You've Been Cat Dialed

So today I was in the grocery store shopping...while helping a demonologist with an exorcism by way of cell phone. How has your day been?

Yeah, guys, that happened. It's been an insane week. The demonologist that I regularly work with came to me for help with a case. Last night everything came to a head, and then unexpectedly had to be finished off today. While I was at the grocery store. Where people could hear me and I could get in their way. I just refused to let this stop me from grocery shopping. Luckily my demonologist and I both find it completely hilarious that stuff like this is just a mere mild inconvenience in our day. But I have to say, assisting with an exorcism from the grocery store was definitely a new one for me, and that was just part of my day.

Today, all of this happened and then some, but I can't remember the and then some part. That's probably a good thing.

- I cleaned out the refrigerator and cabinets and found stuff I didn't even know I had. Then I was disappointed because it had gone bad before I ate it. Following that, I began to think about all the new stuff I was going to buy at the grocery store that would disappoint me in the same way.

- I visited (Let's use the term "visited," otherwise I'll end up angry.) the office of which holds my paperwork for my insurance. I was supposed to get new papers to fill out for the end of this month, and to have my doctors fill out, but they never came. Turns out they moved my renewal period back a month. No one thought it necessary to tell me, nor would anyone call me back when I called them to ask about it, so I got to waste my gas and time to go deal with stupid. I live a highly glamorous life.

- I visited my mom at her new job and realized her co-worker is way too friendly. I didn't think that was possible, but she even terrified me.

- While shopping, I nicely told anyone who got in line behind me that I had a lot of coupons. I wasn't the crazy coupon lady, but I'd be awhile. The first guy thanked me and got out of line. The second lady lied to me and said that was okay and she had plenty of time. I was almost done checking out when she lost her cool and started swearing and bitching me out under her breathe and moved to another register. The check out lady and myself bust out laughing. Hey, I warned her. And I was out of the store before she even got checked out in her brand spanking new line.

- I learned that I can use my clicker to lock my car from the dining room. Now that I know that, I can be completely lazy and never have to walk the whole way out on the porch again.

- I gave my cat an entire dramatic monologue. It was as follows. I encourage you to read this as if you were an actress or actor in a comedy where you were encouraged to be overly dramatic for the pure purpose of ridiculousness.

"You once were but a small, beautiful kitty who had it all. The world was in your hands. You had everything you wanted. Your life was beautiful. You were a princess, what with your fancy meowing and your special canned food."

I now encourage you to read this as if you were Miley Cyrus on Hannah Montana and trying to make a point while angry.

"And then you had to go and not chew your food."

Let me explain. Sophie kitty thinks she's a princess, so much so that she does not like hard cat food. She can eat it, her teeth are fine, she's lived on it for six years now, but she just doesn't particularly care for it. Since Sophie also happens to be the creepiest cat in the entire world and I am convinced she's plotting my murder, we decided to get her some canned food to make her happy. Things were going quite well, right up until the other night. When I went in the room to get her, I thought she had dumped her bowl. Then I realized what she had actually done was not chew any of her cat food and threw it up all over the entire room. Furniture had to be moved, sheets washed, the rug scrubber came out, and I pulled something in my back moving the bed just like any ninety year old would do. So needless to say, her days with canned food are over. All she had to do was chew her food. Now she's in there chewing hard food and giving me dirty looks. Look, Sophie, we all know your teeth and gums are fine, so don't even play it like that.

- I hand washed my bra in Woolite and was trying to spray some perfume on it so it could dry with the bra and make it smell yummy, since I hate the smell of Woolite. Someone, and we won't mention any names, but since I was the only one doing this you can guess who it was, didn't look to see what way the perfume bottle was pointing and sprayed herself in the nose. On the bright side, everything smells spectacular.

- I learned that I hate when you want one snack cake, but there's two in a package, so you have to pretend to be upset that you have to eat both just so you feel better about eating both.

I should have seen this ridiculousness coming. Last night I had that awkward moment where I was on the oval office and finished my book, and then wondered what I was supposed to read then. Hey, don't look at me like that. We all do it. If you say you don't read while on the potty, you are either lying or you are texting during your business.

But even with all of that craziness behind me, I do have some good news to report. I identified DJ VM$$. It's my cat Stitch. If he hadn't sat on my phone and managed to call my mom, I would have probably never known. Forget butt dialing. Mom, you've been cat dialed.

Also, tomorrow I'm hanging out with my mom and Aunt Bev. I better get some good stories from the blog or I think it's safe to say that we'll all be disappointed.

Caution: White, Sober Girl Walking

I know I've been promising you all part two of the plumbing story for exactly a month now, so I've decided to stop being lame and write it. But before I do, I have a few things I want to share with you all.

First, for those of you who were following the LMCP story, I have an update. LMCP has crossed over. I'm sure this isn't the end of the saga with her, as she left quite a legacy behind, but I had finally succumbed to the fact that she was with me for life. However, her person and herself really stepped up last week and dealt with what they needed to deal with. In doing that, they figured out how to let each other go, and it was a really beautiful thing. Before she left, I promised her that I would make sure to always keep an eye on her person. Normally, when my spirit girls are not helping someone, they stay with me. Now, when they don't have a greater purpose at the moment, they stay with her person and not only keep him safe, but keep his stuff from bothering anyone else. Although it's quiet around here because my one girl that is always with me is now taking care of him, I know it's for a bigger purpose. Everything that needed to be taken care of around him was, and everything she needed, she got closure on. Although taking care of her person is going to be a life long job and entails more than just having my girls keep an eye on him, I am much less stressed without her seventeen and pregnant self hanging around. A lot of things are changing and rearranging, but I think it's a good change.

Second, my cat now has a rapper name. It's VM Double Dollar, but is shortened to be ever so fashionable at VM$$. Let me explain. The other day I left my phone lying on the coffee table. I thought it was safe. When I came back to it, my red light was going off. I looked at my phone, and it was a text from my friend asking what VM$$ meant. I never texted her that, so I was confused, until I looked at the previous text. It was indeed from me and had indeed said VM$$. The only reasonable solution was that a cat stepped on my phone and sent that. The only reasonable explanation for a name that fly was that it was my cat's DJ name. The problem is, I don't know which cat did it.

With that said, I want you all to know that I wasn't initially going to tell part two of the crazy plumbing story. But I decided I'm going to go for it full force. My mom called a plumber the same night as we found there was water leaking into my vent, and he promised to send someone out the next day. My mom chose a plumber that her clients had used. In the business she's in, she sees all the bills for the work that is done for her clients. She knew his rates and knew he had done good work. She had told the plumber that it had been the reason she had chosen him. You can see this is going to go wrong somewhere, yeah? Long story short, the plumber decided to completely rip us off and charge us a much, much higher price than he charged her clients for labor. Our job was about a sixth of a job that theirs was, too.  He also charged us for times they weren't here, the plumbers' lunch hours, and two hours in travel time a day when they're only coming from twenty minutes away in bad traffic. This is now an ongoing dispute, but I digress.

Day one started off fine. I was up way earlier than I wanted to be with some strange guy in my house. Since I was the only one home, the day soon became like a Nancy Drew novel, only the mystery was where the leak was coming from. The first assumption was that it was coming from under the house. The poor plumber crawled his bad self under there, couldn't get the whole way back, but couldn't see anything either. That led to some hemming and hawing, and finally the realization that there was going to have to be some cutting into the walls. I'm not going to lie, Plumber 1 and myself had some awesome adventures and laughs while trying to find this leak. He was kind of awesome.

By the end of the day, we had found the problem, the plumber had fixed it, we had a hole in our wall and floor, our washer and dryer pulled out, but we were gleeful. And then we realized we had more leaks. This apparently was a two plumber job for the following day. That was gauranteed to be debauchery filled.

Day two got a little hinky. Plumber 1 came back with Plumber 3. I could call him Plumber 2, but that just seems unoriginal. I open the door to greet the strange men into my house earlier in the morning than I care to be up, when Plumber 3 says to me: "I swear I didn't pee my pants. My wife didn't put the lid on my coffee the whole way this morning." And then he walks away. He didn't even see hi. Immediately, I knew I was going to like Plumber 3 just fine.

Because the plumbers didn't want to tear up more floor, they decided to see if they could get far enough under our house to find the leak. This didn't seem feasible seeing as the leak couldn't be found from under there the day before, but Plumber 3 was feeling particularly bold and decided to try it. While standing outside of the entrance to the crawl space under our house and having Plumber 1 ask me a question, me answer it, and him yell the answer to plumber 3, I was stung by a bee. It wasn't even ten am. It was going to be one of those days. For the record, I've never been stung by a bee in my life, but it was good to know I wasn't allergic to them. Because we all know there's no better time to find out if you're allergic to bees or not than when you're alone with two strange men in your home.

They finally surmised they had no choice but to make another hole in the floor in another room. The problem was that it was a ninety something degree day, and the room they had to work in was land locked by other rooms. The tiny window it did have in the one open wall didn't open anymore. The way the room was facing, there was no way to get air into it. I was afraid they were going to die, but Plumber 3 assured me they would be okay with some fans. I still started coming up with stories to tell the police just in case, and realized the truth was really the only thing that wasn't going to make me sound suspicious.

I went into the living room and decided to send incredibly funny emails to everyone I knew, because I didn't know what else to do with myself. You know how it is, the second you start a project, they need your help, so there was no use in starting anything. If you don't start anything serious, they don't need your help. Guess which rule this day followed. If you guessed one, you would be wrong.

As I'm really into my emails, minding my own business and what not, the plumbers suddenly start making a loud noise. I wasn't too concerned about it, however, I happened to catch my cat out of the corner of my eye. Slowly, I looked up at her and immediately regretted it. Just a mere foot from me on the corner of the couch, my kitty was giving me a look as if the say, "make that noise stop or I will murder you in your sleep." I didn't even know she was there until that very second, but now that I was aware, I couldn't be unaware. I was practicing my ninja skills in my head and slowly moving over while giggling nervously, when the noise stopped and she left the couch arm. It was a close one.

At the end of the day, all I was right with the zoo again, we had water pressure we had never had, were wondering how long these pipes had been leaking, and bid the plumbers adieu. By this time my mom had come home to monitor the debauchery. We were just so wiped out from all that plumbing they did in the ninety degree weather that we ended up sitting on the couch for over an hour and a half just so we could see this.

Let me just ask you something. What is it about three minute interviews on television shows you don't like or watch that make you want to sit down an hour early just to make sure you catch it? We all do it, especially with those dang morning shows. And did you ever notice that if it's something educational, you find something else to do right up until the very last second it comes on, and then you plant your butt in front of the television, missing the first minute of the show and not caring? What is up with that? And why is it that once you've sat on the couch forever and a Christmas to watch some three minute segment that you suddenly think your day is shot and decide to sit and watch television for the rest of the day? And in doing that, you end up watching a bunch of things you don't actually want to watch just because you still swear the day has been wasted by your acedia. There needs to be therapy for this.

But two days of sitting around, writing awesome emails, and making friends with plumbers who say odd things, I learned two things that I'd like to pass on. 

At one point in the day, someone texted me and asked me how I was enjoying the plumber's crack. I texted them back and told that that though it seemed impossible, our plumbers didn't have crack. They tucked their shirts into their underwear. Not that I was looking, but when you have to move around them in your own house, your eyes see things you're not trying to focus on. So take that, plumbers. It IS possible to not have plumber's crack. I know this is shocking news, so take a minute, breathe, take your medications; there's no need to get worked up. You have to look like Napoleon Dynamite to do it, but it's so worth it.

Plumber 3 cracked what I thought was a joke at one point in the day, and then I realized that not only was it not a joke, he had a point. He said that back in the day it was his dream to own a plumbing company. He decided that when he did so, he was going to hire one really tall guy and one midget. The tall guy, obviously, could reach all the things the normal sized guys couldn't without ladders. As for the midget, he could finagle himself into every situation that regular sized men couldn't. He'd be like the super ninja of plumbing. Plumber 3 said that the tall guy was negotiable, but the midget wasn't. I mean no disrespect to midgets, but Plumber 3 totally had a point with that.

Shut Up, Self!

I know I owe you all part two of the plumbing story, but let me just fill you in on the last week of my life. Or, as I like to call it, proof that I need to shut my mouth.

As you all know, I'm a psychic medium. If you don't know that, you're probably new here, and in that case, HI! Welcome. Look around, stay awhile, do a little dance, whatever. This little glitch in my hardware makes my life hectic as it is. Usually I shush up about it in person so that I don't end up running myself in ragged circles trying to help everyone and their mother, brother and sister. I get enough emails about this sort of thing and have enough lined up as it is that I don't need more things. With this in mind, I was clearly wearing my dunce cap last week.

The week started out with my friend having a case involving an ancient Indian creature bothering her sibling who was living on what was once land where Indians were massacred. It skipped right into the same friend having issues of the not so holy kind in her own home. So I had that to deal with going into the week anyway, and that just happened and was no one's fault. The rest was all my fault, so I should have quit the week with the paranormal while I was ahead. It was only Monday. We knew I was going to fall behind somehow.

I was doing good all day Tuesday and was still ahead, then Wednesday rolled around. I had to go to a dinner with the awesome Aunt Bev, so we decided while we were down that way that we were going to stop in the Historical Society and do some research on her parents' house, which has had all sorts of issues ever since Aunt Bev can remember. This was going lovely until the lady who worked there told me about a lady who had come in a day prior to research a property for paranormal reasons and how strange she thought that was that two people came in for that reason two days in a row. Then I realized it was my friend who had come in and that was all my fault, too.

When I feel like something is my fault, even if it's something odd, I start ranting. This is when someone needs to get a piece of tape like they do in those NoH8 photos and tape over my mouth. One way or another we got to talking about an old town here, the one where they had the really awesome reenactments of court cases from the late 1700s. One thing led to another and I ended up telling the lady from the Historical Society that I had felt someone watching over the one house there, someone with a hat, to which she laughed and said that was so funny because the former caretaker had died in the last few years and another medium had told them he was watching over the place. She turned me around and showed me a picture of him. He was wearing a hat. He always wore it.

This should be the part where everyone goes, "Oh, neat. Oh, nice." Don't do that, though, because the next thing I knew I was telling the lady that I can see the old town how it used to be in the 1700s with my psychic site, she was gleefully telling me that they had been trying to reconstruct the town to how it used to be but knew no one who could help them do it, and I was writing my name and number down on a piece of paper. The lady who is in charge of the town is calling me when she gets home from vacation at the end of the week. And I was assured that if I do a good job that they could use me for a lot of things. I'm going to just hold my applause.

If that didn't give me enough to do outside of my hours upon hours of emails and consultations with the paranormal a week, my mouth continued to make things worse for me. Friday, we decided to visit an old castle about a half an hour from here. I went prepared for spirits, because the original structure that still existed within the larger structure was built in the 1700s. Before that, there was a war waged on that land. As it turned out, that building wasn't my problem whatsoever.

With the town in disrepair, we struggled to find a place to eat there, and when we get hungry, you better get us to somewhere with food before you start looking tasty and we attempt to steal your lunch. It's a Mom, Aunt Bev and myself ism. We like food. There were rows and rows of buildings; a whole town's worth, but all were vacant and empty. Following signs and a tip, we drove a little ways outside of town to a super amazing old mansion that had a restaurant inside. I fell in love with the town, or lack there of, instantly, and was sucked into this house. It was so warm and friendly, and although it was clear spirits were there, it was a gathering place in life, as it was in death. There was nothing vicious, just a warm feeling that made me want to live in that house. I was sucked in.

While we were waiting for our food, the woman serving us let us wander around the entire house, which was to become a bed and breakfast, since we were the only ones there. This just enchanted me more. When we were done with the meal, she took us downstairs to show us the basement that used to be a pool, but was now turned into a tavern. I had kept my mouth shut about the spirits until one walked right past me. I got in a silent argument with my mouth in a sad and sorry attempt to get it shut, but it didn't work very well, and before I knew it I was asking the server if there had been any paranormal experiences in the house. Her exact words were, "Funny you should ask that..."

Also before I knew it, we had identified the man I saw by her showing me a picture and me saying, "Yes, that's him," and she was taking my name and number because the owners would love to talk to me about this. We were getting ready to leave when the owners just magically popped up, and just like that an hour and a half went by. In that hour and a half I learned that real alligators were kept in the basement, the woman whose husband built the house and had passed really hated one of their patrons, and the man who built the house and had passed really hated the whiskey they served since in life he made whiskey, but it was no longer available for sale. I also bored my mom and Aunt Bev and made the one owner miss an appointment. He was awfully cheery about missing that appointment though.

I'm going back this coming Monday to go through the house and tell them everything I am feeling and help them make the house a place where the spirits still want to be. They're awesome and understand that this isn't their house, they are just taking care of it. They welcome the spirits, as long as they're nice, and that house is filled with nothing but nice. They just want to make the spirits proud of what they're doing there, and since they're having weddings there, the original owner's wife couldn't be happier. I'm actually super excited about doing this, and I hope that the owners will let me come back from time to time. I loved them, I loved the house, and this is what I love to do. And hey, they even offered me free food. I don't charge for my services, but I will ALWAYS take free food.

I didn't even make it one more day before I opened my huge mouth again. Surprising, I know. On Saturday we were having a yard sale. Now, for those of you who don't know this about me, I'm convinced that yard sales spawned around the same time that Lucifer fell from Heaven. I just don't like them. So as the day is reining down on us and we have been sitting there for what felt like eight weeks, but was really more like five hours, we started to wonder if we were going to sell anything else or have to drag it back home. Just then, a woman in a red truck became our savior, and made me open my big mouth again.

Turns out, this lady was from a missing children's foundation in the local area, but they work nation wide. They were looking for any items we didn't want that they could sell to help fund the organization. I gave them everything I had left. In my line of work, I see a lot of kids go off the grid because the police run out of leads or their hands are tied, and this is where this organization picks up. This is something close to my heart, especially with my spirits that come through on a regular basis. A lot of them are lost souls because their bodies have never been found, and I have no idea how to approach the police about these girls without looking uber fishy. Being as people think I'm about seventeen anyway, fishy was not what I needed.

So, and I say it again, before I knew it I was telling this poor woman about my gift and dishing out my name and phone number. I was also telling her all about this one young girl that went missing locally of whose family I've been wanting to contact but didn't know how, and asked her if they could work on getting me in touch with the family or if they would help me follow up what I knew about the case. Ever since this girl went missing, I've wanted to bring her home so badly, no matter what capacity that may be in. I'm still waiting for a response.

The guy who runs the organization might think I'm nuts, but I hope he doesn't, because the lady all kinds of loved me. She assured me he would be in contact with me, and I hope is. I know I can be of help here, and I take responsibility for anything that happens on information I give, good or bad. I'm willing to be as hands on as I need to be with this. If he does decide to work with me, I have a feeling I'm going to be insanely busy like no one's business, and I hate dealing with families, because I never want to see anyone hurt. I can't imagine the kind of toll this will take emotionally, but if we can bring some kids home, that's all that matters. Sometimes they don't come home in the way that you want them to, but at least the families will never have to wonder any longer where their child is, and that's always been something I've wanted to be able to achieve with my gift. This could also open a lot of doors for me to get some credentials and be able to go to the police about some of my spirits without them thinking I'm all fishy and such. I help the dead, and if this can open up a door for a better way for me to do that, that's all that's important.

Let's pair this with the fact that I have LMCP and her person to tend to on a nearly constant basis. That situation is so messed up. I have a feeling sleep is going to turn into a luxury, and I'll never have to leave my couch except for a few times here and there and still end up entirely busy. Too bad this job doesn't pay, but I'd never, ever charge someone for something that came to me for free. So wish me luck, you guys, and pray that I keep my mouth shut more often...or something.

A Full On Rainstorm

First off, I just want to thank everyone for sticking things out with me while I neglected my blog like it was a really horrible two cent whore. I also want to thank you all for putting up with me saying things like "two cent whore" and still coming back to me read my blog. Seriously, you all are either the most wonderful people in the world, or just a tad crazy. I hope it's a mix of both.

Now, allow me to take you back three weeks to this post. If you all will reminisce with me, you will remember that this post was just a lead in to the week that was endured between that Friday and the following one. I really meant to make the post following that one about the insane week I had, but then the things mentioned in the post directly previous to this took place, and I lost my shiz, my sanity, and my ability to even consider caring about putting the craziness into a blog. Luckily, I did regal my story of craziness to a friend of mine and saved the transcript. Therefore, you all will be reliving the insanity in technicolor along with me.

But before I even get into that debauchery, I want to say a few words about the last post. A lot of you ask me why I post my experiences such as that, and others aren't happy that I do, feeling as if I'm going to stir up more paranormal activity by doing so. I am careful about what I post, change names, and do not give specific details linking back to that person or spirit as to make sure that I do NOT stir up any more activity with my posts or give anything supernatural more power. I also don't post a lot of details for the same reason. I would never post something that is going to exacerbate activity for myself or anyone else involved in the case, if there do happen to be more people other than myself involved.

As for why I do it, one of the most common inquiries I get are from people who either have some sort of sensitivity, always knew, and are trying to figure out their experiences, or just people who have had a few isolated experiences, sometimes even just one, and are left feeling as if they need to take the first train to Crazy Town. I have had a lot of bizarre, yet finite experiences. I've questioned my own sanity. At the end of the day, though, the experiences are what they are. I post my experiences so that other people can know that this stuff DOES happen in the spirit world and that they are NOT crazy. Recently, a good friend of mine came to me with a situation very similar on the emotional side, plus similar in the experiences they were having, to the one I posted about last night. We talked things through, and that person is dealing with it as best as they can. I hope that I have helped that person in knowing that the experiences they're having are common, and I am here for them to talk things out and sound crazy to, because they're not crazy.

There's a lot of things that people like myself don't want to talk about it, and unfortunately one of those things is the truth. It's the pure facts of what really happens when you were born with this gift, and the things that make them sound crazy that they want to leave out, because they still want to obtain some sense of normality in their daily lives. I gave up on that a long time ago, so I'm not afraid to put it out there. As I said before, I am careful about what I put on here, but being a psychic medium, I know what to say and not to say to keep from stirring up energy or making things worse. But at the end of the day, this is still my sacred place. It started out as a little place that only I wrote to and no one read, and turned into a place to share thoughts with friends. Ultimately, I will post what I decide is appropriate for said blog, but I would also never give away personal details or anyone's information. I even change names to keep people anonymous, and that's AFTER I ask that person if I can write about them. I will continue to be open and honest with you guys, but make sure that there's some things that I may post for nothing by my own want, and appreciate when you read them and comment anyway. I love all of you.

Lastly, and before I lose you all to a nap, I also realized that in my own emotions and jumble that made up the last blog, a lot of people missed the point of it. I admit that was my fault. I can be a corny little creature when I start angry typing. The point of the last blog was not so much to tell you about what was going on in my life, but more to give you a glimpse into a situation of an innocent person who is deeply troubled by things that are not their fault. I never feel much for the living who revolve around my spirits, but this person seems to be the only exception. This is someone who really could use any extra prayers you may have lying around, and that was the message I was trying to get across. I'm sorry that it did not come out that way, but if you have a few extra prayers, please pray for this person. He will never know you're doing it, but he could really use a few extra prayers right about now. 

With that little P.S.A. out of the way, I feel I can now bring you guys into a whole new world of insanity. And by insanity, I mean the week that occurred post the post I linked you all back to earlier in this blog. Confused yet? Just wait. And because of all this insanity, this is post one of two. That's right, it's going to take yet another post after this one to tell you about all the insanity that occurred during one simple week. This post is just going to deal with one singular day.

The week started out well enough. I had an appointment, and since no one really particularly likes appointments of any kind where they're shelling out money, naturally, this was the day when wonky rocketed its way straight into my little world and planted itself here with plans and tricks up its sleeve. The morning started out well enough. I got up, got ready, just made it out the door, hit every green light there and made it there before anyone else. Don't cheer yet. From there I went to Target, used some coupons, then went to Wal-Mart and finished my grocery shopping also with coupons, sliding into home base before 11:30 in the morning. It was going to be my lucky day. Go ahead, laugh. We all know all good lies start out disguised as lucky days.

I happily brought all of my groceries to the house and started putting them away, most likely be-bopping to some Taylor Swift song I was singing aloud. As I stopped to take a humungous breath for my big finish, I noticed our water heater making a strange sound. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit suspicious about this, especially considering that our hot water heater had appeared to die two days prior, leaving us the only people who were glad for the ninety degree weather when we had to get a freezing cold shower. With all the squeaking and gurgling our water heater was emitting, I was afraid it was turning into some zombie that was going to eat me while I slept. Luckily, it wasn't nighttime anytime soon, but unluckily, I was the only one home and unfamiliar with whom the water heater version of Ghost Busters was. So naturally, I texted my mom.

Also naturally, my mom was befuddled. Afraid that if I tried to mess with it, it was going to end me and my remains would never be found, I decided it's better just to let the angry water heater go until a professional can look at it. And by a professional, I mean my mom. This was a spiffy plan, except that while I was on the phone with her, I was washing out some dog bowls and accidentally, out of habit, turned on the hot water, even though I knew we didn't have any. I happened to catch this mistake right away when the water burned my hand. Oh, you find it odd too that we've spent two days with absolutely no hot water and suddenly our water heater begins to morph into a zombie and our hot water is back without not one person touching the water heater? I can't imagine why.

Since I didn't know what in the heck was going on and didn't want to argue with the hot water heater that was now giving me hot water, nor become a casualty of it since it wasn't too far fetched to think it was a zombie, I decided to move on with my day. I had enough paranormal emails to keep an OCD person busy for the next month, so I decided I would start digging myself out of the hole they had put me in when they all arrived in my inbox and spazzed it out. You think this would be simple, but no. This, too, is a story within a story.

Much like the water heater had an existing problem, it was the same with the internet. The previous day, I had a few issues with my internet. I was able to stay on for about an hour before it would crash out on me and I had to reset everything to get it going again. Eventually, I gave up trying to be on it for the day, but then got on later that night with not a problem. I thought whatever was going on was just a glitch and had corrected itself, but that's not my life. The same thing started happening all over again, only I wasn't even getting an hour of the internet this time before it crashed. Then, finally, it just wouldn't come back up at all no matter what I did. I was internetless in Pennsylvania, and it didn't feel so good.

Left with no other options other than the understandable suicide to save myself from what I inevitably had to do in order to get my internet back, I chose to be strong and call Verizon. This is usually a debacle in which I get someone who I can't understand and tells me their name is Suzy, when their name is really Oshimisa Hosomo. Look, I like Oshimisa, I really do, but I just can't understand Oshimisa, which is always problematic when trying to fix things over the phone. I would have gotten into an online chat, but you can see how that would have gone with no internet.

I went in expecting the worst and ended up getting schooled. Apparently angels work at Verizon and I just happened to come across one that day. Very patiently, this angel of a man listened to me when I told him how I had reset everything, realized he didn't have to take me through all those steps again, avoided it, and went right into testing the line and found that the jack was bad. He skipped all the unnecessary, just do it to amuse me crap, and cut straight to the chase. I took the modem into another room and to another jack and I was back in business. Then, when that was done, I slyly asked him if my neighbors hacking into my internet could have anything to do with the way my internet was being reset, to which he told me yes and proceeded to fix my internet so that it ran on a password that, once saved, was changed to algorithms. Since it's impossible to hack and algorithms, the neighbors would no longer be able to hack any of my passwords and slide their way into my net. I nearly jumped through the phone and proposed to this man before hanging up with him. You would think it was my lucky day again, but no.

Now that I was off my phone, it was time to move and set up my wireless internet in the other room that was with a working jack. It didn't matter what room the modem and wireless airport were in, because we'd be running off the wireless. Easy peasy. Except, as it so turned out, my mom's computer was so old that it was without wireless internet capabilities. Previously, it had been hooked straight into the modem, because I had been too lazy to set it up for wireless. It didn't matter, though, because my mom has a desktop of which sat directly next to the modem, so it wasn't really an issue, nor did she have a need for wireless internet. But now she did and didn't have it. We were going to have to buy a wireless internet card and pray that I could figure out how to install it, or somehow find a way to move her computer, along with a metal desk that weighed more than I actually think we would be capable of moving, into a room where she didn't want to be.

I completely panicked, wracking my brain to come up with some solution to this. After about an hour, I realized I was just dumb, so dumb, in fact, that I needed Antoine Dodson to come sing to me about it. He never did show up. What showed up in his place was my brain. My mom worked for Verizon for seventeen years. She knew how to change a jack, therefore, she could simply change the one that was bad out and I could set everything up just the same as it was. I felt extremely stupid over this and decided that I should probably never be allowed in public alone, though people always seemed to think it is alright if I were. Silly people.

Since things seemed to be looking up and back on track, I got back online to continue answering the emails I had started out answering before this entire debacle took place. This was all well and good until my email wouldn't send anything. Nothing. Nada. My internet worked, but my email was PMSing. Over two hours went into trying to figure out what was going on, only to find out that Verizon-Yahoo changed some policy about their porting through Mac mail and I had to reset all the ports in order to get my email to send. Clearly it was too hard for them to send out an email outlining this because they probably have secret cameras set up in their customers' homes and just laugh when this stuff happens to people. Bastards.

After this was all sorted out, I figured that the day really couldn't get more crazy and that I had earned a bathroom break. This was clearly a lie, because as soon as I went back in my bathroom, I heard the sound of water running. No, I wasn't me going to the bathroom. Don't be funny. I have no idea what made me do this, but I lifted up the vent in my bathroom only to find it filled with water. This led me on the epic quest to find what other vents were filled with water. Turns out it was only the one in my bathroom and the one in my mom's, however, the curious whooshing sound seemed to be coming from the laundry area in our kitchen and right next to the water heater.

Let's just stop and take inventory of this situation for a second. First we had no hot water for two days. Now we have hot water suddenly, but our water heater has presumably turned into a zombie and there is the sound of water pouring out of somewhere, and it's obviously going in our vents. Obviously it was time to call in a plumber, which we did, but since it was already almost five, there was no way someone could get there immediately. And you would think this was the worst of the problems this insane day could throw at us, yeah? Wrong again!

As we're minding our own business and I'm sweeping the floor, the vacuum suddenly just stops running. I go over to the outlet thinking that the plug just pulled out, but then I realize the air conditioner is out, too. As I begin checking out the outlets like a detective, I realize that our main outlet that holds all the important things in the living room, such as our television and satellite box, was also not working. Our porch light was also out. I tried everything to figure this out, including messing with the electrical box, but since I'm so obviously not an electrician, I was not so surprisingly stumped by this.

Flabbergasted and defeated, we came to the conclusion that since the one outlet had been acting a little confused the day before, that it probably just went bad, and since the other outlets were on the same connection as it, it probably knocked them out, too. And then I went into my mom's room and her fan wasn't working suddenly. And, you guessed it, this is when I realized that the outlets in her room, as well as my closet light were not working. The living room, where the first offending outlet started all the problems, and my mom's bedroom were on two different sides of the house. At one last ditch attempt at confusion, my mom decided to play with the electrical box. Everything turned back on. I guess it just hated me.

So that was my day. And keep in mind that this all happened within twelve hours. And if that wasn't good enough for you, we still had the pending issue of the plumbing to deal with. Just wait until you all hear this story. The crazy week from the dark depths of the trickster of the universe was only partially over.

I Will Drag You There. Do You Hear Me?

Hi all. As some of you may or may not know, I am having a spirit problem of epic proportions over here, which has halted my regularly scheduled updates. Because of one spirit, I am now minus my gift, or my super powers, as I prefer to call them for laughs, my spirit girls, and mostly all of my sanity. You know what I do have, though? I have every medical issue that said spirit's living person is having.

I know what you're all saying over there. But Cassie, don't you have medical problems? Yes, I do, but this crap isn't mine. How do I know that? A: Never had these symptoms before, and I think I'm over getting new stuff at this point. And B: I just do. Don't argue with your friendly neighborhood psychic. It will get you kicked. I'm sorry, did I say friendly? I meant polite and kind and appropriate at all times. Yep, everyone laughs when I say that. I'm so offended. Lying isn't funny.

In this person's defense, he's gone to the doctor. I'm pretty sure my absent spirit girls pushed him there, but he went. His meds worked for two days. For two glorious days, I wasn't coughing, spitting up tiny particles of blood, having respiratory problems and having chest pains that rivaled an elephant parking itself on me. It was kind of amazing, and then BAM! And he's all, complain, complain, complain all over Twitter about his medical issues, but did he go back to the doctor? No, he went out of town. Jerk. And yes, I totally follow my spirits' people on Twitter if I feel it's necessary and have to get a message to them. Gotta love how easy the internet makes stalking. It does, however, make it easier for me to find my spirits' person. Not that I'm stalking them, but I digress.

So as I'm sitting here tonight for the second late night in a row, coughing like a maniac with no sore throat, and totally unable to breathe like a normal person and all that jazz, I finally broke. Desperate to flip out at someone, I decided to be intelligent about this for once, knowing that I'm not really shy and am totally capable of doing this. I turned to my beloved and rad friend, Cephelia Jackson (I will never tell if this is her real name or not. Secret keeping is the only super power I have left.), to remind me that what I was totally prepared to do was not sane. She's like my little sanity keeper. It's worse than being a zoo keeper, and she doesn't get paid enough. See: She doesn't get paid at all. It's probably not legal.

I politely told Cephelia Jackon my issue after about an hour of complaining, and asked her to remind me that it is not sane to write this person a direct message on Twitter and lose my shiz on them, because seriously, I can have medical problems all on my own. I even went as far as to type my short, albeit, to the point letter to her. I think so you can really get a grasp on how much this sucks right now, it's mandatory to share this letter with you. It's pretty epic, if I do say so myself. Which I do, so I'm probably the only one that thinks this.

"Hi, You don't know me, and I don't really care. If you do not go to the doctor, I will come there, drag you there, and then sit in the exam room while you change into those snazzy gowns with no backs and watch. I will grab you by your ear and I will drag you. If I have to beat you over the head with something and drag you there, that can be arranged too. Trust me, I'd be doing us both a favor. Because if you are okay with feeling like this, you are a dumb ass, but that's fine. However, a one hundred and twenty pound girl's body can not take the same shiz as a two hundred and twenty five pound man's body. How do I know all of this from clear across the country and without being a stalker? Because I have LMCP (His spirit.), and bitches ain't dumb after they die. So really, don't make me come over there. It's two women, one dead and one alive, against one man, and that will never, ever end well for you."

Okay, so in retrospect, that was a terrible, terrible letter. And in reality, I would never, ever send something like that to someone, but I think it's fair that I'm super annoyed that he won't go back to the doctor. It's because he knows something is really wrong and is afraid, and I get that, but obviously this is a man who needs friends who care about him, because he doesn't have anyone who really gives two flying farts about if he's well or not. I will be fine and this will be gone in another hour for me. It will come back later, but it usually doesn't last more than an hour or two. He's dealing with this pretty concretely. So guys, although I normally don't ask for this, can you all pray for this poor kid? Seriously. I don't think he needs any more issues than he already has, and right now I just feel really bad for him. Maybe if we all send good vibes his way he'll, you know, go to the doctor.

Life Unexpected

Lately, I have had a spirit who has been deeply affecting me. She's made me realize that you don't really know anyone or their story, and you can't judge them until you do. She's opened my eyes up to someone's life in a way that scares me, but lets me know that what I'm doing is so important. To keep from revealing her real name, I'm going to call her Little Miss Cupcake Pants, or LMCP for short. I have no idea why I call her that as a nickname, but I do. Because of her, this post is going to be about heartfelt and sentimental things, so if you're not in the mood for a bunch of mushy stuff, hide yo kids, hide yo wife, hide yo eyes, cause they telling lots of mushy stories up in here. I'm sorry, I love this guy. LOVE. I'm so sad he's gay. *Sigh* But I digress, because before I get into all the sentimental stuff, there's a few things I want to address.

The first is that I am officially published as a paranormal author online. You can go here to see the first in my series or articles that I’ve been asked to do. (If you can't access it without having to sign up for an account, let me know and I'll post the article on here.) I don’t know how many more articles there will be in this series; we’ll just have to see how it does and go from there. Let me know what you all think. I can't say enough how much I appreciate the wonderful person who approached me about doing these articles and has been posting them for me. Thank you!

Second, I have to address a comment that Miss Kitty made on my post called The Oompa Loompa Bridesmaidzilla, because it’s one of the funniest comments I’ve ever read in my life. Also, if you’re not reading her blog, you need to be. Anyway, Miss Kitty, I hope you enjoy the Adventures of Mom and Aunt Bev. I’ve actually had people ask me if I’d make Team Aunt Bev t-shirts. It mortifies and amuses Aunt Bev all the same, but she loves that section of the blog. Also, I have pictures of what my mom made me wear in the eighties. It was a terrible, terrible decade. When people tell me they like to dress like they’re in the eighties, I instantly wonder if there’s therapy for that. Maybe that’s mean, but seriously? And, by the way, you’ll be glad to know that they no longer sell this bridesmaids dress. I hope someone protested on the grounds that it had blinded them with all its ugly.

Now I shall move forward with the post. As I said, LMCP has really made me think about a lot of things, and included in that are the things that have happened to me in the past that made me the way I am. LMCP came to me because I had a similar experience in the reverse to her, and I understood what it was like to have someone try and kill themselves and try to stop them, but knowing that I never could. To know that someone is going to do what they want to do because they don’t feel like they have anything to live for is the worst feeling in the world, and LMCP knew I’d understand that. And, in a way, I think maybe helping her will help heal what I’ve been through as well. Sometimes my gift does more than I give it credit for or realize until it is all said and done.

In theory, part of me feels like LMCP and myself were meant to meet, and I know this is why she came to me. The only person I’ve ever loved tried to kill himself more than once. All he wanted was for me to lay down my guard and be with him, and I couldn’t give him that because I was scared. I felt like I had to save him, but I couldn’t save him. Nothing I could give him was enough to save him. Even though I know that the only person you can save is yourself, there’s still a certain something that is engrained in your head telling you differently. It says you have to be a protector, you have to stand by someone’s side, and you have to fight their battles for them. If only that were all possible, but it’s not. The only ones I can help are my spirits, and even then sometimes things go awry. They were once people, after all. They all still have their own distinct personalities attached.

One of the most common questions I get from people is why I do what I do; why I help spirits. It’s because I don’t want anyone’s life to end the way that LMCP’s life has ended; the way that my friend tried to end his numerous times, and there be no closure. What I do isn’t just about crossing over the dead, but allowing the living to move on, too; to know it’s not their fault someone has passed. When people think of a psychic medium, they think of someone who deals with the dead, but a lot of times it’s about healing the living, too. It’s about putting closure to a life ended unexpectedly. Losing someone in your life because of fate and having to find your way without them is the hardest thing to do. I’m just here to make it a little easier if I can.

Over my years of doing this, I’ve also learned that I can’t help every spirit that comes past me. Sometimes helping the spirit will cause self danger to the human who is not ready to hear the truth and can not deal with it. Sometimes bringing closure to a spirit by telling their loved one the message they have is not a possibility. If it destroys the human’s life, then what good did it ultimately do? At times, I have to find a compromise for my spirit, a way for them to cross over and leave the human at peace. Other times, I don’t even know their person. I used to think that was the worst part of this, but I’ve since learned that the worst part is knowing who a spirit belongs to and not being able to tell that person they’re needed. Not a lot of things truly haunt me, but that is one of them.

A Day In the Mountains

Hello everyone! I hope you had a great Fourth of July. I cleaned and sat around with a bunch of cats and dogs. If someone makes a Twitter hashtag for lame, I'm sure I could lead up the fleet with that fact. But since that's a little depressing, I'm going to start out today's blog with one of my favorite pictures from I Can Has Cheezburger?

Am I really scrutinizing you with an intense scrute? One may never know. I just think this is the cutest thing ever, but I digress.

About a week and a half ago, us slowpokes finally got around to celebrating Aunt Bev's birthday by going to a nearby small town to peruse the shops. Because this involved Aunt Bev and my mom, naturally, I have stories, though Aunt Bev was particularly well behaved until we were on our way home. She didn't really do anything Aunt Bev worthy until then. I guess we're all entitled to our days of normalcy, no matter how disappointing that fact may be.

As we were leaving the house to head out, Aunt Bev shared her thoughts on the day. They were as follows. "I hope we see some dead people in this old town! That's why I wanted to go there!" This came just after I was saying that I hope the spirits are kept to a minimum considering the history of the town, because I didn't know how many more I could take at this point in time.

When we arrived at the town, we realized all the shops they advertised were really just one building with a bunch of stuff in it, so we continued about eight miles down the road to a bigger mountainous town that none of us had been to for awhile. As soon as we got into town, my mom and Aunt Bev did what they do best and announced they were hungry. Their stipulations were that they wanted to go somewhere different and that we should look out for anywhere that had a lot of bikers or truckers, because those were usually the good restaurants. I found them one, but they thought it was hinky looking and there were too many bikers, and they didn't want to eat there. My people are scared out of town restaurants. You can take them anywhere but out. We ended up at Ruby Tuesday, but not before I had a mishap of my own.

As we were driving back toward Ruby Tuesday, me still trying to find a different restaurant than what we had at home, I turned my head to the left and saw a place with both bikers and truckers, and that had several people sitting at tables near these big windows that made up the front of the building. I suggested we eat there, so we turned around to go back. It was a laundromat. I'll give you all a minute with that.

Look, in my defense, which I hardly have one, I didn't read the sign. I know I should have, but I was too busy looking at the people sitting at tables. What kind of laundromat has tables all in the front of it? You couldn't even see the machines because of them. Also, by the looks of the building, it used to be a restaurant that was turned into a laundromat. Look, I know I'm never going to live this down, which is why I shared it with you. You all may as well laugh too. It's fine. But someone out there, *points to Portia*, needs to stop comparing me to FIL. (Unless you're one of three or four people, you're not going to get that reference. I would prefer to keep it that way.) I am not as stupid as FIL. He does stupid stuff on a daily basis. I had a senior moment, no offense to seniors. That's just cold, Portia. That's damn cold.

After we ate our good, but expensive meal, we decided to go to a little shopping center filled with local shops and antique stores. This always sounds like a good idea in theory, but when you're a psychic medium, this never ends up being such a good idea. The first store was lovely, but I only got part way through it before I was hit by such energy that I couldn't continue into the store. It was very awkward, but it was fine, because I had these to entertain me.

For a brief moment, I wanted to buy them all and become the crazy lawn fairy lady. And by brief moment, I mean I'm still disappointed this wasn't feasible for me to do.

When those lost their sparkle and luster, I found this lovely little display. I sent this picture into Ellen Degeneres. I thought it was worthy. As Aunt Bev said, it's like the sign that says, "drinking can cause memory loss or worse, memory loss."

As we perused the rest of the shops, I found a lot of spirits that really wanted their stuff back or didn't give their kids permission to sell it through a consignment antique shop. Since nothing short of reclaiming their item and taking it back to their children and yelling was going to make them happy, I tried to ignore them, but also avoided some of the shops. That was until we came across a clothing store that sold only new clothes. I thought it was safe to go in there. I was wrong. This conversation erupted.

Mom: "Ooh, Dickies!"

Aunt Bev: "I LOVE Dickies!"

Then they wouldn't stop saying Dickies. Now get your mind out of the gutter, people. They were talking about these, but once we got out of the store, I can't say you would know that.

This incident was possibly only rivaled by us running into the people my mom works for, the people she never actually sees back home, but now that we're over an hour away, they were in the same desolate store as us. Someone has a sense of humor. I approve.

We knew we weren't in our town anymore when we walked around the shopping complex and found this as the backdrop. We were in the middle of nowhere and it was beautiful there. I instantly wanted to move, but realized that unless I was planning on living in a refrigerator box, lest I be lucky enough to snag myself one of those babies, it probably wasn't going to happen.

We headed out of that town without a shopping bag to our name and made our way back to the original town we had started in. The place was a neat old opera house and mill that had been made into twenty shops, which was really just shelves of stuff that apparently came from twenty shops, but it was neat. The biggest cause of ridiculousness didn't seem to be the dead people, though the place was well over one hundred years old, yet the lady in the parking lot who rode on our ass, pulled into the parking lot at lightening speed, cut us off, parked, left her car on and running and her turn signal on. This was understandable if Chicken Little had failed to deliver a message or she was at the hospital. The lady did all of that to buy a shirt with the name of the town on it. It took her forever to pick that damn shirt out, too. She almost broke something while picking said shirt out.

With all this excitement under our belts, we waited for shirt lady to leave and then headed back out of the mountains and toward home. We stopped at Dairy Queen, which seemed to be where it all went wrong, or maybe it all went right, depending on your view of things.

The trip to Dairy Queen started out with this sign, because it's Pennsylvania. We need signs for everything, except for road names. Those signs always seem to be missing, while these signs reign all over every dang there in the tri-county area.

I did, however, learn a very important lesson from this trip to Dairy Queen. I learned that you can't take old people anywhere to eat, and by old, I mean anyone allowed to hold their own spoon. Here's why.

We got our ice cream and headed out to the car to eat it. We're weird people. If we can eat it in our car, we will. It's cleaner there. As we're sitting in the car, Aunt Bev, who has a chocolate mocha shake, all of a sudden exclaims, "I just dripped something on me. I have no idea where it came from." We waited a few minutes. The wait didn't disappoint, because the next thing we know it, she says, "It leaked again! Where in the heck is it leaking from? I look like a slob!" She was honestly befuddled as to where the leak was coming from. To this day I suspect that shake.

But the best part of this might possibly be that my mom spilled something on herself at lunch, so they now had matching stains. By only the grace of God, we got home without further incident. I did manage to bring home a new spirit, though. She left kind of quickly. I guess I just wasn't her cup of tea.

Hide Yo Dogs, Hide Yo People, They're Setting Off Fireworks Everywhere Up In Here

Hello, everyone. I hope you're all having a happy Fourth of July weekend. If you aren't from America, then I still hope you're having a good weekend and enjoying the silence as fireworks do not fly across your skies and scare the heebies out of your dogs.

Before I even get into this post, I want to address something from the last post, as well as a comment made by the amazing Miss Zoe. (Sorry I added a y to your name when I emailed you. I had a half a migraine and was just done with the day and shouldn't have been emailing. You can kick me later.) I know the last post was a lot to take in, and as I've always said, I never ask anyone to believe me. I, too, can be skeptical and find I have to have proof of my own gift in which I trust, because that's just who I am. So when Miss Zoe left her comment, I appreciated it. I am going to look into prior residents of the house, which is well over one hundred years old, and see what all, if anything, I can find. Our area isn't exactly known for keeping records, and we've been trying to figure out information about Aunt Bev's house prior to her parents owning it to no avail. I don't expect miracles, but if I find them, I will keep you all updated.

But this is a safe place here where you all can share your opinions and beliefs, and as long as you respect me, I will also respect you no matter what your belief. I mean, I see dead people and typically like guys ten years or more my senior who have an assortment of mohawks, piercings and tattoos, so who am I to judge someone who doesn't believe? It goes both ways. All I know is this is my reality. It's weird to me that other people don't have these experiences, no matter how severe. I've done this my entire life and know no different. But I also know it's strange for people who've never done this or have never had an experience, and that's why I don't want to make this blog all about my experiences. I don't want to force it down anyone's throat. If anyone feels I'm doing this, please let me know and I will make a separate blog for these stories.

To wrap up this little PSA, I wanted to let those who are interested know that Nichole crossed over shortly after I wrote the last post. Apparently, my dog went with her. He can come back any time now. I miss him sleeping with myself and Greta.

To also follow up with something else I said that left people scratching their heads in confusion, I bring you my PSA about Vegas; Las Vegas. Sorry, I always wanted to do that. Anyway, I know a lot of you know about my health problems and are wondering how Vegas is possible. Please understand that I can, by no means, just go to Vegas. This is going to take clearance from five different doctors, and the only way I would be able to go in the first place is because I would be staying with a friend. I wouldn't be forced to go out everyday if I didn't want to. If I needed to sit down / sleep / take a day off, I could do that just like I could at home. The problem the doctors have with me working is that I didn't have the freedom to sit down when I know I'm going to pass out, or lay down when I can't keep going, or take a day off when I have to. If I go on this trip, I will be able to do all of that as needed. So it's not like I'm going on a normal vacation like anyone else would when they go to Vegas. I'm going to be far from the life of the party, plus I have to get permission from my doctors, and I have to magically come up with the money to do so, and my wonderful friend still has to want me, so this whole thing is just a maybe. I'm still sick and lame. It's fine. Whether the maybe works out or not, I am still eternally grateful to my friend for the offer.

Since it's the Fourth of July weekend and I have so much to do, this isn't going to be a real post. Okay, all of that is a lie. I have nothing to do, but I'm trying to send out some emails tonight and don't want to take the time to upload the pictures I want to upload for an awesome post I have about my day out in the mountains. Therefore, I'm going to share a bunch of random things with you that I thought were worth sharing. Some are funny little quips, others heartfelt truths. I hope you enjoy them.

* Over the years, I've learned that I should just introduce myself to people using the monologue from the opening sequence from Season 2 of Ghost Whisperer. And I quote: "I might be just like you, except that from the time I was a little girl I knew that I could talk to the dead. Earthbound spirits, my grandmother called them. They're stuck here because they have unfinished business with the living, and they come to me for help. In order to tell you my story, I have to tell you theirs." Or maybe this is more fitting. "I'm Cassadee Willows, just an ordinary woman from an ordinary town. I might be just like you. Except from when I was a little girl, I knew I was different. I knew they needed me. Is it a gift, or is it a curse? All I know is, I can talk to the dead." I don't know, you pick.

* I often joke that I'll be forever alone, just like the meme. And as much as I think that could easily be true, there's a lot I've learned from flying solo. One of those things is that a couple is only as good as the sum of its parts, and if each person isn't allowed to be their own person, then there's no substance there.

* I have no idea what we were even talking about to even get into this, but OBF and I both have mutual love for the Bed Intruder guy. We then realized that we mutually are able to come up with a ton of variations of "hide yo kids, hide yo wife" on a daily basis. Somehow, she came up with the following. "Hide yo bras, hide yo undies." And I finished with, "Those trannies are taking ALL the clothes." If I do get to go to Vegas, obviously you can understand the kind of time we're going to have. I'll try not to get arrested, but not promises. (But seriously, the only thing I could get arrested for is jaywalking, but with my luck, that would happen.)

* Giggling ridiculously is like being drunk. You make the same bad decisions in the euphoria of it all. Seriously, this is why I don't drink, but I do giggle ridiculously a lot. Maybe I should stop that.

* The other day I was driving into town to get some noms when I came across two bunnies. As I got closer, they didn't just pick up and run like most would. They looked at me in the car, looked back at each other, and then took off in separate directions. I think I interrupted a clandestine bunny meeting, and since it was less than a mile down the road for me, you better bet I'm locking my doors, locking my windows, because they're taking everyone on up in here. See, I told you I had about a hundred variations of the "hide yo kids, hide yo wife" comment.

* I've been asked to write up an article about myself for a friend of mine to post to a paranormal website. I will let you all know when that is finished and where you can find it.

I apologize for the short post that cleared some stuff up, but I've suddenly been distracted by some new Antoine Dodson videos and this is where my concentration ends. Everyone have a safe and happy July Fourth, even if you don't live in America. And remember, hide yo kids, hide yo wife.

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.

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.