Talking To An Intuitive

So, over the years I have consulted a number of intuitives on a semi-regular, annual, daily, hourly basis. Note I used the word, intuitive, and not “psychic.” Psychic, to me, implies a woman sitting in front of a crystal ball in a badly wallpapered dark room, wearing lots of scarves and jewelry, who may or may not have really bad teeth but definitely has, if not a large proboscis, then a large mole somewhere on her face taking on a life of it’s own. This mole may or may not have speaking capabilities but it’s there nonetheless making fun of you plunking down your 10, 20, 30, 50, 120 dollars to have someone tell you mostly crap you already know and nothing about anything important.

The only time I was ever scammed was when, at a time in my life when I was in a lot of pain and, of course, the most vulnerable, my mother took both of us to a woman she called after seeing her ad in a local newspaper. The woman lived in a house in East Detroit with her daughter and was of a Sicilian descent with a heavy foreign accent. She took my mother and I separately into her back room, turned over some cards and then proceeded to tell us that we were in a lot of pain and upset and we should return for another appointment and give her $75 so she’ll light a candle and be able to help us. Before we left the room, she made us both promise not to tell each other what was said in there or it would have dire consequences. Not knowing my mother and I, that was a really stupid thing to say to us because the first thing we did when we walked out of the house was ask each other, “What did she tell you?” And the only dire consequences of that appointment was the money we parted with to give to that charlatan.

My mother didn’t know the rule of finding a good psychic: ask someone else who they use. It’s like finding a good therapist, hairdresser, mechanic, plumber. You ask someone if they know anyone who is good. The problem here is that you don’t want people to know you want to talk to a psychic so you have to find someone who is a little out there like yourself to ask. Then again, I don’t want to really know anyone like me or who is out there or both, so it’s a little difficult. The good part is most people who have talked to a good intuitive will immediately want to talk about it. That’s when you pounce on the information.

About ten years ago, I got information from a friend about an intuitive who lives in New Jersey who conducts sessions over the phone. And she was a Reverend to boot. Well, that’s even better, a spiritually inclined intuitive, although most of the really good ones already are. About every 18 months I have been having sessions, about an hour, with this gal over the phone. She’s been on the money about lots of things and other things, hey, I’m still waiting. But whenever I veer off the path to talk to a new intuitive or a palm reader as I did a few times, I get the same information. And some misunderstandings. I’ll explain.

Most intuitives will tape the session so you have a copy of the reading and can refer back to it if you like. This is obviously to avoid misunderstandings about events that possibly may happen or not happen. Such as when I thought my reader said that I will meet a man who will have a lot of tissues. Which I thought was a little odd but then kept a watchful eye on the grocery paper product aisle at my local supermarket looking for any nice looking man who would waltz up and fill his cart with boxes of Kleenex. I kept this up until I received the tape of the session when I made out that the guy would have a lot of “ISSUES” not tissues on the tape. Then wondered what I would do with all the Kleenex boxes I posted around the house to create a positive aura. And just prayed that I would catch a really bad cold. Pretty much meeting a man with a lot of issues is not my idea of fun anyway so I steered clear of parties, social outings of any kind and became a recluse for a few months until I realized that I was the one with issues and hey, what man with or without issues was going to want to meet me anyway. I did end up meeting a man with issues and he seemed pretty nice until he showed me his army reenactment dolls and figurines in his basement set up on a football size field area for war games. The man was 35, single and a lawyer. Luckily I’ve had enough tissues to see me through the last three relationships I’ve had, including that one.

Then I get the innocuous “I see a new vehicle” reading. I think, great, until I realize, I don’t need a new vehicle. And she didn’t mention I would win money so this could be a good thing or a bad thing if you really think about it. I mean, what will happen to the car I’m driving now? Will I get in an accident, will I break down or will someone die so I can inherit money because I don’t have any money for a new vehicle? And is this new vehicle a new old or used vehicle or is it a really new vehicle? And is it an Echo or a 4 Runner? Five words just set me off in a full blown case of worries and anxiety.

Then they talk about things like your health and creative stuff and what to eat and what my job prospects are and quite frankly at this point all I want to know is when am I retiring and where. Get to the part where I make a lot of money okay? Marriage, vehicle, men with tissues, issues, whatever, I don’t care. How much money will I make and will I retire early, that’s all I want to know. They never have an answer for that. It’s always, life is what you make of it. Well, now, that’s intuitive, thanks and if I believed that I wouldn’t be consulting you. But deep inside I always knew that anyway. I guess I’m just impatient and anxious to get on with things. Like most of us are I guess. Except that’s just the point, you have to live in the moment.

Then again, there’s always my father’s frank and truthful philosophy: Aw, that’s a load of crap. Just be happy.

Yes, and let me see if I can’t get an appointment with my intuitive to tell me when I’m going to be happy.

No Sharing

I do not like to share. There I’ve said it. I’m a practicing Catholic, I’ve learned to be a pretty compassionate, tolerant person; I give time, money and energy to charities, etc. but I DO NOT LIKE TO SHARE.

Let me explain.

You’re having a nice dinner or lunch with a friend or even a birthday dinner with friends and everyone orders something different. I order one of my favorite dishes, lobster ravioli. I am salivating at the thought of the lobster ravioli in a shrimp and crab cream sauce of some kind and anxiously await its arrival. When it finally gets here, the gals start in: “Would you like to taste my steak? How about if I give you some of my fish for a ravioli? May I taste a ravioli?” NO! Nononononononono! No tasting. No forks in my plate. No steak in my plate. If I wanted steak, I’d have ordered steak. I want to eat my ravioli. I want it all to myself. These are not starving Somalian children in front of me, these are mostly overweight women who don’t need any type of carbs much less in a cream sauce. Furthermore, I ordered it, I’m going to eat it and if I wanted steak, fish or some other dish, I’d have ordered it.

Then we get to the dessert portion of the meal and instead of each of us getting what we want some brilliant woman suggests we get one dessert for all of us to SHARE. Okay, that is not sharing. That is basically gross for starters. What is even grosser is watching four or five women shovel in as many mouthfuls as they can of the dessert after the poor waiter tries to retrieve his arm from setting the dish on the table. Hey, waiter, forget the forks; bring a nose vacuum instead. What makes women think it’s okay to put their forks they’ve just shoved into their mouths back in a dish and share and it will still be appetizing? I’m not sharing bodily fluids with you so why should I have to? Men don't do this but if only I knew five men to go out with I wouldn't have this problem. Quite frankly, if I only had ONE man to go out with I wouldn't have this problem. That's another blog.

Well, why don’t I just get my own dish of dessert you say? Because if I ordered my own dish while they were shaaarrring their one dish, I would still have to share mine because they would be sticking their forks in it anyway. Help me!

Then there’s the beach outings or camping outings where you stop at a 7-Eleven for some snacks and end up sharing in the car a pack of gum you bought for yourself but since everyone wants a piece you are now down to nothing and need to find another 7-Eleven to replenish your supply. But you get smart, you buy the extra pack for yourself, ha! But now you are poor because you have to buy two of everything, one to share and one to keep for yourself. I mean, I hate this sharing thing!

I want to know who is the person or persons who started sharing. Someone must have decided at some point in history that taking something from someone else who has something and giving a piece to someone who doesn’t was a good thing. Who was that? Was it Moses? I never liked that guy. Looked like a homeless guy with a long white beard and everything. Well, he sort of was homeless but that’s not the point. Probably all that manna from the sky wasn’t enough to go around and he suggested, hey, share. Of course when you have burning bushes talking to you, probably a good idea to listen to the guy. Which is why people share, they’re afraid if they don’t, the sky will fall on them. But it won’t! It won’t!

Look the Bible tells you not to share. It’s right there in the commandments, “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.” Right there, means no sharing. Our constitution in this country upholds our right not to share. It says, “All men are created equal.” Therefore, no need to share. You can get it and I can get it. And if I get it first, too bad for you. But you can get it anyway, I’ll just have gotten it first.

It starts when we’re youngsters. It’s all this "play nice with everybody" crap. What it always turns out to be is your mother saying, “Go play with Sally next door. She doesn’t have anyone to play with and bring your dolls.” So you go play with Sally next door and bring your dolls. Then before you know it, Sally has torn your doll’s head off and is stomping on the rest of the doll with her foot and because that’s not destroying her enough, she’s going to find the hammer. Oh what fun! Yes, let me play with Sally. Let’s share my toys with Sally because she doesn’t have any! Let me bring my other doll tomorrow and we can play pyromaniac and you can set her on fire! Great. Sally doesn’t have any toys because SHE’S DESTROYED THEM and she's a sociopath! Hello!!!

Then there’s the after Halloween share your candy saga. Look, it’s hard work going door to door to get this sugar coated stuff that might even poison you or maim you so why should I share my candy? Let that poor sap go risk his life going door to door getting his own candy! If I had to share, I always separated the good candy from the bad candy and offered that. I mean, what the hell, beggars can’t be choosers now can they? Even better yet, I’d go in my sister’s room and get her candy to give to someone else. Why even sacrifice the bad candy? You never know. The good candy will be gone and then at least you’ll have the bad candy.

But I believe I’ve found a solution. I avoid people at all costs. That’s right. And so, I’ve eliminated the problem of having to share at all.