You're Never Weird On The Internet (Almost) [sampler]

[What Avatar Should I Be?]

Forming my identity with video game morality tests. And how that led to my first kiss with a Dragon in a Walmart parking lot.

Knowing yourself is life's eternal homework. (Another coffee mug slogan!) We have to dig and experiment and figure out who the hell we are from birth to death, which is super inconvenient, right? And embarrassing. Because as teenagers we do all that soul searching through our clothing choices. Which we later have photographic evidence of for shaming purposes. Hippie, sporty, goth, I have an adorable sampling of all my more mortifying phases.

That "mom jeans" picture calls for a postview eye bleaching, huh?

Because I was homeschooled, there are huge holes in my identity that I constantly have to trowel over. Answers to basic, "truth or dare" questions like:

■ If you could trade places with one person for a day, who would it be? (I guess Beyoncé because . . . amazing hair reasons?)

■ If society broke down, what store would you loot first? (A drug store for tampons? Sorry, dudes, for mentioning tampons in the book.)

■ What kind of tattoo would you get? (Um . . . a hummingbird- fairy-dragon creature? Legolas on my right ass cheek? I HAVE NO IDEA, STOP PRESSURING ME!)

I AM covered in the "What superpower would you wish for?" area. I've been asked that question a million times, because, you know, the nerd thing. I would want to be able to speak all languages. I don't even know ONE other language outside of key menu items like "ta- male" and "fondue," but whenever I hear a tourist who can't speak English struggling to get directions, I dream of being able to step in, no matter what the language, but especially German since it's emphatic, and fix the problem. Then I accept their thanks with a wave of the hand. "Es ist nicht, mein freunde!" In my imagination, I meet a lot of amazing people this way, especially heiresses of castles whom I visit in Europe the following year, anointed as, "The American who saved my vacation last summer."

Moving on.

As I grew up, I was bothered more and more by the bigger picture of "Who am I?" Science didn't seem to have much guidance except for one section about personality disorders in my dad's college psychology textbook. And those were a disappointment, because I didn't seem psychotic enough to qualify for any of them. So around the wise old age of twelve, I decided that fortune-telling was the key to learning about who I was. The obsession started with a Teen Beat magazine personality quiz, "What perfume are you?" (Fruity BTW, no surprise) and rolled onward from there.

I studied graphology, the art of handwriting analysis, which con- firmed that I was an introvert and inspired me to start slanting my words to the right instead of the left (According to the book, left was the mark of a serial killer.) Numerology, where the letters in your name add up into a single number, told me that I was a "1," which gave me the great excuse to go around saying, "I'm a number one!" I liked that subject a lot. And later, the lost art of phrenology told me that one of my skull bumps was linked to an excess of philobrutism (fondness for pets), which is totally true. My favorite movie is Babe, and if you even hum the theme song to it, I WILL start crying. One time I was introduced to James Cromwell, who played a gruff farmer in the movie, and I burst into tears when I touched his hand. Because it was so big and warm and he DANCED FOR HIS PIG.

But out of all the esoteric techniques I played around with, my favorite ended up being Western Astrology. Because I loved space. At the time, my TV crush was Commander William T. Riker from Star Trek: The Next Generation. He traveled the stars, I was studying them, those things seemed to add up to, "FATE CALLING! DISCOVER WHO YOU ARE SO WE CAN TRAVEL THE GALAXIES TOGETHER, BELOVED ENSIGN!"

At first I was disappointed that I'm a Cancer, and my birthstone is the pearl. I mean, one's a deadly disease, the other is a gem for grandmas. I wanted to be born in October, because opals are the prettiest, but what could I do? My parents did the deed in September. Hello, unfashionable June baby. Aside from those problems, though, everything else was spot on. My sign said I was a homebody. Check. I was sensitive. Sobbing double check. My Venus was in Taurus, so I would be a constant lover, which I already knew, because I'd read Hawthorne. I understood what happened to ladies with loose garters.

From start to finish, the astrology thing was so convincing that I went ahead and let the rules of Cancerdom become the rules of my life. I started doing all the chores for the cats and dogs because I was a "nurturer." Whenever I got into a fight with my brother, I'd scream, "I can't help it! You crossed into my COMFORT ZONE!" Of all the recommended Cancerian jobs, I settled on "antique dealer," and started collecting books on pottery patterns from the 1920s in order to get a head start on my future career.

"Mom, for Christmas I want this Roseville Calla Lily vase. The pattern is just MARVELOUS."

I yearned to spread my new cosmic knowledge to other people in my life. Which . . . weren't many. My only option beyond my brother (who was SO Leo) were the girls I knew in ballet class. We'd exchanged words while waiting to do piqué turns across the floor a few times, so we were pretty much besties. I brought my astrology books with me to my next lesson and, in between tap class and pointe class, tried to transform a few fellow young lives.

"Heather, you're a Libra, so your struggle will mostly be with vanity and validating yourself outside your looks."

"Stop saying you'll never be able to do three pirouettes, Jackie! You're an air sign; it's totally gonna happen!"

"Will you pass history class? Oooh, you're a Pisces with the Moon in . . . ugh. Give it up, Tina."

Turns out the girls loved having their own private psychic in the changing room. I convinced my mom to drop me off at class a half hour early for "stretching" and started consulting with all the dancers on parental problems, summer school plans, you name it. A lot of them brought in birthdays of boys they liked in order to see how their charts aligned. I'm pretty sure my advice led to a few de-virginizations. It was an awesome change from no one wanting to talk to the weird homeschooled girl! I'd finally found a way to relate to other kids. It was fulfilling. And made me popular. And eventually I got shut down.

Miss Mary, my dance teacher, stopped me one day when I arrived. "Felicia, what are you carrying?"

"Um, just a few books." There were fifteen stacked up to my chin. I'd just discovered Chinese Astrology and I Ching and couldn't wait to tell Jennifer about the guy she crushed on, Simon. Sadly, his stubborn Tiger traits would always keep them apart.

"Megan's mom doesn't like her learning about astrology. I'm going to have to ask you to stop talking about it with the girls."

"But it's the science of the stars!"

"She thinks it's Satanic. You gave her daughter a pentagram." "It's a natal chart, duh. You can't let ignorance trump science here, Miss Mary!"

Nothing I said could persuade her. She was a Taurus. Once her mind was made up, it was over.

I was forced to hang up my crystal ball, and eventually the girls stopped talking to me again. (And they probably made terrible life choices they could have avoided if they hadn't been deprived of my insight, thanks to Megan's mom.) I was upset but soon bounced back and was able to move on to another, more accessible place for friend- ship and identity exploration: The online world.

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