You Light Up My Life

Ever wonder what the pop hits of your birth year say about you? Well look no further! This Web site creates constellations and birth signs based on what topped the Billboard charts the day you were born.

Sadly, I arrived in the world during the year of Debby Boone, which gives me the fantastic personality trait of initially getting along well with tons of people who later grow sick and tired of me and want me out of their lives. Yay. Give it a try, though, and let me know what you get.

Enough with the Subtle Hints Already

You know how sometimes you have a dream about someone you used to know and you wake up thinking, "I wonder what they're up to now?" Somehow, though, as you go about your day, the impact of the dream fades and you totally forget about the person again. Well, my subconscious is doing everything in its power to keep me from forgetting. In fact, it reminds me at least once a month (if not bi-weekly) that I haven't seen one person in particular for quite some time.

While the setting of the dream always changes, the content is almost always the same. I'm somewhere, doing something mundane, when I see one of my best friends from high school walking ahead of me. And no matter what I do--scream his name, run after him, get in his face and say, "but don't you remember me?"--he never acknowledges me. It's like he's blind or I'm some kind of ghost wandering through a past that might have been or a future that could be. At times, my desperation in these dreams reaches a fevered pitch until my screams become sobs that echo through the empty street, room or parking lot he invariably leaves me in.

Every once in a while, my subconscious gives me a break and he turns around. But even then, he's always looking at me with stony eyes. Only once has he run back to me, happy to see me and joyful at an unexpected reunion.

Despite the inevitable bleakness of what I'll call my U2 Dreams (the reasoning for which is for me to know and you to find out), I always wake up feeling like I've seen an old friend--and old friend I miss more than anyone else I've ever met in my life. I always think that I should stop by where he works (almost directly across the street from Bill's house) and just say hello. But then I chicken out or forget, only to be reminded at most a month later when the dream recurs.

The truth of the matter is--and anyone as clever as your average housefly will have figured this out by now--I'm afraid to see him because I dread the walking away he does so easily in the dream. If I suddenly drop into his life for real after eight years, will he just keep running, pretending he doesn't see me? Or will it be like the one fabulous dream, the one I tried not to wake from, when he smiled the smile I once knew like the back of my hand and told me just how much he missed me?

I know dreams are just neurons firing in random patterns while my body gets the rest it needs, but I can't keep ignoring the U2 dreams. One of these days I'll have to find out for myself if he twists and turns away or if I've found what I'm looking for. Maybe then the subtle hints from my subconscious will subside.

The Sound of Silence

Defying Gravity has been quiet lately, I know. In fact, I check it daily just in case some kind of miraculous post appears without my knowledge. Between work, class and some major life changes, I've been a busy girl. I hope to write a few real posts soon, among them:

Food for Thought: Why I wish people would just shut up and eat;
The Key To Independence: Finally moving out on my own;
My Stupid Mouth: Self-explanatory

I apologize to any loyal readers out there who might be disappointed in me. Stay tuned!

What Are the Odds?

The Vegas oddsmakers have numbers on everything from who's favored to win the Super Bowl to the most likely reject from the latest reality debacle. But do they know the chances of one of Susie's ex-boyfriends being gay? Well, I do. And you should place your bets now, ladies and gentlemen, because odds are 50/50 that someone who in the past declared his undying affection for yours truly will find himself in the loving arms of the man of his dreams not long after I'm out of the picture.

That's right, I've had four relationships with men I've considered "boyfriends" and two of them, I believe, have announced that they are gay. Of those two, only one officially came out to me (forcing me to spew wedding soup all over the table at TGIFridays is surprise). The other, though not officially gay, exhibits definite personality quirks that make me think he might be part of the rainbow connection. He was always what I liked to think of as cultured--he liked the theater, dressed well, smelled nice most of the time and always made nice with my parents. But today I discovered two important facts that lead me from "cultured" to "very possibly gay": he drives an orange VW Bug and in its window is the sticker "EqualityNC." After doing a little research (read: stalking), I realized that Equality is a LGBT activist group in North Carolina. As this man never had an activist bone in his body, I assume (perhaps incorrectly) that he's gay. (And while the orange VW Bug thing is obviously stereotypical, I do wonder what straight man would buy a Bug….)

The first guy--the one who made me spew soup--wasn't a surprise. We had dated for a while and something just seemed off. I was almost relieved to learn that he wasn't into girls--made me feel like it wasn't really my fault that it hadn't worked out.

But this latest discovery comes close to shocking me. I haven't seen this guy in years, but he's the only person I've ever dated who gave me a happily-ever-after feeling. Sadly, he went to a snobby college and turned into a complete jackass, leading to a nasty breakup during which I believe I called his mother a bitch. But my point is that while we dated, I really thought he was the only person who could ever make me happy. Come to think of it, no one has made me quite as happy since.

In my own egocentric way, I can't help wondering what all this says about me. Say 50 percent of my ex-boyfriends ARE gay….Am I somehow responsible? Do I push them to the edge and make them realize women just aren't all they're cracked up to be? Am I that bad? Or do I just have lousy luck? And what does it say about me that my most meaningful relationship ever may have been with a gay man in straight clothing?

Whatever his sexual preference, I hope Mr. VW Bug has discovered some kind of happiness. He spent most of his life in boarding schools, desperately waiting for someone to just love him without demands or insane expectations. If the nice guy I loved still exists anywhere inside him, he's probably still trying to fit in and win people's affections. Or he could still be the Jackass who once told me that I had a 4.0 GPA because I "took classes like aerobics." I hope it's the former. But really, what are the odds?

Cure for the Common Cold

Someone out there at the big drug companies (hint hint Alison) needs to develop a pill that lets you sleep through the first 48 hours of a cold. Perhaps it could be an every-12-hours kind of thing, so you'd wake up once in a while to go to the bathroom and drink some orange juice before heading back to sleepyland. For two entire, blissful days you could sleep through the runny nose, sore skin, headache and eyeballs so hot that you swear your eyelids will catch fire if you close them. You'd wake up much later, slightly dehydrated but with the worst of the cold symptoms behind you. You wouldn't struggle to breathe through your mouth or break a sweat with the minimal effort of taking a shower. No way. You'd miss it all while you slept like a baby. It's perfect.