So the psychic party got canceled, since apparently everyone in Cleveland is so certain of their future, they don't need to pay someone to tell them they are going to be laid off and get tetanus. But me, I'm the kind of girl who once she gets a fairy tale in her head she doesn't let it go.
Side note about fairy tales: they are awfully judgy. The old school ones. The ones I read when I was little, over and over, the pink and red and blue and green and yellow fairy tale collections my parents gave me which are the best books ever (and by the way there are 7 other colors I don't have, so if you are ever struggling for a present to buy me, HINT), these are the best books to read your little daughters if you want them to grow up to be struggling writers with obscenely idealistic moralities and a fear of scary old men who live in the woods. I mean, for instance, the story of Half Chick? Who is some weird mutant chicken thing, literally a split down the middle bird, with one eye and one leg, who wants to be something he's not, hopping around as half a real thing what kind of nightmarish image is that, and ends up being a weather vane after almost being boiled alive twice and several other nasty trials? The twelve dancing princesses, whose only crime is tricking their daddy so they can run away to a pretty ballroom and string along some willing princes without having to marry them? The thirty identical sisters with rose birthmarks who are carried away by giant goat eating eagles so the true daughter can be revealed? Anyway, my point here is that because I grew up on these stories, I'm hopelessly romantic against my will, I feel way too much empathy for animals, and my insults for people are a little skewed. When I think a girl is plain, or crude, I call her a peasant. When a guy is lacking princely charm, he's hapless. And then there are the gypsies.
I woke up intending to clean this morning, but instead King Tycoon was all like "no, let's have breakfast instead." So breakfast was had, and then it was decided we should go to a psychic. I had the taste for some magic. Really, how could I have thought to go to a psychic ever without Jere? Never, I should have never thought to. I should have known it wouldn't happen till he was with me. He's my shaman of the Wasteland after all, he's the one that find the old magics with me in all the dirty rusty places, he and me we make the best buddy movies together. "You believe this stuff," he says, "and that's why we're friends." "No!" I protest. "Yes, you like having just that little piece of hope planted in you." Oh, but that conversation came later at the bar. Oh god, what if he's right about everything, that man?
First we had to find a psychic. How does one find a witch in the Wasteland? You go to the gay neighborhoods and the black neighborhoods. Duh. First we found one on Detroit, but even though the sign said open (and there were zebra throw pillows on the red velvet couches in the waiting room which is frankly why I said There We're Going There), there was no answer at the door. Probably the witch saw we were coming and hid in the backroom, quaking. Upperclass witches have no taste for blood. So next we drove to E. 200th, and in a shabby broken down storefront, next to a daycare, we rang another bell.
Out of the back curtains came the witch, short with dark skin and pink fuzzy slippers, with snaggled teeth and a slight Eastern European accent. Or New Jersey. Definitely a gypsy. She let us in and gave us the rundown on prices. She told us there was no bathroom because she was waiting for the plumber. She had terrible grammar and kept saying "was" instead of "were". I opted for the expensive psychic reading, no cards or palms for me please, I used to do that shit in my sleep in high school. So I followed her first, into the closet turned cave. She asked me for something metal, silver gold something. I don't wear jewelry (no one's given me any yet), and so all I had were my keys and my camera. The camera seems most appropriate right? So camera it is.
"Now hold this in your hands and make two wishes. Tell me one and keep the other to yourself. Do not wish for money, because that is bad luck." Oh no worries, I never wish for money. Why waste wishes on something like that? I read stories, I know how that turns out. I wish for money, I end up a sturgeon being netted over and over by an ugly fishwife in an endless loop.
I told her I wished to be a writer. In reality I was only thinking of one wish, that wish every one makes when they have to make wishes. But I kept that one to myself.
First she told me I was hard working. I could almost hear Jere laughing from the waiting room.
"Also you are happy go lucky, but you plan things too far in advance. Stop making plans, and only live in the present. The next three years are going to be your lucky years, everything you have been working towards is going to come to fruition. You are going to work hard for the next three years, and you feel you are unlucky now, but you are actually very lucky, and this will show. Your next three years are your best years. Your lucky day is the first Friday of every month."
I thought about what I did the first Friday of this month, and thought that just might be true.
"You have been badly hurt in your past relationship, and after this past year, you know who your real friends are and who talks about you behind your back. There are three big changes that will happen this year to you - one, a change in where you live, two a change in your financials, three a relationship. You will either move or drastically redecorate. You will get more money and move up in your career. Someone will offer you an opportunity which will seem risky and stupid, but if you do it, it will pay off for you in a big way. In the next six weeks, someone will reveal their feelings for you, and this will be a good man, someone you need who will be your soul mate. In three years, all this work will be over, and you will be happy and get what you want. Your lucky number is 7 and your lucky color is blue. Do you have any questions?"
I didn't say anything this whole time, because I had it in mind that I didn't want to give her any leads. But then see, when it comes to asking questions, I never ask when I should. Last weekend, this guy said something at the bar, agreed with something he had no real reason to, and instead of asking him then why why why would you agree with this, I said nothing, and now there's no reason to bring it up really, unless I want him to think I'm exactly the kind of girl who obsesses over weird things people say and then bring them up again months later, which by the way is exactly the kind of girl that I am. And so it was this time. I didn't know what I should ask. Shouldn't you just let the witch tell you what's what, and then wait to see how it plays out? No names, no IDs, no back history, just give the oracle the sacrifice and see what the hell comes out.
But back in high school, when I was a little witchy witch myself, I got really into numerology (oh calculations of the gods and demons and cats and fat girls with fake nose rings), and you know what? My lucky number is, actually really calculated by birth day and year and number of letters in my name ect, 7. And my lucky color is blue. So there you go. The witch got me in the end. Hooked just enough to squirm.
Properly, the way this story should end is that I drive by next week, and that place, with it's thrift store pink curtains and dingy gray industrial carpet, is utterly and totally gone. Never existed. But this is Cleveland, so that could happen anyway, no magic necessary.
Better ending to this story: I just now ran to my purse to see if she gave me my camera back. She did. Fucking gypsies.
me: so also apparently I have only 6 weeks until true love
I was really surprised she was willing to give such a short number
Rebecca that is weird. kinda specific for a fortune teller.
me: also, technically, she only said reveal, not that he would be revealing good things, or be single, or we would get together. He might reveal he hates me.
I read too many fairy tales to trust that shit
Rebecca: hmm - loopholes
me: right, there's always something
what if like multiple people show up? How do I know who's the right one?
Like, if someone asks me out, do I just assume it's him? Or do I get all like "well sure, but also, let's wait six weeks and see what other options there are"
me: I hope in six weeks it turns out to be some really old guy from the gym who just wants someone to get drunk and watch NCIS with him
that feels pretty soulmatey to meme: you know what does it for me? Not believing weird made up numbers that sound like expiration dates for packaged cheese.
But he's got till Feb 25th to prove me wrongRebecca: I totally agree. She's just using the Barnum effect anyway. http://en.wikip