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For a while before I got married, I stopped believing in soulmates. I don't know if I ever told anybody that, but I felt like it was a childish fairytale and that I had outgrown it.

I thought that finding Love was more or less about statistics...how compatible you were with somebody. I wanted to pick it apart so I could figure out exactly what kind of guy was for me.

Since I met Jay, though, I've realized that's not how it's supposed to work. Dissecting it is cheating. Trying to figure it out scientifically isn't going to give you your answer.

This is an analogy that Jay pointed out to me, but have you ever seen Nightmare Before Christmas? Jack is trying to figure out what exactly makes Christmas....Christmas. He takes all of these Christmas-y things, like ornaments and toys and snowflakes and starts taking them apart and examining them under microscopes...and he gets the idea of Christmas...but he doesn't get the essence. There's that x factor that he just can't figure out by looking at it scientifically.

It's the same way with Love. And that's why things like eHarmony.com bug me. You know how you feel cheated if you find out that your favorite band started because some executive at a record company said, "Hey...this image would make some money, let's stick you and you and you and you together and make you into a band."? It's the same way with eHarmony. They cheated.

There's no shortcut for figuring out who you're supposed to be with. Sure, you can find somebody that you are pretty darn compatible with...but that's besides the point.

I'm not saying that there is only one single person in this world that you can make it work with. That would be silly. There are any number of people that you could make a relationshp work with...but there's only one Right one.

I know that I'm only 19 years old and what do I know...but...trust me here, as someone who tried to dissect Love her whole life.

When I thought I was in love with Kevin...if someone would have asked me what exactly it was that made me think that he was right for me, I could list off a whole bunch of things, a cornucopia of reasons that he and I would work together. And I'm sure we could have.

But...with Jay, ask me how I know he's the One...ask me just what it is that makes me know that he's for me...and it's simply, "He is." I can't explain it, I can't dissect it...it just is.

eHarmony prides itself on being "the first service within the online dating industry to use a scientific approach to matching highly compatible singles". Well that's all fine and dandy, but your "profile" can't tell me if my "suitable match" can make me laugh so hard I fall on the ground. It can't tell me whether he'll eat my infamous brownies, even if they do break the laws of physics. It can't tell me if he'll ever make me take a day off just because he wants to spend extra time with me, or if he'll look at me like I'm the only woman in the world, or if he'll stay up with me till 3 in the morning playing video games or...or any of the things that are truly important.

There are 6 billion people in this world...of course odds are some of them are going to be compatible with my routines, my habits, my beliefs, my personality...but how can you tell me they'll be compatible with my soul?

You can't. eHarmony...the shortcut for impatient people. Go ahead and take your compatibility test...but the real thing...the Right one...is worth waiting for.

Trust me.

(Originally written on May 18, 2007)

Okay...so I usually don't rag on McDonald's people too much because it's a crappy job with low pay. But I have recently moved to a town in which the only way to describe the employees is, as my good friend put it, "McTarded".

So the other day, I'm at the drive-thru and I order a chocolate sundae, an Oreo McFlurry, and a Hot and Spicy Chicken, with just swiss cheese. Not hard, right? Especially since I made sure to speak very slowly and clearly, knowing this particular McDonalds has problems knowing the difference between Swiss and American cheese.

I get up to the window and the girl hands me my bag of food and says, "Have a nice day!"

Me: Wait, I had a McFlurry and a sundae too.
Her: Oh, sorry, hold on!

She comes back with a sundae with just ice cream. I look at it and ask, "Is there chocolate in there?" She looks all befuddled and says, "Oh...you wanted chocolate?" Like it was some novel idea. I grit my teeth and patiently say yes.

While she is fixing my sundae I happen to check the chicken sandwiches, and they have American cheese, not swiss on them. When she comes back with my sundae and my mcflurry, I tell her that I ordered them with swiss cheese and I got American. She again says sorry and takes them back to be fixed.

By this time there's someone behind me waiting so when I get the two new chicken sandwiches, I pull around to the parking lot to make sure they're right. They have swiss cheese on them this time, but they also have everything else on them.

I pull back around and tell the girl that all I wanted were two hot and spicy chicken sandwiches with just swiss cheese...and these had everything on them. She told me to pull to the window, and what do you know, third time's a charm, the manager had to bring me my sandwiches, I guess to ensure that they are all right. They finally were.

So today, when I go back to McDonald's with pretty much the same order, I already expect trouble. So in a very loud and clear voice, I say that I would like two Hot and Spicy McChicken Sandwiches with JUST SWISS Cheese please. She repeats back to me, "Just cheese?" And I say again, "SWISS CHEESE, Please."

We pull up to the window and it's the exact same girl from the other day, and me being eternally optimistic, hopes that she remembers me and my particular order from the other day.

She doesn't. I get American cheese. This time, I actually park and go inside the McDonald's, where the girl sees me and the first words that blurt out of her mouth are, "I'm sorry!"

Then, she quickly collects herself, decides to save her ass and says, "What's wrong?" In a way that screams, "I KNOW FULL WELL WHAT'S WRONG BUT IT'S THE SECOND TIME IN A ROW AND I'M NOT GOING TO GET CHEWED OUT OVER CHEESE!"

I tell her, "I ordered Swiss Cheese on these and I got American."

She replies, and this part boils my blood, "Well...I didn't hear you say swiss, but we'll fix them anyway." Like she was doing me a favor.

Okay. Seriously. How freaking hard is it to do your McJob? I know that the array of different types of McCheese that McDonald's offers may be overwhelming, but if you concentrate real hard, you might remember that Swiss cheese is the white one. With all the holes in it. Let me draw you a freaking McDiagram.

I mean...it boggles my mind. It makes me dumber just thinking about it. The next time I go there, I am going to say, "Hot and Spicy Chicken with JUST Swiss cheese. That's S-W-I-S-S...it's the white one with all the little holes in it. I have a picture right here with me that I can give you when I come up to the window." And I bet anybody $10 that they will STILL get it wrong.

They should require a PhD to work at McDonald's because apparently it is way too hard for everybody else.

A McDiploma. That's what we need.

Anyone remember the good old days when a grill was something you cooked on, peeps were an easter candy, a crib was something a baby slept in, and shorty was an insult? Now they're ridiculous caps for your teeth; your friends; your house; and your girlfriend.

Yeah. I don't know about the rest of you, but some of the crazy words that people come up with today make me want to rip out their tongue--and my hair. "Don't be hatin' on my baby daddy, bizzatch!" makes me want to vomit. Here are some of the different types of words that you will *never* hear me saying...thank God.

Words that make you sound like you're a kid: Okay. So the cover of Cosmo this month has an article about your "Va-jay-jay". For those of us who aren't two years old anymore, that's also known as the "Vagina". Say it with me..."Va-gin-a".

Also, when you have a child who is about to come out of your Va-gin-a, you are pregnant. Not preggers. Preggers reminds me of 14 year old valley girls who would say, "Oh my god, I'm, like, totally preggers!"

While we're on the subject of pregnant women, they are also not preggo. That's a spaghetti sauce. Unless they're going to give birth to lasagna, they are preg-nant. With a baby coming out of their va-gin-a.

Words that make you sound like you have a serious lisp: Okay...I don't know about you guys, but when I was younger, if you failed to pronounce certain letters correctly, you were sent to speech class. Particularly if you had trouble with your R's, in words such as gangsta, balla, wanksta, a'ight, and soulja (<---*That* kid would also be sent to a seriously remedial spelling class, along with the kids who spelled that 4-legged animal 'd-a-w-g', the ones who listen to Fergie and now spell tasty 't-a-s-t-e-y', the poor children who keep putting a ph- at the beginning of the word 'fat', and the very sad little kid who spelled 'owned' with a p and a 3 in it who would just be disowned by his family (Not dispwn3d).).

And forget it if you added letters to words, you were just hopeless. Things like 'bizzounce', 'bizzotch', 'off the heezy', and 'fo shizzle my nizzle' would have you rushed to the nurses office for the fear that you were having a seizure (Seiz-izzle?)

Primitive cavemen words: Don't know if you believe in cavemen or not, but if they *did* exist, their vocabulary probably consisted of a lot of grunts and sounds such as 'booyah', 'di'nt' (as pronounced in today's "Oh no you di'int), and 'uh', which seems to be by far the most frequently used word in rap songs today. Don't get mad at me if you grunt an unintelligable word at me and I laugh in your face. I speak English, not Caveman-ese.

Chat Speak: Okay, so these are more words that you would never see me type rather than hear me speak, but it seriously annoys me when people type things such as 'lyk' 'srsly' and 'o rly?'. Okay, people, typing 4 extra letters to the phrase "Oh really?" does not take such an obscene amount of extra time that you should just give up hope and abandon vowels altogether. If I respond strangely because I think you're typing in some long-lost dead language Salvidorian shorthand, you need to crack open your dictionary and learn how to spell.

To wrap things up here, I just thought I'd let you know that if you talk like a 3-year old, a valley girl, a person with a speech impediment, or a caveman, I'll automatically think that you are 20 IQ points dumber, because, well...you probably are.

This has been a public service announcement from Rachel Marie Cates. =)

(Originally written on 12/14/2007)

Okay. Here's a mini-rant: Shows like A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila make me seriously want to kill some producer somewhere. For those of you who are smart enough to not watch MTV, or lucky enough to not have to be in the same room with someone who DOES watch it, let me tell you what it's about: 16 straight guys, 16 lesbians, and one bisexual Asian chick who has lots and lots of sex. Seriously, whoever thought of that show, go shoot yourself now. Also, if you like that show, you should probably shoot yourself as well. Here's my one-minute analysis of this show:

Ex Porn-Star Tila: Gosh...I can't choose between guys or girls, so I'll fuck them all!

Guys: We're threatened by lesbians....so let's act like macho dicks.

Girls: We're going to get in lots of sexy bitchy catfights and make out with each other a lot so the ratings will go up!

Producers: Let's hide their suitcases so they have to spend all day and night in their bathing suits!

Morons: OmG, what a great show!

Okay, folks? If you watch this, stop kidding yourself and just fucking RENT A PORNO already.

It's almost, and emphasis on the almost, as bad as whatever that show is with that retarded guy who wears a big clock around his neck. Flava Flav...Seriously? I had to use Google to find out if he was literally mentally challenged...and I'm still not sure. I think he's just extremely cracked out. What a great message to send to teenagers..."Hey kids! If you smoke so much crack it turns you retarded, and wear small appliances around your neck, you get to be famous!"

Truly...the clock thing? It disturbs me. I know! Why don't I start wearing a toaster around my neck? I mean...it's a lot more useful than a clock. You can find a clock anywhere. But what if I'm driving to work and get a hankering for a good piece of toast? Or maybe I could wear a blender. Instant milkshakes! How about a small copy machine? I would never have to spend 10 cents at the library again. Or, better yet, I'll just strap a whole computer system to my chest. Then I can work from anywhere.

Dear Hollywood writers: If things like A Shot at Love and Flavor of Love are the best you can come up with, please stay on strike.