Things the Fortune Teller was wrong about.

Romance

“You’re seeing someone now aren’t you?”, says this old, gay man with a southern drawl that you can see, is reading my palm. “Kind of, it’s nothing serious though.” Is my response, attempting to not give away any signs.
Is it a woman?”
“No.” But I understand how he could mistake me for lesbian.
“Odd, I’m picking up an incredibly feminine energy, that usually only happens with lesbians, transexuals, or people that have daughters.” Okay sir, so your first bet was that I too, was gay? (not that it’s a bad thing, but in my love life the last thing I need is the male gender to think I’m not pitching to their team)
So this gentleman, he has a daughter, young though. Both of them. He’s a young parent.” Well, yes and yes. But then again I’m not running around looking for DILF’s and sugar daddies.
Well honey, I sense that since you’re a Taurus, and you like stability, this one will be the one, give it two to three years, y’all gon’ elope.” This was one of the things that started out right but ended so wrong.
I was just starting to see someone at the time, he has a daughter, and they are both young. Again I found myself in the pitfalls of modern dating, which for me is a song and dance that don’t quite go together. Without getting into a crazy amount of detail, this guy I was seeing was essentially, a loser. Not one ounce of ambition, not a glimmer of intelligence, and an alcohol bill that could make the vikings shudder. Were there good things about him? Of course, he was clever and funny, but that doesn’t pay the bills and it doesn’t keep me around, not since I discovered pandora plays stand-up comedy. So I, in typical Shannon fashion, ruined it and decided to stop all communication. Which is probably the best way to handle things, if not the most efficient.
Sadly they say technology has supposedly made it easier for people to date and learn about each other, swipe left for no and right for yes and up for hell yeah. So easy a monkey could figure it out, but everytime my hopeless romantic self jumps on these sites I find that it just lowers my faith in….well mostly in my generation, and men. The act of having to scan through all the eligible bachelors within a hundred mile radius, isn’t exhausting, it’s just something that really lowers one’s hopefulness in finding the right person because here they all are and they use the following words to describe themselves.
-6’5 because that apparently matters here
-Gym head
-Just checking this out.
And my personal favorite, a blank biography. Just one or two pictures of him, one usually in a suit and the other photo being an overly candid photo where he’s looking out onto a lake, or beach, or mountain.To the men that do this I must ask, why? What are you wistfully looking at in the distance? Who has that reeled in so far? Regardless, my dating life is like a broken revolving door, they come into my life, get stuck a little, and they go out as quickly as they came and I like it that way. It’s temporary companionship and for a couple of weeks, I wake up to a daily good morning text, I get treated to dinner and movies, and then just as it becomes a routine, I drop it. Onto something new, just the way I like it. So this is the first of many Things The Fortune Teller Was Wrong About. Let’s see how many other things go horribly wrong.

Things the Fortune Teller was wrong about

So this little category called TTFTWWA, (Things The Fortune Teller Was Wrong About) is going to be wholly, fully, and completely dedicated to one singular expierience that has had me analyze and re-analyze an excessive amount of my social interactions and personal choices. To give you a long story long, (see what I did there? I’m not good at short stories.)

Once upon a time I went soul searching, A.K.A avoiding my adult life in New Orleans, upon getting my tarot cards and palm read, I realized that there were a crazy amount of things this little, gay, seventy year old man was getting right. Was it my aura? Was I gullible? Was it part of a secret camera show that will become viral years down the road? Who knows? Maybe he does. But I don’t so I’m going to go ahead a write them as they go WRONG as things tend to go in real life.

To be fair, are there still things he got right? YES! But is it fun to write about right. No, it’s fun to write about wrong anf the misfortunes in life, but to his credit these were correct.

I was vegan and healthier than ever, at the time of the reading

I did just recently move and lost a lot of my possessions.

I was seeing a guy at the time of the reading who had a child.

My favorite vegetable is spinach.

And finally my dad and I have not really seen each other in six years. (Funerals were the only exception and they weren’t his)

So with this said I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it, and takes everything with a grain of salt. This is all meant to be funny, if you feel offended just hit the home button of your phone, or hit the big ol’ exit button located at the top of your screen.

Multi-Cultural Shock

So where are you from?

It’s a question that has both plagued me and amused me since before I can remember and the answer usually starts like this, “well……so I’m Puerto Rican mixed….Dad’s German and Irish, hence Shannon Murphy ya know….but I was born in Puerto Rico by a Puerto Rican mother, raised in Pennsylvania, as you can hear by my lack of accent, and I’ve always been back and forth my whole life”. Most people have follow ups,

“So how’d you get into the country?” Well by row boat duh.

“Are you here on a visa?” Baby I’m everywhere with my visa, and mastercard, and amex….I should really work out my credit card debt…..

“So are you worried about Trump?” Aren’t you?!

But I digress. Point is, home is tricky for me. Am I home in Pennsylvania with my mother and sister? Where there’s a Wawa on every corner and we chant for the birds? E-A-G-L-E-S, EAGLES!! Or am I home when I am among the Islanders? Reminding you we are Boricua pa’que tu lo sepas, chirping with the coqui’s and filling our tummies and souls with cocina criolla.

Moving to Puerto Rico is about as easy as walking into your favorite store on payday, you can have anything and everything you want. The people will welcome you with open arms and even more open kitchens. You are welcomed with a “Siéntate vecino, dímequé pasa?” You might be put off by how loud everything is but let me tell you joy is not a quiet emotion. All the noise, the reggaeton, the bomba, the yelling, baby that’s all audible joy, that’s my people. This culture is sweet and easy and to the point.

Moving to Pennsylvania on the other hand is like walking into a Wal-Mart that has one T.V. on Black Friday and you only have 50 cents. Since moving back to PA I’ve learned a couple of things.

~DISCLAIMER~ Just because I say this doesn’t make this all true, this isn’t all Pennsylvanians, this isn’t all Americans. But this is my perception, and my perception is my reality.

So I’ve learned in PA, what matters when you talk to people?

Is it my grammar? Not really, I speak a sancocho mix anyway so that doesn’t matter.

Is it my stories? Cause I have a quite a few, want to know what the docks in Lisbon look like in summer? Or how I hung my delicates out of a Paris Apartment window to dry? How about I delight you in the story of how I turned Jimmy Buffett and his entourage away simply because I didn’t know who he was and I didn’t have time to care.

No, none of those? Catch me on a drunk day, you’ll have to hear them no matter what.

But again, what matters when you talk to people in Pennsylvania? Specifically in it’s suburban hell. Here’s some of my prime examples. “What university did you go to? Because my daughter went to a much better one.” ($105,200 at least)

“Oh, you stay in hostels? I could never sleep in a room with a bunch of strangers, that’s for people who don’t work enough to afford a nice vacation. My husband though just went to Los Angeles for an important meeting but he’s going to spend the week there for fun.” (FYI, he’s probably cheating on you. Also, $2,039 for the flight alone)

On a lucky day when I’m eavesdropping I also might hear something along the lines of, “Well I just had to have the new Tesla, my Mercedes is old” ($69,200)

Now what is my point in all this? Ultimately it is to show the insane consumerism in suburbia, and how it is absolutely ludicrous to think that name-dropping one’s “superior” or name brand items is completely asinine and that shade of green you may see me turn isn’t envy, it’s disgust. Am I saying that if you are financially capable that you should not have nice things? No. But to define your entire personality around your materialism and narcissism is in short. Obnoxious. These are the quality conversations I have had the “joy” of having since moving to housewife county.

This is nothing short of a culture shock to me. Yes, I was raised in the states for quite some time, but somehow this culture of grasping and clawing for the newest, most boujee item is not part of me. As I write this, it’s on a broken tablet/computer, I don’t even wish for an Apple Computer because why. My computer now is working the same way for me that a Mac would.

The weather is cold in Pennsylvania and read the disclaimer if you’re offended, but the people are close to the same. Yes, there are good people here but unfortunately my interactions with them have been far and few. So was I raised in Pennsylvania, yes. Am I a Pennsylvanian, a Philadelphian, a yankee? Hell to the no. I am Puerto Rican, straight from my lips, Irish looking as they may be. I am Boricua, straight from the colorful Caribe to your gated community. Enjoy my stay.

And between you and me, I am legal, educate yourself.

Meeting the world my way