So, a few weeks ago I went to this party where a beturbaned and bespectacled man was reading palms. According to him, I may have thought I moved to San Francisco for work {check} but really I moved here for love. {err ... wha?} Dude claims my "husband" lives here in San Francisco and is looking for me. The whole thing sounds rather like "Private Eyes" -- stalkeresque and freaky under a guise of melody and harmony.

Coincidentally, it is also like the song in that I can't get it out of my head, and thus find myself saddling up to the lunch counter at Mario's Bohemian Cigars, surveying my neighbor, and thinking {gasp!} "Oh no! Maybe that's him!"

Just months ago I could have remedied this situation by looking at my very own palmistry book, but sadly I left it with the cry baby at the Greenwich Starbucks because such texts were rendering my suitcase too heavy to check on a U.S. aircraft. Criminey.