The Psychic

It’s no secret I have been going through one of the roughest patches of my life. And as all people who have been through some serious shit say, it’s amazing those who stick close by you and the ones that drop you. It truly shocked me the people in my life that just walked out, but onward and upward. Moving forward, only way to go.

One of the friends that stuck by my side and called and texted and checked in had just had a baby a few months ago. She knew I was feeling down and ask if she could come visit with the baby for a few days.

When she got here we threw our arms around each other and shrieked and jumped up and down in excitement to see each other.

I got to coo and goo over her baby, who is seriously the best baby. So adorable, easy-going, sweet, alert… and oh so handsome! You just want to hug and squeeze on him all the time.

A few hours later I am inevitably spilling my guts and crying about what is going on in my life.

She says she totally understands, but that she didn’t want to see me so sad.

Wanting to just do something fun my friend suggest going and doing a psychic reading.

“It’ll be fun, come on… ”

We find a place and they can take both of us at the same time, multiple “readers.”

I immediately giggle inside at my guy. He is in his seventies and has a bad toupee and a great southern accent. I secretly roll my eyes in my head wondering why I let my friend talk me into this.

He sits down, and tells me he is going to record the session and put it on a CD for me.

I nod and shake my head up and down and he ask to see my palms.

“Well… Good life lines, good health, signs of management, prosperity, wealth, you’re sensitive, you can literally feel other people’s pain, and very intuitive, all good, all very good. Stubborn. Very very stubborn. Which can be good, until it’s not, mmmhmm…”

He looks at me and I smile and laugh and say, yeah, dead on.

He continues, “You’re so stubborn you jump out the frying pan into the fire.”

More laughter from me, and more nods from him.

“No one can tell you anything. You have to figure it out for yourself. You have to get burned at the stake and then you learn your lesson. At least you learn it though.”

I cannot believe how dead on this guy is.

“When is your birthday dear?”

I tell him and he says, “Ah, a Sagittarius. Lucky lucky sign. You’re like a cat with nine lives, always landing on your feet. See this?”

He points to a spot on my palm.

“This is your mound of Jupiter. You like to travel don’t you? When you speak people see pictures. Extremely visual. What do you do for work dear?”

I told him I was currently looking and he reassured me it would fall in my lap.

He read my cards and said the next few months would be tough, but I’d come out smelling like a rose and 2018 would be my year.

He told me to love myself by just being “who you already are, a bright, shinning intelligent human who deeply cares for others.”

He told me a bunch of other cool stuff which I couldn’t believe, and won’t bore you with.

As my friend and I shopped around I found this… which I now wear around my neck.

My friend commented how much calmer and relaxed I seemed just minutes after our reading, and I said something like this, you know… I just took back control. And I found the key I’ve been searching for my whole life.

*We went to the psychic for the sole purpose of entertainment, and entertaining it was.

The Louie Chronicles 

After laughing with a good friend over a recent post, she suggested I start “The Louie Chronicles” or… tales from the perspective of my purse. 

I thought it was a brilliant idea because my purse always gets better treatment then I do. 

Mind you I drop it and leave it to fend for itself… but some nice, usually lad, picks it up and cares for it. 

So here begins… The Louie Chronicles. I’m dedicating this first tale to the lady who gave me the idea, and without further ado… here is the story of the Lipstick Knife Incident, as told by my purse…

It was a chilly February evening. I was minding my own business enjoying the comfort of the floor in my owners apartment when my owner and her very thin blond friend bounded out of the bedroom talking about some boy in a band and swooped me up. 

I was no stranger to my owner and her friends talking about bands.  Music and boys seemed to the topic of most conversations, with occasional references to food or work of some sort. 

I was thrown in the back seat and the blond mentioned something about not eating in awhile.

They stopped and I was whisk out of the backseat and dropped on the floor of some restaurant. 

The girls laughed and ate and made some commitment to each other to “be Totally and fully crazy” no more bullshit, no more walking a fine line… They had made a line in the sand and crossed it. They drove over the line at 100 miles per hour. 

Frankly this conversation scared me as a purse. I’d already been left on the streets of San Francisco and a not so shabby hotel bar in Aspen.  You should have seen the other purses there… little did I know, in a few short years I’d end up on Skid Row. That’s no place for a Louie, I can assure you of that. 

Back to the night at hand… the girls apparently picked at their dinner because before I knew it a box full of French fries had been non chalantly thrown in me. 

Like I had room for that. I may be big, but that doesn’t mean I want to carry every item that could have ever been called for on Let’s Make a Deal either. 

After a short ride in the car more things were thrown in me. I heard the skinny one ask if she could put HER PURSE AND COAT IN ME. I’m a purse for the love of all things holy, not a bellboy. And it’s not like I wasn’t already at capacity. 

We arrived at some place my owner frequents for loud music and after I was rummaged through looking for the poor over used wallet, I was thrown on the floor as My Owner and The Thin One started to dance. 

What seemed like, and I’m sure were, hours later I was being torn through and my guest purse was violently taken out and gone through. After watching that, I decided I didn’t have it as bad as I thought. 

The thin one pulled out what I thought was lipstick… and attacked the one who had been singing. Even as a purse I gasped out loud. 

Instead of helping the singer, My Owner started laughing hysterically. 

To be fair, the singer seemed to be taking it in good stride. He was wearing the thin one’s coat and even took the to go box out of me and started eating the French fries and talking and laughing with blondie and my owner. They seemed to be getting along fine. 

And thanks to that singer taking the to go box out of me and the blond carrying her own purse, I could finally breathe again. 

The Ripped Pants Incident

Sometimes, when you are going through a hard time, and one of your sister soul mates from Oklahoma is also going through a rough time, she gets in her car at 5 p.m. and says to have wine ready when she arrives.

Neither of us realized how much crap we had to tell each other and the bottle emptied quickly. I mentioned that Baker Street Pub was in walking distance and we walked to the bar. We drank. We laughed. We laughed so much I swear we did an ab work out just catching up.

Then it was time to go back to the apartment and since I had recently moved in, the gate code I was given wasn’t working.

Curse words were said here.

We had no idea how we were going to get back in the apartment. And… it’s not in the best of areas, backing up to lovely Como. So Laney and I go searching for our best mode of entry and find the lowest level gate I feel I can scale.

I’m so glad Laney wasn’t filming.

As I swung one leg over the pointy iron gate and looked down I remember saying, something to the effect of, this doesn’t look good.

And I jumped.

And there was a ripping sound.

My shorts had caught on said pointy gate, and I hung for a second in the air, I like to think like an angel…

Then my pants ripped and I busted ass on the other side of the gate, also known as the concrete parking lot, while Laney fell over laughing hysterically.

It’s these friendships that mean the world to me.

Laney… the only friend I know who has a lipstick knife, threatens a boy with it, stabs him with it, and instead of offering help I toppled over laughing hysterically and ask where the hell she got such a fantastic item.

I love you Laney girl. Can’t wait to make Backstreet Boy videos with you on the beach in a few weeks.

xoxox

My First College Party

I was probably a little younger than most when I went to my first college party. I was eight, and I guess already trying to act like Drew Barrymore.

I was in Denver with my mom staying with friends. Not so surprisingly, the 16-year-old of the house was grounded. And trying to figure out how to escape.

So Emily walks up to her mom and ask if she can take me to get ice cream at Hagen Daz. Her mom says that’s fine and my mom looks at the clock and shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything. See… Emily was the first person to ever give me sugar when I was five years old. She was babysitting and insisted my Cheerios would  be much better with heaping tablespoons of sugar. I was hooked the moment I took the first bite, and she offered me a coke to go with it. My mother has never forgiven Emily for getting me hooked on the white stuff.

Emily was the best babysitter. She let me microwave marsh mellows, which ended up exploding and catching the microwave on fire. She taught me how to build forts. She even put 210’s {very very long adult skis} on my five year old very short body and tried to teach me to ski in her front yard {I ended up spread eagle around a rose bush, turns out, I needed real lessons, but I digress}… And at the ripe old age of eight, she took me to “get ice cream.”

I found out once we got in the car that apparently “ice cream” was code for college party. She instructed me to get in the back seat and promptly picked up one of her friends from Cherry Creek high school where Emily was a cheer leader. Her  blond friend  bounced out of the house and climbed in the car.

I remember listening to the Door’s LA Woman while the two teen girls in front gossiped about all the cute boys that would be there.

We arrived and Emily and her friend quickly disappeared leaving my eight year old self to my own devices.

A guy came up to me and actually offered be a beer, to which I replied, “Um, I’m only eight.”  To which he replied, “Eh, you can never start too young.” I shrugged, took a sip and spit it out all over him. He laughed and assured me one day I’d like the taste.

Emily apparently saw me drinking beer and decided it was time to call it a night. I’ll always think of Emily as the best babysitter I ever had. And I need to go visit her kids. They are 8 and 5 and have never had sugar, or been to a college party. I think it’s time to continue the cycle.

ATX{e}ness Part 1

What a crazy week. Jeez. I decided to go to Austin on Sunday and see some friends and interview for a job {freelance writing} and some crazy stuff happened. Like… Got back together with an ex, which, is usually a bad decision, and it was. I told him this clearly wasn’t going to work and I was going to drop him off at his friends, after I checked into my hotel. Which was Hotel 11 on east 11th. I love the east side and east Austin, and this quaint little hotel, with only 11 rooms is precious and in a great location.

So, I go to check in, and the now ex follows me inside. The sweet girl at the desk, Taylor, was asking me how many key’s I needed and I said, just one. It’s just me staying here, and don’t you DARE give a key to this guy, he is NOT with me and certainly NOT allowed up to my room.

This pissed my ex off, so he grabs my keys and goes and jumps in my car and leaves. I am speechless, but when I regain my composure I looked at Taylor and said, Um… did that actually just happen? That’s MY car. She looked at me and out the door, and stammered, “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

I assured her I was fine, that I at least had my purse with me, and I was going to deal with that later. I shook my head, finished checking in, and went upstairs and took a nap. I figured when I woke up my car would be back.

When I woke up, the car was still missing and I was pissed.

But, I wasn’t about to let that ruin my night, so I  got a cab and went to Cboy’s to hear Charlie  Jones, who happens to be my birthday twin, and his band play. It was fun. They are great. I chated with my friends after they played and cabbed it home. Still no car. Hmmm… I call the ex.

I ask him to please return my car. He refuses. I say, “Um, do you think you can just take my car and not bring it back? I need my car, I like, use it for things.” He told me he would NOT return my car and I told him I would be calling the police, which I did, like, 30 times.

Finally the police show up at my hotel and I get the ex on the phone. Ex is still saying how I won’t call the police and I say, “That’s funny, here, why don’t you talk to them,” and handed the phone to one of the officers. The officer explained to my ex that he needed to bring the car back immediately.

Finally. For JC and all things that are holy, we were getting somewhere.

He dropped the car off 6 blocks away, threw the keys in it, and the police took me there and I got to retrieve it.

Tell me that is not fucked up. That is fucked up.

I’ll tell you about the rest of my week in Austin later. I’m late for twerking and must go for now.

Stay safe out there y’all!

Depression, Vertigo, and Social Awkwardness

As someone who finds it quite difficult to keep up a blog when they feel like they are on fire and are constantly on Stop. Drop. and Roll status… I have not been blogging through my latest and greatest breakdown {I mean, obvi.}. I remember my favorite religion professor once said, I forget who he was quoting… “The mind is like a drunken monkey, in a cage, with his tail on fire.” Dr. Fort, I am going to have to agree with whoever first said that, and you, of course.

Since not having a job, losing friends, a fiancé, flying all over the country and fighting with my parents, I thought, hmmm… Maybe it is me. NO. Certainly that cannot be right. Oh, but it was. It was {said in my best Dateline voice}. I have spent a fair amount of the fall and winter apologizing to all of the above, and people who didn’t quite deserve it, like when I kept apologizing to the lady behind me at the grocery store for having so many groceries. I really don’t feel so bad about that, but I digress.

At the beginning of February I got really sick, and more depressed. Not having a job is no bueno for me. I need and crave structure and this was not cutting it. I started getting blurry vision. My stomach hurt all the time, and then came the wretched vomiting. I know, TMI, but that week sucked. Then it started sucking worse the following week. In addition to my weak stomach, and now dry heaving, every time I rolled over on my left hand side the room would start spinning like I’d had two pitchers of Joe T’s margaritas on my own, but oddly, I hadn’t. I had had a glass of wine, but being able to handle much more, this was freaking me out. The next night there was no drinking, but I took a Xanax. Same as the night before, except now it was happening no matter which direction I rolled.

Then I thought, Holy Crap! Maybe this is 40. Shit, I really am totally falling apart. I see double and now I have vertigo at night. Maybe it’s a brain tumor, as that would explain my episodes this fall… but I decided maybe I needed to take two Xanax and not drink. Vertigo all night.

I woke up the next morning and thought, okay, no drinking, no Xanax… Just make the room stop spinning. That night I took nothing and the Vertigo became much worse. The following morning I woke up, and  after I ran into the wall and fell over I started screaming for my boyfriend. He hopped up and whisked me off the nearest ER facility.

Turns out, there was no brain tumor. Just a double inner ear infection, some nasty looking nasal and sinus cavities. Then the doctor explained that was what was causing the vomiting and the added anxiety I was definitely having.

I went home, took my meds, prayed for the spinning to stop as it was now happening as I was sitting up and walking as well. About 8 hours later I am feeling a lot better. Not 100 percent, but not 24 percent either, so things are looking way better. I could actually watch TV and focus!!! So I rented the movie “The Edge of Seventeen,” which I had remembered wanting to see in the theater, so I flipped it on. And then it happened… I started laughing. The writing and character development is so on point, it really is the greatest coming of age film since Juno, and before that, all John Hughes films. And I really started relating to the main character. Who is seventeen.

She is socially awkward. I, am hugely socially awkward. Many people would probably not believe this, and I have come a long way since middle school, but I’m still socially awkward. I live in Texas and glow in the dark because I’m so white. I have red hair and freckles. Apparently, these were not good characteristics back in lower and middle school.

In the sixth grade, “The Dooney and Burke” incident occurred cinching and putting on full blast that I was friendless, as was the girl in the movie. It was my birthday week and I got to go skiing and take a friend. Mind you, I only got to take a friend because I am an only child, and this made life much better for my parents on vacay. I had ask for the same red drawstring Dooney and Burke that one of my friends had gotten for her birthday a couple of months earlier. I remember getting the purse and taking it to school the week before skiing.

When I came home I had no friends. Like, zero. A girl, that I had been friends with, was apparently jealous that I didn’t invite her skiing, so she took the week I was gone to convince everyone I was a spoiled bitch, and that everyone should never speak to me again. And it worked. She was a cheerleader and very well liked. For a year and a half. It was brutal. I’ll never forget that year and a half, and still refer to it as “life changing” because after that, I lost myself.

I was so scared of pissing off an entire grade of girls that I definitely became that girl that was all, you like blueberry and chocolate ice cream mixed together with gummy bears? How weird, cause that is… ONLY LIKE MY FAVORITE!  I was now devoid of any opinion. I just didn’t want an entire grade of girls to turn on me again. I avoided school dances and people in general for that year and a half, until one day… I met another socially awkward girl!!! We would beg our parents to let us stay home from dances, birthday parties, and any social function in order to watch “Can’t Buy Me Love” and “Golden Girls” where I felt a nice mix of Rose {Betty White} and Bea Arthurs character, what was her name? I probably don’t remember as I definitely identified more with Rose.

I mean, when my friend and I finally got up the balls to go to the Halloween costume dance in eight grade, we were not dressed as cheerleaders, or anything involving short skirts and attention. We… went as the Golden Girls, and I’m fairly confident I spent half the evening talking to the janitor about how cool it was to be eating strawberry ice cream, because, I really liked strawberry ice cream, but because of all the calories I had to switch to cottage cheese with strawberries, which wasn’t the same, but wasn’t all bad either.

Yep. I was the epitome of cool. The janitor avoided me from that day on.

Somehow I survived high school, had acquired a lot more of my old friends, and some of them taught me how to drink and smoke cigarettes, and even not turn and walk away when a boy said hi, which helped greatly with my anxiety and awkwardness. High school was much better, college, even more so.

So… I’m feeling like I might be back. Back to blogging. I’m not on fire anymore but still dealing with a lot of wounds that I caused. That is to be expected. Apparently you can’t act like a seventeen year old at age 40. It’s just not working for me anymore. I realized what a complete and total ass I have been, and I’ve been making changes and working with a therapist, and low and behold… It’s actually been helping. A work in progress if you will.

Gotta love an excellent therapist. And the forgivness of those you have wronged.

Hurricane Season

Yes, I am listening to Bob Dylan right now. Yes, it is The Hurricane. I find it quite appropriate right now. Tis the season of my life. I am reminded of my first blog post, which you can read here. I knew then that life was going to take many twist and turns, but I definitely could not in a million years have been prepared for what was about to take place.

I was prepared to sit down and write so much, but it’s just not coming out. It’s hard for me to write about. It’s still to fresh for me. I’m still trying to process, trying to make sense of everything… Just trying to breath. Focus on the present, my adorable children. And the gym that is about to open. Yes. The Gym.

I am taking part in a gym where my focus is yoga, kids activities, POUND and twerking classes. Talk about different and not my comfort zone. Much more on that to come. It is set to open in December.

As I find my bearings and re-group, I thank you for having patience with me. Goodness gracious! There are many good things to come. I just want to remind people that no matter what you are going through, even if it seems unbareable, just remember, it’s just a season. It will pass. It will teach you things about yourself. What to change, what to let go, and what to hold onto.

I am grateful for many things as I move through this seasons of my life. Good things are on the horizon.

Drama for your Mama.

Or whoever. It’s been non stop drama the past few weeks, and I don’t even like drama. So… Drama… be gone! I’m extremely behind on posting, so please bare with me. The good stories are coming soon.

Let me recap the past two weeks… Quit job to pursue my passion which involves writing and opening a studio in a gym. Yes, my own little place for yoga and Twerking and POUND classes and even kids classes. It’s going to be so wonderful, and I am so excited for the opportunity that Shawna Gibson offered me. I’m taking it and running with it. The new Brick Gym will be opening soon, and I cannot wait to see you there!

After quitting my job I decided to spend as much time as possible with one of my best friends who live{ed} in Austin until last week. I was coming home from visiting and was in a wreck. It was a pretty bad wreck and my {then} fiance said he was on his way to get me. Three hours later I called to find out he had changed his mind, but forgot to mention that to me. We broke up right then and there.

That weekend was Utopiafest and I just knew Jamie and I were going to have a great time with all the members of “The Family” that were going. And it was a great weekend, with a major setback. I was slipped drugs. Yes, that means someone gave me drugs I did NOT want to take. However, the festival took care of me better than I could have ever imagined. The head of the festival Aaron Brown, and the entire security team were beyond incredible. I am so grateful for all that they did.

The night of the wreck I met a boy. He ask for my number and I said I was engaged and he could friend me on Facebook, which he did. We started talking and really hit it off. He is an amazing guy and it’s fun looking forward to my phone going off and lighting up when I see it’s him. He’s definitely a bright spot in the midst of all the crazy.

Can’t wait to share more of all these stories with you, it’s just going to take awhile to get it all typed out. Thanks for reading and liking and sharing. Y’all go out there and have a kick ass day.