My great friend and roommate, Sarah, was along for the festivities. We had a bagful of hours to kill before the flight back to L.A. and found ourselves in SoHo for breakfast. Right next to the café was a BIG sign; Palm Readings Five Dollars. My very unsuperstitious buddy, Sar said, “Let’s go.”

So there I was, left hand presented palm up for Linda to dissect (for those of you unfamiliar with the practice of Palmistry, the reader reads your dominant hand/palm).So there I was…

 “Hmm,” She moaned, “I see you’re a writer and an artist—a painter.”

I thought—lucky guess on the writing—but a painter? No, no, my friend; you’re way off. I had always considered myself crafty, or rather creative, but on a really amateurish level. I mean, yes, I colored between the lines second best in Kindergarten, and I could blow up balloons-two at a time-with my nose (which is pretty damned creative—and proved to be a real asset when it came to finishing the Homecoming Float in high school), but I was no Picasso.

Then Linda went on to say, “And I see you’ve already met your soul mate.”

Huge muffled chuckles erupted uncontrollably from “the peanut gallery” aka Sarah.

“And I see you’re going to be married in the next couple years and settle by the water.”

No way am I livin’ in Malibu. Shit slides into the ocean there: That was my first thought. My second was: Oh my God, if I’ve already met my soul mate I’m going to have to start recycling. If I’ve already met my soul mate… I should never date a guy I’ve never met ever again! That’s a pretty heavy duty realization.

Again, “the peanut gallery” chuckled, “That is one interesting pool of men you got to pick from, Cerasoli.”

“Shut up and give her your palm.”