psychic reads v.2.4.13

Looming over me – or rather my blog – has been this entry right here. I haven’t written because I wanted to get down what a bunch of psychics said before I moved on with what’s been happening, which is another reason entirely why I’ve been so scant with my writing: A lot has been happening. What the hell happened to just being bored?!

So this is the part where I pen down shit so I can see where it goes...

Back on February 17, GFC and I went to a psychic fair. They offer 15 minute readings from a handful of people and varying skills for a huge discount. I had four readings: A Reiki master named Valerie, a tarot/numerologist named Larry, a lipologist/handwriting analyst, and guidance intuitive. The latter of which I misunderstood and didn't care for – she’s actually supposed to give you guidance with questions you have. I prefer to sit down and let them read. So let’s just skip over that one. From written notes (even if some of these seem nonsensical, I’m leaving them, as in the future it may make sense):

Valerie: Even sinuses; flowers and spring bother them. Not afraid to say what I think. A heavy heart; whiplash in romance: I must let it go. Sturdy knees: Lots of support from people here and family who have passed. I have determination on the path that I’m on; like a balance beam moving forward with determination. Exiting a path: Opening to a row of houses (real estate?).

Larry: High priestess (card): People came to me for advice in a past life and it carried over into my current life. People come to me for advice, but be careful of “energy vampires”, especially those who are not aware that they are doing it. Life number is 2: Very rare life number. Year number is 5: 5 is variety: I’m independent and have a busy life. The person that I end up with has to understand that. They have to be a partner that contributes – monetarily and otherwise. They have to understand that I need time away to do my own thing and can’t constrict me. Of 2013, ended up with number 2: To him this represents relationships: One of the future and one from my past who has yet to come to pass (again). The past guy comes back first, but should be left there: It’s up to me if I leave the past there, but advises I should let it be. The future guy hasn’t been met yet: He saw me shaking his hand. I will meet this guy in the 2013 calendar yet. Tarots: I have enough money in this life but not a ton; if I do I am very generous with it. I need a partner who is equal and would contribute monetarily.

Ariana: [photo forthcoming]

And then we went to another fair at the same place on April 14th, with (mostly) new readers. Louise, a clairvoyant/tarot reader who has worked with the DoD as a remote viewer, Larry (again), Mike, an intuitive and Allyson, a psychic medium who is mildly famous.

Louise Dellafiora: I am intuitive. June – August there will be money coming in (July = money). March/April, 2014, I will be making money off of my creativity; success: There is money in writing for me. I need to write. There is (good) karma in DC for me and I should not move yet; I will move next summer. This August I will find love – right now I’m not ready for a it yet. The angels will bring him to me through a female friend. Next year I will make a big purchase. I will have a job change around July-October of this year. The Arch Angel Raphael is protecting me. I have two females (friends) around me supporting me. I have an old soul and was born with wisdom. I have a strong body and health. Everything is in divine order.

Larry: Lifepath 2. High Priestess. I must live for me. My energy is out in the world versus person. The right relationship: balance, independence, reliant spirit. In year 7. Start of 22 year cycle: The Chariot – move forward, okay to be cautious; don’t be reckless. Fool child: Travel card: Trip of day to take person from comfort zone. Run towards something, not away. If I run away, it ends up not ideal. 10 of Swords: Putting off decision to not be stuck. It is better to be waiting than stuck. I will be starting over in the future. 9 of Pentacles: relaxed and comfortable in life; it’s up to me to if I end up with another person. Right now, relax, enjoy life. The universe will bring change. 30 is a strength year.

Mike Brazell: [He started by having him place my hands below his; you could feel the energy move through our hands] I can handle chaos well. I work well in controlled chaos: I move through it, but focus and fixate on little things. (And stop it) I have strong intuition; I can see through things immediately; I zero in on them (the truth). I am an experiential person. And I can help people. [It is at this point he asked if I were creative; I said nothing, he went on you paint, or draw…or write. He paused. “You write.”] I need to write because I have a story to tell. He told me I need to write a book and was very adamant about it. He said once I write it a publisher will come along; he didn’t see me having to self-publish. He said it will be popular and would become a series [to which responded OMG THAT’S THE IDEA!]. But he [also] knew I wasn’t writing. He said it was because of fear – what fear he didn’t know, but that I needed to get past it and start writing because it would be successful and people needed to hear the story I had to tell. It would help them. He offered advice on how to write it and keep going and get it done [no fear, stop writing it on a screen and write it on paper and was so focused on this book that it took up 30 minutes of a 15 minute session].

Allyson Walsh: As soon as I walked in and sat down she said “OH MY GOSH! We could switch places and you could read me!” She said I am extremely intuitive; I am clairvoyant and clairsentient; I just know things. These abilities are in my family. [We briefly chatted about it and I admitted that, yes, things like that have been discussed in passing but not with my grandmother because as my mom would later reveal she’s told my mom a thing or two but nothing beyond that because she doesn’t want anyone to think she’s “crazy”.] She said that there’s a “Mar” name in the family and she had it too – she watches over me. [I said there was no one with a named starting 'Mar'. She was certain though and told me to look into it. Afterwards I talked to my mom and she looked back and found out my grandmother’s grandmother was a Mary.] She said asked if I used to see things. My “abilities” will get stronger as I get old; don’t ignore them because they’re not going away. By the time I’m 38, I’ll start to hear things. 

Right now I’m not ready for love/relationship. She said my husband/love will come in 2014. [I advised her that everyone else was telling me 2013.] She said that we may meet in 2013 but really gets going until 2014. When we meet I’m very stand-offish [she used body language that I would completely use – and in retrospect, have before - were I telling a story of a guy needing to pump the breaks]. I’m guarded a bit, but he is very into me even though I’m not so sure about him. I warm up to the idea. He can dance – like club dance, not ballroom. “He can move,” she said. The engagement will be quick (3-6 months), “barely enough to consider it an engagement”. My wedding will not be a typical church wedding. It will be a destination wedding. Very relaxed. [And I was like Oh! I want to rent out a beach house and have it in the backyard. Like a potluck BBQ. She was like "Yes, that". I mean, of course she was, but that's in impressive pull.] She ended telling me she saw me going to LAX – there is a Hilton hotel there she got a vision of just before she let me go.

Whew. Okay. We may now continue with our regularly scheduled programming. I wanted to document for curiosity sake. And I am quite curious to see what comes to fruition…and more importantly, the how. Stay tuned, kids.

Pressure makes a diamond, right?

What if all of this beauty is wasted? Wasted on those unavailable;  unwilling;  unworthy; wasted on saving others; wasted on waiting for the one for whom it's no longer wasted?

Only so long do I want to be admired by those I don't admire or are an apparition of admiration I hear about in passing or past tense.

I used to wonder - when it all ends, will I miss it; the catcalls; the attention. I used to want the stories of dating and infatuation and intrigue. And I got them indeed. But often now I feel like I just sit by wondering how others can so often and quickly find lust, infatuation and (what they think as) love - and I wait. Calmly waiting. Pushing against it. Mostly apprehensive. Scared. Unwilling.

I'm here now, but for wrong reasons, I wonder. I feel as though I spend my time saving others; helping them; pushing them in the right direction - my beauty both outside and in, so easily mistaken for what some think could be love. Or hope; a small light in their moment of darkness. But soon it becomes a weight - one in which I bear all my own, all too often. And I begin to wonder then, when it's my turn to be saved.  But am I willing now to love? Or just to lighten the load? As is most things in life, I find my disposition, my laughter, my free will, my independence, my lust for life, and my lure, to be both a blessing and a curse. I am willing to help, but I am not the solution.

We must learn - first and foremost - how to save ourselves. I need to spread the word. There are no saviors. No angels of Earth. And a love of another only works if you love alone first.

*[an hour passes]*

Each person is their own piece of coal. I am not a glimmer of hope. I shine only for myself. I will wait for that tiny little piece of crystal clear perfection. In the meantime, I'm heading back outside. And everyone gets to keep hold of their own damn shovels. Find your own way outta the mine, betches.  Sweet Brown told me "ain't nobody got time for that".

[How's that for an hour's difference?]

This is just about a closet.

I need to step into my closet today and figure out who I am.

Each fall and spring, I switch out my clothes and shoes in anticipation for the change in weather - and subsequently - wardrobe.

But this time, I have to purge some items. Despite having a rather large closet, I haven't enough room for all of my clothes and shoes. And it's really getting quite silly. Some stuff needs to go. But then I pick something up I haven't worn in years and think "I might. There could be a moment when I need this again." And then I put it back down and try to find another open hanger. Or a new corner to put new clothes in.

I've run out of space in my closet. Than hangers won't sway. I have so many articles that I can't even see them now. And every nook is taken oven by cotton or spandex or denim. Drawers have fallen off; dressers have fallen apart.

Is this a metaphor? No. Not really. I just like shopping. And clothes. And now I'm broke. But I got pink shoes!

I have a shoe addiction. I am completely okay with this. Your body can grow and shrink and change; clothes can make you feel bad about yourself or fat for no reason. But shoes? Shoes always fit.

However, I need to decide which shoes to keep. Which means I need to decide who I am; who I have become. (And who I will become?) I have clothes from high school in my closet. Which, on the one hand is good: I can still fit in them and I knew who I was back then too.  And on the other hand, that's a lot of clothes. Even if I did know who I was. But did I? And do I?

Honestly, I'm beginning to think we don't ever really know who we will be. I think that's why I'm always stuck holding that shirt tat I haven't worn in three years in my hand and putting it back on the rod because I don't know who I'll be and in two more years, Hey! maybe I'll be a person who wears this kind of thing again.

Perhaps I should learn to hold onto clothes like I hold on to relationships: Keep only what is perfect. What makes me (look like) a better person. What if I was without, I would be sad.

A person's wardrobe is a reflection of the person; their confidence, personality, time. I am ever-evolving. The past few years I have made so many changes in my life, ridding myself of people and habits that were no longer useful; growing. Its time for my closet to follow suit. (Suit?! See what I did there? Puns!) I have to stand in front of fabrics who are asking me: Who are you now?

Well that's awfully presumptuous of you, Closet!

Maybe I've been putting this off because I'm not entirely sure of the answer for tomorrow. I shall then have to live for today. Just today. Totally nude.


(Just kidding about the nude thing.)

Carry on.

In the past I've been quite coy about some things, but that’s getting boring, so let’s get real. I've been talking for a while – on and off line, on and off – about my sexual frustrations. As a 29 year old single woman, this is real shit. (Hi, Mom.)

I’m not into random hook-ups, however when you release yourself of a self-imposed sabbatical, some tensions start to build. Despite whatever anyone does in the privacy of their own home,  it’s never quite the same as being with someone else. And it is increasingly frustrating when you tried once or twice a few months back and it didn’t quite take. And then it makes you go “OMG THIS IS WHAT’S OUT THERE?!”  I was losing faith in relations with the opposite sex. Recently though, I’ve been going on the prowl. As we know I dropped the ball with the GQ-esque kid. And then nothing too appealing appeared out of thin air afterwards.

The weekend after the race, I decided to take it easy. I did my six mile run. I went out with ER for dinner and he invited me into relations. Pass. See: Standards. I’m only telling you I have standards now because what I tell you next may make you question them.

The next day brunch turned into full on day drinking. GFC wanted to continue after bottomless mimosas. The psychic we tried to go to was a total asshole. We walked in after brunch, she was on her phone arguing with someone. She closed the door behind us; a few minute later without acknowledging us she walked to the door, opened it and said, quite sternly, “YOU NEED TO COME BACK IN 20 MINUTES”. This led to arriving at the bar a few blocks away that makes my favorite mojitos in town. After that she tried to persuade me to go back to the psychic bitch, which I declined, which then led us to the sports bar a few blocks further south that she wanted to go to, which led to us playing shuffle board, which led to us talking to these guys, which led to her getting upset and leaving, which led to my playing darts with these guys, which led to a shot of Fireball, which led to my memory goblin running away with whatever happened after that, that led me to walking into my house at around 8pm with a guy in tow, shocked that my roommate was awake and in the living room because  it’s 3am … no, no brain. I know that you think that if you're drunk and it's dark; it’s Saturday at 3am. But this wasn’t. It was 8pm. On a Sunday. Which led to a Monday in the office - mid-way through my hungover lunch-kit - carrying on this conversation:

and i can never remember their names. so i kept asking the night before what his was.
 he woke up to go to work in the morning and he asked me if i knew his name.
i called him [first name] Melon.
which was wrong.
to cover it up, i said it was cause he was wearing an orange shirt and looked like a Melon.
he called me a bitch.
to be fair, at least i remembered his last name started with an "m"
so now if i refer to "Melon" you know why. 

Don't judge. These things happen. As they should. And then shit gets awkward (per ush)...

Later that night, I went home. It was a no eye contact Monday (and Tuesday...and Wednesday) for sure: I have three male housemates and we're more just roommates than friends. And was I heard? Probably. A little embarrassed?  Likely. Did I want to talk about my tryst with my all male, in relationships roommates? Probably not. Did Melon sit down with the roommate I share a wall with and have a chat about hockey when we got back on Sunday and again Monday morning? He sure did! Let’s get awkward up in here! And then the other upstairs roommate (that I don’t share a wall with) asked, "How's [Halloween guy]?" He thought Melon was HG because they both have really deep voices, I guess. Well let's just go ahead and make this as awkward as possible!

Universe must make the most of this one little story, I see.

Melon texted me for a few days - wherein we both discussed this not being a normal thing for us, among other useless information - and then he fell off the radar. I didn’t really intend on seeing him again. But I was also not against keeping a plaything for a minute, and was mildly offended nonetheless. Because PA-SHAW! Have you seen me?! (I'm only half kidding.) Until a few days later he came back, “Sunday Funday Part 2?” He had been out of town. He continues to text. We shall see.

He isn't someone I would ever date. But I think that's probably the point. As GFC put it, "He's a rental car".

Rented. No shame. Carry on.

The Heart Stills (n.)

“All of this randomness is leading toward a perfect moment […] I can’t help but wonder about my fate; about my destiny.”

Be still my beating heart. I write these words as if they mean something. They don’t. I probably just like chocolate. But they used to; I used to calm it and tell myself and my heart to slow down. I was perpetually consumed by love or its wretched hangover. That is no longer the case.

I realized recently that I don’t have a love interest. I don’t have an admirer – except those ones I find on a weekly basis, who text me for a while before they realize I’m probably never going to go out with them. With me, persistence is key – but so are first impressions. If I wasn’t ever interested, I’ll probably never be – I know within seconds if it could be something; if it will be something. (My two longest relationships begun in a moment when I looked at each guy and thought “Mine”.) But I give out my number because it’s easier to say no to a screen than it is to a person’s face who is hopefully requesting your digits, an in essence, your time – perhaps even, your love. But I just like the fleeting attention.

But my hope, my interest is in limbo. My love is only mine. (And chocolate’s.) I don’t even have a crush. Not even little one. I’ve even lost my (inexplicable) celebu-crush on Shia LeBouf.

Now I wonder what happens to the girl – the one who was so in love with love that she took purposeful and executive actions to fall out of love with love – when there is no love to be had. I had myself on so many hiatuses over the past couple of years that I didn’t even notice to care that there wasn't anyone to be interested in when I wasn't with someone. I was healing a broken heart; or running away from love’s love; or tending to my silliness; or focusing on myself. Now, I’m just here…waiting. On something…or perhaps I’m waiting on absolutely nothing. This is a strange place to be indeed.

The beating heart stills. It's more of a noun than a verb. And with the stills, it waits on the corner for the bus. With a hope that it picks me up before a rain begins. And with a nice, open seat, perhaps next to a lovely stranger...in a most unexpected of places.

I’m not wounded, broken or recovering. It’s a new place for me. Maybe even a little – dare I say – boring. You know, for someone who thrived for so long on something they had decided to run away from…and now are slowly sauntering back to. It’s like walking a marathon.

And I’m more of a 10 minute mile; an eager, but relaxed pace...somewhere in the middle of 30,000 other runners. Perhaps I should learn to just relax.

Well said, Bob.

I guess we had a moment today. These quotes are great. Kudos, Mr. Marley. 


“Who are you to judge the way I live? I know I'm not perfect and I don't live to be. But before you go pointing fingers. Make sure your hands are clean.” 

“The biggest coward of a man is to awaken the love of a woman without the intention of loving her.” 

“Just because you are happy it does not mean that the day is perfect but that you have looked beyond its imperfections” 

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful” 

“If she's amazing, she won't be easy. If she's easy, she won't be amazing. If she's worth it, you won't give up. If you give up, you're not worthy...Truth is everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for.” 

“to love is to risk, not being loved in return. to hope is to risk pain. to try is to risk failure. but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in my life is to risk nothing.”

The Problem with Picky

A few weeks ago I went out with a friend and the GBF to a bar on a Friday. This part isn't particularly shocking - aside from the fact that on a lot of Fridays, I can be found at the local pool. But perhaps I have avoided that place since my awkward moments with a 10 year old I caught checking me out underwater for at least a minute as I was stopped at the end of my lane. I stared at the top of his head until he popped up again so I could give him the proper "stop that" stare. 

via

That was a really awkward 10 seconds.

Anyway, before we left for the bar, the gal pal and I got ready at my house, which included drinking a half a bottle of wine as dinner. We were in a hurry, wine is delicious and doing both my make-up and hers led me to forget to eat. Whoops. So we go to one bar, I talk to a bunch of really unattractive men who seem to feel the need to tell me they had girlfriends.

Hoooooookay. Get real, tee-ballers. This bitch is semi-pro.

I also end up with the bartender's number (...again), who later texts me when we're at the second bar; the bar in town with Jello shots. I forget myself for a moment and probably mostly out of hunger, eat about five of them. The gelatin dissolves and the world quickly becomes a blur: I remember hooka; I made Mac'n'Cheese. Bed.

In the morning the GBF is on my couch. He recounts a story of my making out with a "HOT" guy in a bar. Imagine that breaks skidding noise. That. Errrrrt. What? 1. I don't make out with guys in bars. I think it's weird, trashy and also I'm 29. 2. I found someone hot?! Seriously. That never happens. I'm the pickiest of picky. And everyone found him sexy? Even the straight guy?! Holy shit.

I guess that's what a good bra will get you.

Apparently, while nomming on some Jello - undoubtedly attractively - I turned to him and, without hesitation announced to his face "You're fucking adorable". And, as the GBF tells it, he turned into me and said, "You're fucking adorable". He bought me drinks and, as I'm told, followed me around. Until we went to the hookah bar, his phone rang, he didn't have his credit card, I never got his number and he left and drunk me forgot he ever existed.

"He looked like he belonged in a GQ spread," said the galpal the following night. "And you two had a really hot make-out session at the bar."

Great. All of this happened and all I remember hooka and Mac'n'Cheese? That's cute, brain.

***

This past Friday the galpal asked me to go speed dating with her. The weekend before last I forewent going to Chicago for an impromptu visit in attempts to be fiscally responsible and deeply regret not going. So after that, I texted my girl who invited me Chitown that "responsibility be damned" and I immediately reinstated the Yes Year. And so, I had to go speed dating. Plus, she paid.

My girlfriend up in Boston asked me to extrapolate on it a bit today:

me: tra-ge-dy 
Boston: go on...
me: it was like 20 women and 12 men.
the men ranged in age from like 22 to 75.
and at least half still lived in their mom's basements.
5 definitely play D&D on a regular basis.
one guy didn't have 2 brain cells to clink together, but he may have been on drugs.
or it was just the war injuries.
that or simply being a product of brooklyn.
one of the smartest things i ever did was make sure i was half drunk before heading to speed dating in dc.

Upon doing this I learned that 1. I really can talk to anyone; without lull in conversation; 2. I do not care if a man wears a suit or doesn't wear a suit, but I do care if he wears a cheap suit (don't wear a cheap suit); 3. Speed dating is amusing, but only if you expect nothing out of it - much like online dating. It also reiterated to me the absolutely slim-pickings of attractive men in DC - or at least ones I'm attracted to. Although there was a guy that was staring at me quite flirtatiously, while heading out after speed dating, as I was riding down the escalator to metro and he, up. Eventually I yelled across the escalators to him "You're going the wrong way" to which he replied, still staring quite intently "I know".

Damn. Another one bites the...nothing, unfortunately: He went up to the bars and I went down and out in VA cause the galpal needed to go home after the speed dating fiasco; wherein I was being text-chased by a guy in a bad suit and she didn't want some guy's card because "he came in wearing a helmet". I ended my night playing Rock Band with some ladies until 5am.

This is getting pathetic. Although Rock Band is fun. Especially drunk.

Or, maybe, I'm still just stuck kicking myself about the hot guy two weeks before that I missed out on. The next night - this past Saturday - I was out again - back to the Jello shots place, which I was careful to only consume two of and this was after I made sure to eat. Solid start. If I'm making out with a hot dude I better damn well remember it this time. Only problem is, this time a guy who was wearing a three piece suit with his tie on the outside and top button undone came up to talk to me; then later, a semi-attractive 24 year old. Sorry, blondes need not apply. Perhaps I should have told this to the Mississippi guy I met the day after the GQ guy - he texted me for a week non-stop till he finally gave up with "we're never gonna hang out are we".

Correct.

Much like the guy in the cheap suit from speed dating, he asked me all weekend to go out. He finally gave up after a few unrequited texts. Or the blonde that talked to me for 30 minutes at the second bar on Saturday - eagerly trying to get somewhere; tall, attractive - but when he asked me to dance, I said I preferred my girlfriends. Or the guy I met on the ski lift last month; we texted for three weeks before he realized I wasn't going to say: Come to DC - let's bang it out. Or Even the way that RH gave up a few weeks ago again when I wasn't "excited" to hang out. (And then about a week later opening up about the last girl he dated breaking his heart a little.) Why am I the authority on love and broken hearts? I can't even seal the deal on a hot kid I made out with at a bar and even declaring "luck" because I'm a four second vodka goldfish and squirrel on to the next adventure, forgetting all about the peen.

But even just that one is particularly frustrating because over the past few months I'm really beginning to notice how little I find attractive. I get hit on all the time. I get made fun of by my girlfriends for giving guys my number and then trying to figure out how to wriggle away from them. But I can't find anyone I'm genuinely interested in - or - at the least attracted to enough to take home a couple of times to scratch that itch of single. I know (and my natal chart agrees) that I can't just do the casual thing, but this is getting a little ridiculous.

Throw me a bone, Universe.  See what I did there?  I love puns.