best, and the neighbors in your apartment complex surely love your singing voice.

Singing--A Lot
The silence of living alone can be deafening at times; therefore, the radio, my record player, itunes and Spotify are my second favorite companions in the apartment.  I will put my Bonnie Raitt record on the player and sing along with side A for one week while I make dinner and then flip it over and listen to side B the next week.  It's best when you listen and sing along obsessively to really be able to nail those notes, you know.

My Cat is My Friend
Willis is my favorite companion at home.  She's really the only one I have to talk to, unless I'm on the phone. And I talk to her a lot.  If I had a recording device running at home, I'd like to count the number of times I say the following phrases:

• "Whatcha doin, Willis?"
• "Hey pretty girl"
• "You're so pretty"
• "You're a good girl, Willis"
• and, for good measure, "What the hell, cat?!"

Technology is Also My Friend
When there's not a human to interact with, sometimes technology can fill the void.  Movie marathons!  Did you just spend an entire week watching Pride and Prejudice with your students?  Well, then...you absolutely must watch the 6 hour A&E version immediately!  You don't know how many incarnations of Mr. Darcy Colin Firth has played?  Well, look it up on Wikipedia and get swallowed into clicking on link after link for at least two hours.  No one is around to rush you, so you should just take your time.

What's Happening with the Neighbors?
When there's very little activity going on within your home, sometimes it's easy to get wrapped up in what's happening with the neighbors.  Of course, I never talk to them directly or look them in the eye.  I do my best to avoid leaving my apartment when they're walking by.  One summer, I had particularly noisy neighbors.  I'm convinced that I was awakened in the middle of the night by this woman and one of her many boyfriends having sex outside.  I was also convinced that she was a prostitute.  She had so many men in and out of that apartment at all hours of the day--I don't know what else it would have been.  This is just one of the stories I've concocted in my head through stealthily observing my neighbors through the blinds.

And, of course:

Thanks, PostSecret.

Care to share any of your SSBs?