An Angel Named Nichole - My Newest Little Spirit

Before I even get into this post, I want to thank all of the wonderful new readers who have come along and commented on my blog. I am so humbled and so giddy over this, it's crazy. You've made my year! Also, as many of you know, there's been a running joke for about two years now as to if any men are reading this blog. I can officially report that I have at least one solid male reader. I guess that joke's out the window.

Let me just start out by saying that I had two other posts in line to put up before this one, and then yesterday happened and it changed everything. When I was a child, I had a very dear friend who I will call Original Best Friend, or OBF for short. OBF and I lost touch when I moved to another school district, but I always still thought about her. Rewind to all of these years later, and we found each other again. This is the only thing, I repeat, the ONLY thing Facebook is good for.

OBF had moved to Vegas, the place where I was once looking forward to moving to prior to getting sick. Imagine how delighted I was when I heard she was coming home for a visit and wanted to get together. I could hardly contain my excitement as we got together for the first time in about fourteen years, maybe even longer. I was worried we'd have nothing to talk about or have had grown apart, but it was like time had never passed. There we were sipping on our drinks, eating, and sharing stories all over again. Her mom was also there, and instantly I felt at home with the both of them.

Long story short, OBF's mom is moving out to Vegas with her to start a new life. She will be coming back to get the rest of her belongings and drive them cross country come October, and I've been invited to come back with her. Not only will she not have to make the trip alone, but OBF is gracious enough to put me up in her house for awhile so that I can visit! She is the sweetest person in the world, as is her mom, and I am working out the details as we speak. Hopefully I'll be able to go and spend some time with OBF. Yesterday just did not give us enough catch up time, and I miss her and her mom already! I'm praying that they have a safe trip back to Vegas!

While I was hanging out with OBF and her mom yesterday, however, we got to talking about my psychic medium powers and other things of the like. When I knew OBF as a kid, I never talked about what I could do in the paranormal world, so I wasn't so sure how she would take it. It turns out their family is also very much connected to the paranormal world, and her mom is also working on becoming a master at Reiki, which is beyond awesome.

As we were talking about all of this, it was mentioned that the house that her mom lives in was haunted. Immediately I got the name Nichole and knew she was a nine year old child that seemed much younger. I asked them if they were aware of this child, and they were not, but I told them I'd know more once I got to their home.

OBF and myself arrived before her mom, and I was instantly drawn upstairs. I was trying not to be too biased about the situation considering they had told me about the man who used to be in their attic, but I was being pulled there concerning Nichole anyway. When we got into OBF's old room, the air changed completely. It wasn't her room, but the door to the attic that was in her room that the energy was emanating out of. No matter where you were in the room you could feel the energy reaching out and wrapping its arms around you. It was awkward since energy doesn't actually have arms.

I asked OBF if I could go up into her attic, to which she obliged. There was one part of the attic of which she had never ventured back into because of the energy back there, and man it was strong. She said it was the side of the attic that the man had hung out in, although they felt they had gotten rid of him when they blessed the house. I agreed with this, but there was a much different energy pulling me back there, so she turned on the light and I ventured back into the depths of the attic.

As soon as I was back there, the energy became immediate in the corner of the empty shell of a space that I couldn't get back into because of the lack of floorboards. I could feel someone back there, hunched over and chained up in my mind's eye, yet I couldn't actually see her. I quickly realized that this was Nichole, and that she had been heavily abused.

Earlier in the day, OBF and I had talked about a dream she had regarding a young girl that fit the image I was getting of Nichole who had once been locked up in a mental asylum. The story slowly unraveled in that attic. She had been locked up, still wearing her little gown, but when they failed to fix her, what was done to her was something I had dealt with before, because it was common for the day over one hundred years ago. Not knowing what to do with Nichole, she was locked up in the attic and left to die, and die she did. But the reason she was the way she was, was only partially because she had a mental disorder, and had a lot to do with her father abusing her as young as two or three. It broke my heart to know that she was still being held up there by her father, a man who chose not to pass on so he could stay there and make sure she didn't leave the attic, as if she were the evil one, as if she would tell of his sins if she did.

Because I couldn't actually see her, I didn't know what to do, so feeling as if I were being touched by something in the direction opposite of where she was, and my arm facing her feeling as if it were being grabbed and yanked on brutally, I backed out of the attic and found myself on the stairs by OBF, and then the light was turned off. As soon as that happened, I could see Nichole. She had scooted out of her corner and was now crouching down where I had been. I said something to OBF, who said she could see lights in the place where I was seeing Nichole. I told Nichole that it was okay, that she didn't have to stay there and that she wasn't really chained up anymore, so she could come with me. I promised I wouldn't hurt her, and I'd get her out of there and never make her have to go back up to the attic again. Slowly, she trusted me and made her way over to us. I reached out for her and took her little hand, and I physically led her out of that attic, because she wouldn't have ever gone alone. She was too scared, but the man was nowhere around and I knew I had just one window to get her out of there.

When we got her out of the attic, she told me she never wanted to go back up there again, and I told her no one would ever, ever take her back up there again. She was safe now. She didn't want me to let go of her hand as I led her out of OBF's room and down the stairs to the living room, a place she hadn't been in a very long while. I assured her it would be fine, and assured myself that I was too tall for the job, having to lean toward her to make sure I didn't yank on her frail little arms. Although she was nine, she was behind in both growth and mental state. Physically and mentally, she seemed more like four or five.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, I put her beside the door so she knew that freedom was just steps away. When she sat down, she had a teddy bear, one that wasn't with her in the attic. She must have grabbed it from somewhere, a place that was probably once her room, or the last place it had fallen when she was being dragged up into the attic and to her doom. She happily sat there, glad to be free, and I again promised her she'd never have to go back up into the attic. In fact, she wouldn't ever have to be in that house again. When I left, I was taking her with me to her new home. Since OBF's mom was moving, there was no way I was about to leave her there with that man, nor did I have time that night to try and clear the house. The best thing I could do was remove her from the environment, leaving him trapped with no choice but to cross over, which hopefully he's done by now, or else he's just really pissed and alone in that house. Either way, good for him, because the last thing I promised her was that he would never take her to that attic again or hurt her. Little did I know I'd have to keep that promise to her in a very terrifying way very soon.

OBF and I spent some time talking while her mom, who had since been in and out of the house, was running some things over to the Salvation Army. I kept an eye on Nichole, who was in her own little world with her teddy bear, unaware of the world around her. At first I thought it was possible she was autistic, but she doesn't seem to display any of the other red flags other than acting younger than she is and able to amuse herself with certain items in her own little world. Eventually, we made our way into the room one closer to where she was, so that we were only about fifteen feet from her, if that. OBF's mom came home and we sat talking, Nichole still playing with her teddy bear.

While we were talking, I kept catching something out of the corner of my eye near the door. It looked like a man in a brown shirt, but for the most part I ignored it. The one time I did turn my head it ended up being the girlfriend of the neighbor in the other side of the duplex, so I was thinking it was possibly my imagination and the whole time I had been seeing the girlfriend. But then the man appeared in full force, and I turned just in time to see him bend down and grab Nichole, and I instantly knew this was her abuser, who, up until this point, I had not seen. I watched for a second to see if he dared try to take her back upstairs with us sitting so close and with him knowing that I could see him, but he did. I excused myself and shot out of the chair I was in, blocking the staircase. I had made her a promise and I wasn't going to let him drag her back up to her hell, because I knew if he did, it was possible I'd never get her back down now that he was in the house. I wasn't going to leave her there for eternity. I had made her a promise.

I yelled to OBF and her mom to let them know that I was as crazy as I looked, but I had to be. The man slid past me with Nichole, but I grabbed onto her little arm, just not hard. I stared down the man for several seconds, and he yelled at her, yelled at me, and tried to pull her away. I just kept staring. Angry, he realized that I was stronger than him and that he would not win, so he let her go and huffed his way up the stairs. I quickly got her off of the stairs, assured her she would be okay, and brought her and her teddy bear into the room to sit next to the chair that we that I was sitting in.

Questions were asked, and I explained to OBF and her mom what had happened. I didn't explain the man, but I didn't have to. OBF's mom then told us that earlier that morning there was a man in a brown shirt in OBF's room, and she had seen him. It was clear this was the same man, and he had been there with one purpose earlier, to make sure Nichole didn't make any noise up in that attic so no one would find her. She hadn't, and he left the home to see what was going on with things being moved in and out, people coming in and out. He didn't count on a psychic medium coming over and knowing she was there anyway.

We left Nichole next to the chair for a few minutes while OBF got up so that I could walk her through what had just happened. When I turned to look up the staircase, the man was standing there staring us down. I knew he didn't dare come back down the stairs as long as we were wise to him, though I didn't doubt he'd try and sneak down them and grab her if he thought we had stopped paying attention for even just a second. I took this opportunity to point to him and say, "You, Sir, are a douchebag." He turned and left the top of the stairs after that. I guess he's like the one guy I dated who got a text message from someone he worked with saying he was an asshole, which then caused him to cry and quit his job. He just couldn't handle the cold, hard facts.

When we turned to go back in the room where we had been sitting, Kristan was with Nichole watching over her. Now let me tell you a little story about Kristan. Kristan is one of my murdered girls who came from a string of girls who were murdered by the same guy. Most of the other girls have either crossed over or have proven to be extremely helpful when I am working paranormal cases and someone needs help. They will go out to people's homes and help a spirit cross over if I can not do so. But then there's Kristan. Kristan will go out of her way to not help you. She sticks with me at all times, probably because of this, and is highly hysterical and good for a laugh, which often ends in me looking like a nut ball who is laughing at the air. It's fine. In fact, Kristan had her panties in a bunch yesterday because she didn't like the restaurant we had chosen to go to. I had to remind her that she was dead, she wasn't eating anything, but it still didn't help, and she stayed and pouted in the car the entire time. But add a cute little child, and she was in that house being helpful quicker than you could say conspiracy.

Kristan played patty cake with Nichole while we talked some more and the men came to take the washer and dryer while the dryer was in mid cycle. When that was all said and done, OBF and her mom came over to my house to dry the towels that hadn't gotten to finish drying to all their glory. Before we left for my house, I explained to Nichole what was going to happen, that she was leaving the house for good just like I had promised, and that she was going to a new home, one where I would be and Kristan would be also. She wasn't allowed to go outside without someone holding her hand, so I led her to my car, opened the door, got her inside, and prepared her for her new home. I didn't put her seat belt on, though. I'm pretty crazy, what with putting dead girls that only I can see in cars, but I draw the line at the seat belt. Let me just ask you something. What exactly is going to happen if we wreck and the dead girl doesn't have her seat belt on? Exactly.

When we got to my house, OBF had to let Nichole out of the car, because she was sitting on the passengers side with her teddy bear and wouldn't crawl across the seat. OBF took it well, though, and even asked me if Nichole was out of the car. I took Nichole's hand again and led her up the steps and into the house. I introduced her to my mom, who didn't quite know what to think, and then as I showed OBF around the house, I took Nichole back into my room and tucked her in just like she had asked, though the dead don't really sleep. The whole time she was excitedly asking me if this was her new home and if she could stay, and if we really had all these animals, because she always wanted one and was never allowed to have one. I fell in love with her cute little smile and told her yes.

The remainder of the night was spent watching awesome videos with OBF and chatting into the night when we had to say our goodbyes, but hopefully not for long. I went into my room to change into my pajamas, where I was greeted by Nichole asking me if she could keep the puppy. I assumed she meant Greta, who had followed me into my room, and told her we could only share. She said she didn't mean her, she meant the white dog with spots who was just like her. Immediately I realized she was talking about Rodeo, our beloved dalmatian that died just a few years aback and is constantly causing Greta consternation by sleeping in her spot when we go to bed at night. I told her that she could have her very first puppy, and she seemed very happy with this.

When I woke up this morning, both she and Rodeo, who had cuddled together the night before, weren't in my room. In the middle of making my coffee, she showed up to tell me that Kristan had taken her and introduced her to a bunch of people who she was going to meet when she crossed over, which was going to be soon. Rodeo was going to walk her over with Kristan, and she was excited now that she was getting to know some people who would truly care for her, unlike her family had.

I had been wondering all night just how it was that I was going to cross her over. She's so cute and sweet, and I barely wanted her to leave, yet knew I was going to have to coax her to the other side. I didn't want to do it too soon and was planning on working my way into it now that she had just gotten into an environment where, for the first time in her life and death, she was finally happy. It turns out, Miss I'm-Doing-Nothing-to-Help-You, aka Kristan, is actually helpful if the person is under the age of thirteen and less than four feet tall. Who would have thunk it? Not I, that's for sure.

But I learned something in the last twenty four hours. I learned that even though I doubt it sometimes, I am doing something good with my gift. If I hadn't gotten to see OBF yesterday, I wouldn't have been able to help this little girl, and who knows how long she'd be stuck in the hell she was living in. Yesterday was pure fate, and I can feel that something bigger is going to come out of it. I also learned that Kristan actually is helpful, which is probably a shock to every one of my girls who has ever known her. Sorry, Kristan, but you know it's true.

What I have to ask of you all now, though, is that if you can spare a prayer for Nichole to please do so. Please ask that she finds her way in Heaven and is finally at peace. She is always welcome here, crossed over or not, but please help me pray that she finds a place where she doesn't ever have to come back to this earth for any reason, where she is happy and safe, where she gets all that she deserved to get in life and more. Please help me put this poor wonderful little soul to rest.

To Fathers Without Daughters and Daughters Without Fathers

I know this post is a bit late for Father's Day, but there's a reason for that. I was not planning on doing a Father's Day post, nor have I ever done one or talked about Father's Day or fathers in any capacity that wasn't full of complete snark. I'm going to try to turn the clock around on that one tonight.

As many of you know by now, I am, by all means, a discarded daughter of a careless father. My father walked out on us when I was five, I didn't see him again until I was eight, and then he walked out on us permanently when I was thirteen and very ill...on Christmas. I spent weekends of hell at his shitty apartments, usually one room, watching him abuse his girlfriends and also myself more than a time or two. He was a bastard of a man, and I'm sure he still is. Actually, a man wouldn't do what he did. Only a monster would.

So when Father's Day comes around, I have nothing nice to say about any fathers anywhere, because I always assume they're all the same, even though I know that's not true. I just can't break myself down to the core enough to admit that I got the short stick in fathers and was unlucky. But it's not like that for everyone, and I need to stop thinking that way. Sometimes, I think I'm just jealous, and I know that it affects my relationships with men. I didn't think anything could change that.

Then today came along, Father's Day of all days, where my hatred toward the man who was more of a monster than a human being is strongest, and did change that for me. Most of you know that I'm always dialed into my Twitter. I check it periodically throughout the day on my phone app and post on it. When I'm online, I'm always signed into Twitter and go back every half an hour or so and read the updates. My life really is that boring, but in my very poor defense, I usually end up sending several dozen messages between myself and my friends each day, be it through direct message or @ replies. Okay, yes, my life is boring. Moving on.

A tweet came up from someone I follow, but do not know and never will, which is probably what makes this more interesting for me that I took it to heart. This person posted about how his daughter never contacted him on his birthday or Father's day ever, and how he still loved her and it hurt him. As soon as I read that, I realized that in this situation I will immediately take the girl's side on this. I always do that, I always side with the daughter. And then I had to go stand in the corner and think about what I just thought, because that was a really horrible thing for me to do.

I took some time to reflect on this, because I'm working on fixing what's broken inside of me and what someone else broke, and fix it so that I can reclaim my life and not be anyone's victim anymore. When I thought it out, what set me off about this post was that I know my father tells people that I won't talk to him and he still loves me. This is the same man who sent me a card for my eighteenth birthday, after five years of no contact, with a glory note about how he no longer had to pay child support. I know no one believes his crap, but he's still spilling it all over the county. He wants sympathy. He wants to cry until someone feels bad for him, but he doesn't love anyone but himself, and he doesn't care, because he knows how to find me and for twelve years never bothered to do anything but hurt me and send me nasty letters. I was old enough when he left to remember the truth in what happened and how he treated me, and I don't want him around me, but still he lies. He went as far as to tell an old mutual friend that he saw us all the time, and when mutual friend told us, we were shocked and appalled. But that's not the point of this post.

When I really sat back and thought it out, I realized there are also dads in a position where they want to see their kids, they really do love them, and circumstances don't allow it. There are moms who are angry with the person they had their child to over personal reasons, therefore turning the child against their own father. There are daughters who get misinformation, and the father suffers. So sometimes when a dad says he misses his daughter, he really does miss his daughter. He really does want that contact. He really has tried, but the mother has given the daughter a false story she believes that makes the father the bad guy, and now she doesn't want anything to do with him. I'm not speaking for the person who posted on Twitter in particular, because again, I don't know him, but he made me think. There are fathers out there who care, and by no fault of their own, are hurt because their daughters don't care for them the same way my father doesn't care for me, and it really sucks.

So even though this is late, as the old adage goes, it's better late than never. To all those fathers out there who haven't abandoned their kids, but who have been abandoned by them for reasons that aren't their fault, and also reasons of miscommunication and false information , I wish you a Happy Father's Day. Let's just make a pact. I don't have a dad, but wish I had a good one, and you all don't have contact with your daughters, so from me to you, I mean this from my heart.

Also, it's awkward when you're a psychic medium and the last person you thought would have a kid turns out to have a kid. Welcome to my crazy day of bad psychic vibes and information that gets me to the church, but not the right pew. Hopefully tomorrow is better.

The Story of My Life In Spirits and the Paranormal + Help Identify Leah M.

I grew up in a world where I didn't have to question if the paranormal existed. I knew that it did. With that knowing and that gift came a lot of secrets and keeping things inside. When I try to look back on what made me who I am, I keep going back to being that child who tried to sleep in her bedroom while an old lady who no one else could see would knit in a rocking chair in the corner of my room. I remember looking at her and knowing she was there and wondering why no one else could see her. I remember not telling anyone, because even as a child, I knew no one else would understand.

As I got older, as in the last ten years or so, the paranormal has been more widely accepted. I felt like I could "come out" so to speak and talk to people about what I do. But it's really just been in the last few months that I feel like I can be completely open to all my friends, plus to the internet world. This decision was made because I realize I want to use my gifts to help people. I want to help as many people as I can, and my personal life has to take a back seat to that. To be fair, though, my personal life has always taken a back seat to this gift. I just didn't know it until today.

I grew up hiding my gift, therefore, indirectly hiding myself and who I really was from my friends, family and the world. After you get to a certain age, that becomes a part of you. If you can hide the one huge thing that you do, the thing that is completely normal to you but not normal for anyone else, you can hide the little things, too. Before you know it, your song is being sung only by you, your future written in a book only you have the ability to read. It's like you become this little complicated story within yourself, but everyone else sees this easy, breezy, relatively normal person, and it's a lie.

I don't regret my gift, nor do I want to push it away. In fact, over the years I've realized that helping those who have passed, those who others can't, is more important than my personal life. It's okay to put what I want on the back burner to do the job I was born to do. This is in my blood. This is a part of me. If I wake up one day and I can't read people, or help those who have passed, or anything like that, I would be completely lost and feel like my purpose was done in this life.

I'm going to have to find someone who shares this with me if I'm ever going to settle down, and I know that. My goal is to help as many people as I can with my gift, but it would be nice to get what I wanted for once. It would be nice to have a little family and a relatively normal life, but still know that the person I'm with understands that what I do is in my blood and shares that with me. But I love what I do enough that I wouldn't give it up for someone or hide it or be someone else just to be with someone.

On the same token, I realize that sometimes I sabotage my own relationships. I'm slowly coming out of my shell and trying to break the mold I put myself into over the years. Simple questions like, what's your best childhood memory, become emotional for me to answer because I feel like that's so private. That is not that private. I'm just used to keeping everything to myself and letting people see who I am today, who I am now, and just the basics. I'm not used to opening up, but I want to. I want to find the right way to do that and the right person to do this with. So far the only people who see me inside out are the spirits that I help. It's funny to think that they can become friends or a part of you, but they can. I connect with them and their stories. With as many psychic mediums as there are in this world, they wouldn't come to me if there wasn't a connection.

So I guess what I'm saying is that sometimes I feel like I'll spend more sleepless nights being woken up by the dead who inevitably forget that the living sleep, than I will by screaming babies or romantic nights out with someone special. But you know what, that's okay. It's not how I pictured my life, but I'm following a path that is in my blood. One day I will get what I want, but not until the time is right, and I find someone who feels just as lost in this random little paranormal club that seems so small in such a big world. Nothing will ever be perfect, but it will work.

And to end this blog, I'm going to put something out there that I put on Twitter. For those of you who know about my abilities, you know that I confirm any information that I get from each spirit who comes to me, plus I work with a lot of murdered and missing people. This is not because I do not believe in my gift, because I do more than I believe in anything else. However, I also know that it is careless to not confirm circumstances and the like before I dive into anything, because there are plenty of things out there who will try to trick people like me, plus people who could be hurt if I'm the teeniest bit incorrect, and hurting people is not a business I am in.

This is why I would love to get into paranormal investigating more than I have. I know how to investigate, I just would love to do it more. I think it would be amazing to be able to take my abilities and use them to capture solid evidence of the paranormal. That's my butterfly eyed dream job, but I'm getting off track here, so I digress.

I am very scientific, plus cautious in the way that I use my gifts, therefore, I need your guys' help with something. The other night I had almost gotten to sleep after lying there helplessly for awhile when I had one of the worse nights I had ever had as far as spirits go. I spent over an hour listening to a spirit begging for help, and worse yet, I couldn't get her attention to calm her because she didn't know that she had passed, and I couldn't see her, though she was quite loud. Finally, after over an hour of this, I was able to get one of my other deceased girls who was in the upset spirit's plain, therefore allowing the upset spirit to see her, to let her know she had passed and calm her. That's confusing if you're not used to the paranormal, I know, so if you want clarification, let me know and I can do that.

I looked for the crying spirit the next night to no avail. I was both scared and worried that she wouldn't come back for help, especially knowing that the spirit who had gotten her attention had taken off again to do whatever it is that she does in the spirit world to keep the balance of good and evil at bay. (I have an idea of what she and some of my other girls do, but it would be a lie if I said I knew exactly what they did.) The new spirit was out there alone, and I wanted to help her. My heart was broken for her, especially with what had gone on the night before, and I kept asking her that if she could hear me, she needed to come back to me. She needed to tell me what was wrong if she could. I was only here to help her.

The next night she came back. This time I could see her, and she was aware she was dead and somewhat able to communicate, although it was a bit tough on her. All she was able to tell me in her struggle to learn how to communicate in the spirit world was that her name was Leah M. She did say her last name, but I was unable to make it out, and she was unable to repeat it to me. I believe it was something like Manchester or Mangotti, but don't hold me to that. She was about 5'6 or 5'7, around 130 pounds, with long, straight dark hair down just an inch past her breasts, side bangs that hit around the corner of her eye on her left side when looking at her, and blueish green eyes. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced and her lips were fuller.

I have been unable to find her in a database to confirm the circumstances of what happened to her, so this is where you guys come in. If you know anyone who is missing a Leah M that fits this description, I have her and there is a reason for it. For reasons concerning the fact that this is someone's friend, daughter, sister and loved one, I will not elaborate on how she died in a public forum, but if this is your person, please let me know and we can discuss this further. I want to help her, but I can't help her until I find out where she came from. She has been trying to ask me for certain people, and as she gets stronger as a spirit and understands how to navigate the spirit world a little better, I'm understanding her more and more, so if you contact me, I will know if she is your loved one.

I have this fear of contacting families on my own, and I wish I wasn't such a wimp. In this case she's asking me to contact her roommate specifically, a twenty two year old Spanish girl whose name I am having trouble understanding. It's very pretty and classically Spanish, plus it starts with a P. I will never spell it or pronounce it right, but it sounds like Pe-ay-ha when she says it. I think it's a nickname, though. The girls would have lived somewhere just west of the Mojave Desert. The roommate, P, would wear a lot of turquoise jewelry, and Leah has a tattoo of an eagle on her ribcage, just under and off to the side of her left breast. She would have been into graphic design or some kind of arts. Some of this stuff is stuff I've been told, and others stuff I am psychically picking up.

I think I've put enough information out there that you will know if this is your loved one or not. That way, this gives the family and friends a chance to contact me, so that my fear of going to jail in connection with a case because I called a family who didn't believe in mediums and freak someone out doesn't come true. If you know this person, please contact me. You can find my email address in my profile. It is your choice to believe me or not; I'm not asking for you to, but I want to put Leah to rest, and I know that's all you want too.

Run and Tell That

It's that time of the year again, Squirrel Monkeys. That's right, it's Aunt Bev's 29th birthday...again. So in celebration of that, this post will be all about Aunt Bev and things having to do with Aunt Bev. Yay!

This is Willow. This is obviously a picture of Willow when she was a kitten, but this is still Willow.

Everyone say "aww." Did we all say it? Okay, good. Moving along.

Now, as cute as Willow is, she's a little, well...she's a little like the village idiot. Cute and well meaning, loved by everyone, but in need of a sign. Now I ask you to look at this cute little face again and believe it.


It's unbelievable, right? So let me tell you a few stories about this fun loving, confused gal. When spring started and lovely weather was upon us, Aunt Bev opened her front door so that the kitties could sit and look out at all the birdies in the tree just outside of her glass door. All the little kitties lined up and merrily watched all the little birdies bounce from tree to tree as happy as little larks, pun totally intended. And then there was Willow. Willow was as happy as a little lark, only she was turned with her butt toward the door, her head facing Aunt Bev in the kitchen, her expression saying, "This is cool, Mom. Thanks!" She totally missed the point of the door being open and the birdies outside.

This would be okay if it were an isolated incident and she did nothing else dumb ever again. Alas, that was not the case. When le kittehs were tiny, they would hang out in the mudroom at night, and then in the morning Aunt Bev would open the door and their tiny little bodies would slide under the door when she was opening it, and then jump up the step into the house. Now, they still hang out in the mudroom at nap time, but when Aunt Bev opens the door, their darling little heads are unable to clear it. All the little kitties duck their heads under the door and clear it, then jump up the step into the house. Not Willow. She just keeps moving backward with the door. She doesn't get out of the way of the door or duck, she just follows the door backwards while it opens, and then proceeds to try and figure out how to go around it to get into the house. Aunt Bev says she's dumber than two blocks of wood, a phrase that has become a good part of my semi weekly emails that are awesome. It's not only cats that are dumber than two blocks of wood. You can run and tell that.

Last week, I also regaled you with a story of the reverse shoplifting, accidental kleptomaniac situation that Aunt Bev and myself took part in. Well, now I have another similar story to share with all of you that Aunt Bev shared with me today. One time she was shopping and her bill seemed delightfully low. When she got home and checked her receipt, she realized the store had given her an item that was not on sale for almost free, and that it had been rung up incorrectly. Being the goody two shoes she is, she decided to go back and try to pay the store the right amount. The lady at the register just looked at her like she was nuts and told her nothing could be done and the situation couldn't be rectified, so take her discount and run. And now this is why Aunt Bev is afraid to try and return things she accidentally stole, because she's afraid they'll tell her to keep it and she won't feel right about it. So for all these reasons, wish Aunt Bev a Happy Birthday. I'll make sure she gets it.

Angry Singing's Second Cousin

I had one of those days yesterday that I'm pretty sure no one would believe unless they lived it. Since all of you that have been hanging around Ruby Red Hearts for awhile know my ridiculous life, I'm pretty sure you're the right audience to share this story with. You all will just smile, roll your eyes, not bat and eyelash and go on with your day. As if my life. I will forewarn you that I've been angry typing all night, so hopefully this blog doesn't look like one big billboard for angry typing. If I were Niecy Nash, though, I'd approve of angry typing, because it reigns just below its distant second cousin, angry singing. We all know Niecy isn't having any of that. Amen, girl.

My day started out normal enough. I got up, got my coffee, tried a new creamer that I was vastly unsure of but will drink anyway because I don't want to waste it, and then I put on my invisible suit and became an exterminator. Yep, I didn't know I was an exterminator until yesterday either, you guys. I walked into the cat room to clean it out and was attacked by a hundred or so ants, exact number pending, and one really large wolf spider who got sucked up in the vacuum cleaner. I whipped out the bug spray, went to town and was quite proud of myself. Then I went into my bathroom.

My hopes were dashed quickly when I saw hundreds of little ants, some carcasses, some jackasses, running around my floor. It was extreme and utter chaos, and my second run in with ants this year. I sprayed, I cleaned, I cried, I pretended I wasn't crying and hadn't had enough with those mother trucking ants on my mother trucking bathroom floor, and then gave up and went ape shit on them with the vacuum. The important thing is that they're gone, and I didn't have to even get certified to murder them. But if the cops come looking for me because I'm now considered an ant serial killer, help me hide the bodies, you all. And that wasn't even the weird part of my day.

Up until yesterday, there was something else I didn't know. I'm apparently a bird magnet. Now, if you know me at all, you know I'm about as good with birds as Zak Bagans is with snakes. They flap and flutter, and it's just bad road. So imagine how I felt when I looked up just in time to see one fly onto our porch and in our back door that was open so the dogs could go in and out of the fenced in yard. Twenty five years I've been alive and have never seen a bird fly right into the house.

As luck would have it, though, this wasn't any ordinary bird. This was super hyperventilating bird, who someone managed to get himself so worked up that he passed out upside down on one of our lawn chairs and forgot to move again. Feeling bad for the little bird and thinking that it might be the opposite of alive, I reached out to it while geeking out about it in my own head. I told myself I was doing it for the good of the bird, but that still didn't seem good enough. I just figured at that point I was stone cold crazy and moved on. Low and behold, as soon as that sucker was in my grasp, it was suddenly just fine and alive. Talk about an angry bird.

Over the next twenty minutes, Peeved Off Pete, as I would like to call this bird regardless of gender, flapped around our front porch like no one's business. It was a fight to the finish, but I finally got the little bugger outside. It never even thanked me for the help, but it did teach me something. Never trust a bird. Ever. If you think they're dead or hurt and will be grateful for your help, they won't. It will just make them want to peck at your beady little head more. You can chalk that up to another lesson learned from Ruby Red Hearts. You're welcome.

Accidental Kleptomaniac

I hung out with Aunt Bev today, so naturally, I have a story for that.

Our plan for the day was to hit the local college to try and find a lady I used to know to help with a paranormal problem that is above me and involves things that are not nice, and then head out to eat to celebrate Aunt Bev's upcoming birthday with all her four billion birthday coupons. We had just left the college and were driving down the road when we hit a stoplight. Aunt Bev was rooting through her purse, which was nothing new, as I was watching the road. The next thing I know it she says, "I accidentally stole this."

I'll let you let that sink in for a few seconds.

I looked over briefly to find that she had a piece to a weed whacker in her purse. With that, she says to me, "I'm a kleptomaniac."

I lost my shiz.

As we drove off into the non sunset and down the road, the story began to slowly unravel. Several weeks ago, Aunt Bev was at the Home Depot looking for a part for her weed whacker. She had taken the part off of her weed whacker to compare, looked at several, found the right one and bought it and took it home. She was going through her purse a little later and pulled out what she thought was the part she had taken from her weed whacker, only it was in an unopened bag. Slowly, she realized she had somehow stolen a weed whacker part from the store, though she's still unsure how it got in her bag. And better yet, it didn't even fit her weed whacker.

At this point I was laughing so hard I was surprised I wasn't crying, and it also wasn't likely I was the right person to tell this to, because I had no plans on letting this go. It helped none when she began to tell me about how she keeps wanting to take it back, but she doesn't know how. If she takes it up to the register and tries to explain, they might roll her eyes and not believe her, and she may get in trouble. Her plan was to sneak it back in and nonchalantly put it back where she got it and put an end to this madness. As I'm picturing her doing this, I'm so hysterical in laughter that I'm lucky I can see. Then we passed a cop car.

If that's not good timing, I'm not sure what is.

As we passed the cop car, I finished telling her that the popo were after her so we better not get pulled over and have them find the merchandise on her, I suggested that since we were a quarter of a mile from Home Depot that we should return the item after we got finished eating. She said that it was up to me, but she'd rather me not get involved because then I'd get arrested, too. I know she was kidding, but I pointed out that I didn't think anyone would arrest us for reverse shoplifting. Also, I assured her there was no way I wasn't going to be part of this, because it was too epic and total blog material, so I wasn't about to miss out on a chance to be involved, as opposed to just write about this.

While we were eating, Aunt Bev managed to decide what she wanted, lose it on the page, spend three minutes searching for it, all while the waitress waited there and I busted out laughing because all I could think about was how she was an accidental kleptomaniac. Later, after the wait staff had passed our table twice to go and sing birthday songs to other tables, they finally made it around to sing Happy Birthday to Aunt Bev. I was still laughing, because all I could think of was how we were going to reverse shoplift and it was going to be ridiculous.

Once we finished our meals, we went over to the scene of the crime. We walked in the doors casually, the part number of the piece we were returning in our heads so that we could find it first, scurry it out of her purse, and then shove it back on the shelf in its rightful place. All was going well; we had found the part on the shelves after much joking about how Home Depot would no longer be selling it when we returned, and then she'd be stuck with the part that was going to haunt her forever. We were ready to put it back, and I was serving as the lookout, when I spotted danger. For the first time in our lives, someone actually came up to us in the Home Depot and asked us if we needed help. I know, guys, I wouldn't have believed it unless I saw it myself, either. It was magical and myth like, but posed a serious danger to our plan.

I don't know that it helped that we looked at each other and busted out laughing. I don't know that it helped that we couldn't stop giggling, and by we, I mean me. I just sounded like I stole something, and he wouldn't go away. He turned his back to us, but was but a few short feet from us, and we froze. Do we giggle more, or keep giggling, in my case? Do we give up the ghost of that plan? Do we run? Do we hide? Do we... Oh, never mind. This is the part where he gets a call on his handheld and walks away, in case you were wondering.

We looked left, we looked right, and in the blink of an eye she had the sucker on the shelf, and we were in the next aisle laughing and looking at chain saws. I don't think she needs a chain saw after this...

When we left the store after making a purchase, we were laughing so hard at anything that reminded us of her accidentally stealing something that we had the cashier guy laughing with us, even though he had no idea what he was laughing at. We could still hear him laughing as we walked out the door. That's how we do it, folks. We keep it mysterious and leave them laughing.

Although that would have been enough for one day, my day went on to be absolutely ridiculous. Three highlights include the following.

When we were leaving Red Robin, we passed these very large steel flowers that were put up by the shopping center the restaurant was in. This reminded me of a story, just in case you didn't think I had a story for everything, because I totally do.

Years and years ago when the plaza was first built and my grandma was still alive, my mom, Aunt Sarah, grandma and I were all out enjoying a day at one of the nearby restaurants. The steel flowers had been freshly erected (Tehehe, I said erected.), and Aunt Sarah, who was in her early eighties at the time, saw them, turned to me, and the following took place.

Aunt Sarah: "Oh, Cassie, look at those flowers. I want them. We're just going to have to come right on back in dark clothes in the middle of the night and steal them. You'll help me, won't you, Cassie? We're just going to come and get them and take them on home."

Me: "Aunt Sarah, I don't think we'll be able to handle those. They look heavy."

Aunt Sarah: "Sure we will. We'll just bring our shovels and get them on out of there. No one will ever catch us."

It's a twenty four hour shopping center...

And, of course, she was kidding. I hope.

When Aunt Bev and I made it home from our ridiculous journey, my mom pulled in nearly exactly after us. While we were outside talking, some guy went driving down the road, which wouldn't be abnormal, except we heard him before we saw him or heard his car. He had his windows down, and as he got closer, he was yelling "I ALREADY TOLD YOU WHERE IT WAS!" over and over at the top of his lungs. We could hear him clear after we had stopped seeing him. I would hate to be whomever he was going home to, but I enjoyed how ridiculous this guy was. That's reality show material right there, man. And if you get discovered because of me, random guy, I totally expect twenty percent of your paycheck for being your agent. And referrals. I expect them, too.

On a more serious note that will turn ridiculous soon, my friend and I got caught up in a bad paranormal case in which we are currently looking for someone who deals with darker spirits to assist us with, as it's gotten too much for the two of us to handle. This is pretty new for me, this having to ask for help thing, so I spent hours online looking and looking, only to come up empty when it came with finding someone in the area to deal with what we need dealt with. Exasperated, my poor friend who is also involved in this got this IM in this exact fashion.

"WHO DO I HAVE TO SLEEP WITH IN ORDER TO GET US SOME HELP?"

*Pause*

"NO, SERIOUSLY, TELL ME!!!"

This turned into a big thing in which I began to tease that I was going to post ads on Craigslist advertising free sex for their services and see if that gets us help faster. Not only would I be a very homely looking hooker, but I'm good with not having sex with random people ever. And I do mean ever. I'll just leave you all with that.

Brain Fart Solutions

Over the years I've given you all lots of useless tips and pieces of advice. Here's one more.

You know that awkward moment when you're in a crowded room full of people and don't know a few of their names? You know you're going to end up faking smiles and mumbling out something that resembles part of a name because you've met them before, but your brain farted when it came to their name. You're trying to think of how to fix this so you don't look stupid. You're in with a group of people you vaugely know, but whose names you can remember because you met them more than once. You're debating asking them what the names of the people you don't know are, but then you'd feel silly and are too embarrassed. Here's what you do.

Say the person whose name you want to remember is a male in a red shirt. He's standing just feet from you, but not close enough that he can hear your conversation. You glance at him sideways to make sure, then step in closer to your friends, go back to paying attention to their conversation, and then you casually say:

"Hey, I'll be back. I'm going to go grab another fruity little drink and say hi to Stephen on my way through. I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. Do you want anything?"

And then they say:

"Who's Stephen?"

This is where it gets tricky, because you have to play this cooler than a The Band Perry song. (If you got that reference, two cookies for you.) You have to keep a poker face and act casual, your voice not wavering or showing signs of the awesome lie that's about to come out of your mouth. You take a deep breathe and say:

"The guy in the red shirt."

With this, you nonchalantly point in his direction, but not too much, because you don't want him to notice if he happens to glance your way. That would be awkward and hard to explain, and you don't want to have to do any explaining. This isn't I Love Lucy, and you do not have 'splainin to do.

Predictably, all of the people in your group will look at you funny, gasp and go:

"That's not Stephen. That's James."

Congratulations! You've gotten this far. Now this is the part where I need you to really, really listen to me, because it's about to get tight rope walking tricky. One wrong move and you're splat on the ground like a pancake. You need to pull out nothing short of an Oscar winning performance when you recite this next line. Are you ready?

You are?

This requires facial expressions, too, so I'll ask you again, are you ready?

Okay, I believe you this time. This is what you say:

"I don't know what guy in the red shirt you're looking at, but that's definitely Stephen."

This is where you give them all a weird look, ignore the looks their giving you, and then nonchalantly walk away and walk over to Stephen, who you now know is really James, and strike up a conversation with him. When the people you were talking to see you talking friendly with him, they'll all question if his name really is James or if you were right and it's Stephen. Not only do you not embarrass yourself, but you get one over on other people, too.

You're welcome.

Needs More Superglue

There's a lot of things in my life that I think feel neglected right now. This blog is one of them. Greta Hayley is one of them. I am one of them. My novel, it counts, too, even though it and my blog do not have feelings. There has been a lot going on for me right now, and nothing at all at the same time. I'm worried for a friend who got bad news and is trying to power through it when I know she wants to break down and cry. I worried that one of my other friends is gone, and when given the chance to corner and confront someone for a straight answer, I got scared and ran away and cried in my car. I'm worried because I feel so jumbled and angry lately, and I think it's because my childhood emotions that I was forced to keep inside have caught up with me. In all of this, I'm just trying to figure out what to do to make it all better, to cover up everyone's cuts and bruises and scars so that they can dance another day in all their glory.

This week, I've been what I like to call in the most adult terms possible, icky, icky, blah, blah sick. I thought maybe I was over exaggerating about how sick I actually was until I got on the scale at the end of this week and realized I lost nearly eight pounds. Sure, there's days I feel like I need to lose weight, but not like this. When I was younger, I got so sick that I dropped down to ninety eight pounds, which was so unhealthy for my height of five foot five and for me personally, and I don't want to do that again. But when I get this sick, I have no control, so I'm hoping this was last week's thing and we can move on from it.

I also have a friend who feels like she's just done with life, and there's been a few moments this week that I've agreed with her on that, and I know that these aren't my real feelings. And I know that they're not hers, even if she doesn't. There's something bigger going on, and I don't want anything to happen to her. She doesn't realize she's special to someone all the time, but even though she might not be a friend in my neighborhood or country, she's special to me because she is smart plus talented. She deserves to keep on living and keep on going, and I feel so helpless and useless to her, because I don't know what to do or say to make her feel better or make her smile. Any suggestions?

Sometimes I feel like there's no one out there that's meant for me, and sometimes I feel like there is and we just haven't met yet, but I'm going to make him so happy and him me. Other times I just really don't want to keep trying with love and putting my fragile heart out there to find another guy who lies, cheats and wants to bring me down. I know not all guys are like that, though that's not generally been my experience. The two men in my life that have believed in me and shaped me into the girl who is remotely okay and can keep forging on are no longer in my life. One is my grandfather who sadly passed way too soon from prostate cancer, and the other is the friend I suspect has passed via their own hand.

I've been working to help people with their paranormal problems, because I really feel this is something that I not only want, but need to do with my life. I feel like I could best be used traveling to help people who are having hauntings, helping the police with missing persons and suspicious death cases, and working with paranormal teams to help them get evidence of those who have passed, plus help the spirits in the haunted locations find peace and move on. There's so much I want to do and I feel like I want nothing but for the world to either stop right now, or spin faster so that I can get to the good part. I am sincerely trying to get it there myself, but I think I need a little cosmic, universal help.

I also feel like, although my psychic medium abilities are gifts, they are also a curse, too. I hate it when I pass someone on the street and immediately know their life story without ever talking to them. I hate when I connect with someone I don't even know or barely know because I know their story and I want to fix it and them. I hate that superglue won't just put them back together and solve their problem.

I know a big part of this has to do with the place where I am right now, in a literal way. I hate where I live. The only good part about it is my doctors and my friends, who are amazing. I hate everything else about it. I hate the area. I hate the general population of rude, stuck up, one track minded people who are stuck in a tiny little box and cause their own problems. I'm tired of having no peace and quiet because our neighbors think that we don't exist and have absolutely no respect for anyone, including each other. I hate that I heard the neighbor's boyfriend yelling and telling her that he was going to kill her last night, he swore he was going to fucking kill her, yet her family of whom she lives with and obviously heard it deny it, so there's nothing anyone will do to help her. I may not like her, but that doesn't mean I want her to die.

I love my mom dearly, but I am tired of living with her, too. It seems like the more we're together, the more we both realize this isn't working. It makes me feel like crap because I'm not allowed to work, so I can't make money to get out of here and break the cycle. I'm doing everything I can, from paranormal stuff to working on my novel, to try and find a way to make my own money on terms that my doctors would approve of, but that comes with time and a lot of work. So far not enough time or work has passed for me to make money.

Worse yet, my mom is already looking at my first paycheck as her money, whereas I'm looking at it as my way out of here. I am happy to give her money if the situation allows, but she thinks I'm going to turn it all over to her and continue living here. I know if I do get that paycheck from a book or a paranormal case where there was a reward, the argument it's going to cause could be the end of our relationship. Either that or she'll insist on moving with me and living with me wherever I go, and I can't have that. I won't. I'm sorry, but I need to be on my own, and I know that she's going to continue to suffocate me when I move out, because she doesn't know how to be alone without me. She taught me to be an independent woman, yet she consistently makes comments that she wishes we didn't live together, but she couldn't live without me so I'm stuck with her. It's not going to work out for her that way. I just haven't found a way tell her yet without starting a fight.

I want to go out west. I've had my eye on Vegas for several years. I like that everyone from every walk of life congregates there. I love the desert. I love the endless possibilities. I love that there's always something going on so that even insomniacs like myself will never be bored. I like a chance at freedom and starting over, because that's something I'm not afraid to do. These days I feel trapped, like I'm never alone with my own thoughts, and I'm ready to move forward from this phase of my life, but my body won't let me. It's frustrating. I find myself having arguments with inanimate objects, such as my sewing machine. I find myself becoming miserable and copying the miserable, sarcastic and rude actions of my mom when around her, but I'm fine when I'm not. I love my mom, but I don't want to be her.

At the core, I am a sweet girl with my heart on my sleeve. I tell sarcastic jokes and am one big riot to cover up the fact that I'm hurting because of what I've been through. It's to cover up the fact that I'm lonely in a way that friends can't solve, and that I'm also not wanting to date anyone because I've learned that everyone who cares leaves in one way or another. I guess one day I'll meet that someone, but I feel like that time is too far away. Everyone who I've connected with and just knew we'd work, they didn't feel the same. There's something about that, that reminds me of my childhood days when my dad left and didn't really give a damn, and now my adult days where I'm glad he's gone, and it makes me wonder what it's all really about, because it's not the hokey pokey.

But one day I'll overcome my illness, understand myself, be free, and write that novel that will move someone. One day I'll solve that paranormal case that changes someone's life, helps a spirit, and helps a family move on. One day I'll raise money to help Outpost For Hope so that every missing person is accounted for, which is something that is only a distant dream now, but something I'm so passionate about. One day I'll have myself a cute little house and a permit to save abandoned and abused animals. One day, all of this will come, but I'm sure being slammed with feelings of consternation in the meantime.

And while that's true, if you have a paranormal problem you want help with, just ask. I'm free. I promise. I would never charge someone for an issue they're having. If you need a medium that is the most skeptical medium as far as wanting proof of their own gifts and is all about using equipment in an investigation and helping spirits move on, I'm your girl. If there's a case that happened to a friend or family member, let me know. I'm simply here to help.