I’m kind of psychic. Seriously. Unfortunately it isn’t the kind of psychic where I can win the lottery, but I don’t feel that bad because nobody is that kind of psychic, or else they’d keep winning the lottery and laugh at all of the rest of us until Congress passed a law about psychics not being allowed to play and then whoever won from then on would be accused of being psychic and burned at the stake or publicly hung, and it would be bad, real bad (Michael Jackson) so it’s really for the best that I’m not that kind of psychic.
I’m also not the kind of psychic like John Edward or those women on psychic detectives, although I totally wish I was. I would creep people out all the time by proclaiming that I hear and see dead people, in a really creepy voice that would give people the shivers and not want to be my friend. But I think I could do a really good job just making vague references to “bodies of water” or “the number seven” or ” a grove of trees” or “the letter ‘M'”, which I think pretty much sums up what psychics tell detectives. Next time someone goes missing, just tell people you got this weird vision of “a body of water, by a road, and a grove of trees” and that you sense “something about the head…” because I mean, nobody dies from a kick in the shin. If you get killed, 90% of the time, it involves some type of bad thing happening on or near your head area and you can bet your ass your body is going to be hidden either by a road, by some trees, or by a body of water. Unless you get an asshole that buries your body in their basement. Then the psychics will never find you. But that won’t stop them from watching Sesame Street that day and taking both the number and the letter of the day as psychic clues into your disappearance. But I didn’t say all this to freak you out. This isn’t me as a psychic telling you that you’re going to die. As we’ve covered, I’m not that kind of psychic. I won’t be able to find you – most especially if you’re in somebody’s basement. Although you might have cancer, so I would check for that. We all have to get it at some point. I’ve already had my turn, so it might be yours this time.
I’m not a pet psychic either. If I were, I never would have let my damn dog outside to get sprayed by some fuckin’ punk-ass skunk the other day. That sucks. It would be cool though if I could make animals spontaneously combust with my thoughts alone. I mean, I would never do it to a good animal, but if a bear started eating my face at some point, I would totally do it then. And I think I would be justified. Maybe. I wouldn’t if it were a baby Grizzly eating my face though. Because babies don’t really know any better – but I would certainly be judging that baby’s mother as it sunk its teeth into my skull. “This baby Grizzly’s never learned to use his words! Where the fuck is this baby’s mother? I’m going get animal control all up in her bidness”.
Finally, I am not a psychic that gets paid to read your palm or your tarot cards, but I am certainly open to the possibility of that one day. It would be so fun to mess with people. Except I’m actually a really nice person deep down so I would just tell people nice stuff about their futures, unless I got the sixth sense that they were an asshole. Then I would probably tell them they only had a couple of weeks to live, so they could repent and be nice to people so they wouldn’t go to hell. I would be doing others a favor that way, so either way I help humanity. Which is kind of like my life’s mandate. I should also note that there is nothing I like doing better than going to psychics. I don’t go out of my way or anything, but if I walk by a place that says “Psychic Reading – $5” and I have 20 minutes to burn, you can bet your ass I’ll go in there and hear what she has to say. Then I go home and write everything down. One day I’ll have to fish those journals out. But the stuff I remember has all come true, so some people really are psychics. Kind of. Or really good guessers.
(Sorry – my ADD asked me to add this: One of my life’s biggest let downs thus far is that I’ve never been thrown a surprise party or been invited to a party that had a psychic there to tell everyone their fortunes. See, I’m not related to, nor do I hang out with people, who think that would be the best EVER. Except maybe half of the WINOS. But if anybody wants to know how I would like to spend my next birthday? A surprise psychic might be totally in order. We can both totally pretend that you didn’t get the idea from me and I’m totally surprised. But I guess the psychic will probably totally know and tell everybody.)
Okay, so what kind of psychic am I, you ask? Well, I’m the kind that hears a voice in my head once in a while about very important matters who is always right. Unfortunately for my earning power, this voice generally only tells me things about my life on a need-to-know basis, so I can’t really conjure it up for shits and giggles or financial gain. So I’m pretty useless as a psychic at a party or as your friend. But I like to think of my voice as an angel. Probably since I’m Catholic and we Catholics adore our angels. When I was little my mom told me everyone had a guardian angel and I would think about mine for hours. Mostly at bedtime. I wondered if my angel slept when I did or if she kept vigil all night long so no monster could kill me as I slept. I think it must be the latter, because obviously, a monster has never killed me in my sleep and I hold my guardian angel accountable for that. Because I’m sure there were many attempts, especially at ages 4 – 9. But in addition to saving my life countless times, she also tells me stuff.
But not at church. The first time was at a commando party, so I want to note that angels, even Catholic ones, hang out a commando parties, in case you were wondering. I want to clear that up right here, right now, because it needs to be said. So anyway, I’m at this party and my friend tells me that his new roommate graduated the same year I did from the same University and did I know him? He said his name but it wasn’t familiar, so then he pointed him out to me across the room. And then, right then, my angel spoke. “That’s your husband.” Whaaaaat? I’m at a commando party and on my way to getting liquored up and you’re telling me that guy across the room that I’ve never laid eyes on before is my husband? This wasn’t really the way had pictured this going down. I would have done more waxing if I’d have known. Next time, maybe you could give me a little advance notice. And by the way, has anybody informed him of this fact? (The answer to that question, I found out later, was a resounding “no”. He had to be stalked per the pursuit strategy outlined here). At least he was hot. I had that going for me. Our courtship was a saga worthy of a 4 part mini-series and I won’t go into it here, but suffice to say that it was not like we met and it was love at first sight. Or we met that night and then went out on a date right after that. No. Too many starts and stops and drunken oratories to count. There were many a day when I was like, “why the hell did my angel tell me that he was The One, when so clearly he is not?” But she was right, as she always is.
So then the next time my voice piped up, it was straight out of the New Testament. You know how an angel told Mary she was going to have a baby and she was like, “The fuck? I’m a virgin. And not married and I’m like 14”. I’m not sure what verse that is, but you know, look it up. Anyway, except for the part about being a virgin and not married and 14, that’s pretty much the same thing that happened to me. My angel told me the night my son was conceived that I was with child and it was a boy. But thankfully, she did not tell me to name him Jesus. That would have been totally awkward. Because people would call him “Hay-zeus” and I’d be like “No. Its pronounced “Gee-sis”, because it is God’s will”. And I just feel like he and I both would get our asses beat a lot for that. So luckily God did not want my son to get his ass beat. He wanted his kid to have a unique name, so there weren’t like Jesus L. and Jesus C. and Jesus Y.’s in all of Jesus’s classes. Which is totally cool with me. I get it. But now that I think of it I feel bad because probably Mary was thinking the same thing as I was – that she and her son were going to get jacked because of this whole arrangement — and sadly, she was right. That was kind of mean, God. Just sayin’. I constructively criticize Oprah too, so its not like I’m just picking on you.
So when BD and I were trying to conceive our second little person, it didn’t turn out to be as easy as the first time, which had many benefits, if you know what I’m saying, but at the time I wasn’t really focused on the benefits. Anyway, I became convinced that I was infertile and that we’d only have one kid if we didn’t go to all kinds of interesting lengths for number 2. But after months of trying, I was brushing my teeth one morning and then the angel said, clear as day, “There is another little guy on the way.” ( Oooh. Read that last sentence again, slowly. If I ever write a book of poems, I’m totally going to use that last sentence. People pretend like being a poet is hard. Not if you’re a great rhymer/psychic like me. Totally easy.) Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so then my angel tells me I’m pregnant with another boy and by this time, I know my angel is not fucking with me, so I didn’t even have to take a pregnancy test. I just ran into BD and exclaimed, “My angel just said I’m pregnant with a boy!” and he kind of rolled his eyes because I don’t think he is completely convinced about my angel, but then again, he isn’t completely unconvinced, so I did have to prove it on a stick a week or so later when I could take the test, but she was right, yet again.
So I guess what I’m saying is that angels talk to me and tell me stuff. But only when its really important. And that makes me psychic, even if it isn’t the cool kind of psychic. I guess time will tell if I ever land a spot on “The Price is Right” whether my angel would think it was important enough to send me messages so I could yell, “$3.29, Bob!” with complete confidence. Because even if Bob Barker is a sexual predator, I still totally want to spin that wheel. Is that show even on anymore? I’ll have to ask the Internet becuase my angel isn’t answering that question.