Psychics and beer. Must be Wednesday...


What the fuck is going on? What is happening. What have i done? I'd been waiting for someone to come over who was sick. excuses excuses. this woman is a health issue. i have suspicions of alcoholism because i hear about her funny alcohol stories. as funny as mine. and of course i read my life into hers. i've been working all day. but she is not the issue here. this is about me. someone once said if i ever felt shitty or whatever, go take a walk. so. i'd been waiting for this woman to show up, and i was feeling, like, you know, a little frustrated. so, i went out for a walk. three hours after she was supposed to show up. the nap was interrupted. the work was boring. i went out into the local area. not the usual trek to larchmont. not the bank and newstand and blockbuster route. i ventured out down melrose. past the (other) winos. the bums on the bench in front of Popeye's chicken. down towards Zumaya, where they have a mother of a big burrito. they stuff a whole fucking chicken into a rolled up burrito. and it's damn good. but as i'm walking, I'm feeling light. and not bloated, and a whole chicken is going to fill me up. so. i'm headed that way, but not totally committed. so. as i head down melrose, i pass a bunch of odd shops. the hungarian restaurant. the milinery (hat) shop. a hat shop? and then i pass a storefront with neon lights. maybe it's the neon. maybe it's the lure of vegas. maybe i'm just fucked up. it's a tarot card reader place. storefront. neon light. a woman and her husband and kids sitting around the table. i walk past. zumaya's is calling. full-chicken burrito. yum yum. gimme some. but i get about a block away. and something makes me turn back. i stop and go back. to the tarot card reader. maybe i've been dealing with these spiritual (crazy?) young entreprenurial women too long. these business savvy women who also believe in who knows what. candles and incense and chanting and yoga and all that shit we went through in college. only these women are rooted in this stuff. so, maybe i'm dealing too much with them. or maybe the woman i have this crush on is too influential. she believes in all of this. seems like a tough mix. bogus spiritualism and money-making. maybe it justifies or eases the money-hunger. but this is about me. something made me turn back. do i want to get closer to this woman by checking out this shit? or have i so completely lost faith in everything else that i am ready to trust some scam artist? some wanna be gypsy? some latina woman named tiffany? i step into the web.

i have often feared that raising charlotte without any religion would eventually send her to some cult. instead it has sent her into the cultures that embrace the church and god and all of that. but she seems to keep a level head.

i, on the other head, or did I mean hand...? I jump into the chair and start spilling info. I listen to the price range. i realize this is all a sales pitch. i just had a salesman at the house trying to sell me a wall for my garage. fucker wouldn't leave. i'd wanted to get the other clown off the phone, so when he said he had a guy close, I finally caved in and said, okay, give me an estimate. this asshole was ready to back up the trucks on sunday and start walling in the garage.

but I stray. i am sitting in the chair. less frightening than the dentist. i'm thinking this is bullshit. let go. who cares. maybe she knows something, she doesn't know jack shit. here's an old guy who's obviously wandering around like an idiot, nail him. and she reads my palm. and some of the stuff is so accurate. and some of it is so obvious. and suddenly i feel tears welling up., like i'm at the fucking shrink's office and i am pouring out shit. but this woman is a scam. and a shrink is... well, a more expensive scam. that's a bit unfair. no, it's not. it's all about asking the right questions and letting the fool speak.

But i don't believe in jesus. I don't believe in mantra, i don't believe in buddha, i don't believe in zimmerman, i don't believe in elvis, i don't believe in beatles... but i don't even really believe in me. so, what's left? a woman named tiffany. who has been the gift of making you sit and listen to her. shit, fuck, what am i doing? let her talk, i think. fuck it. i want to see her start convulsing and fall on the floor and spit out my mother's maiden name and tell me what i had for fucking breakfast. but instead she tells me that i will do okay in business, but i have a lot of obstacles in the way of love. i have been unlucky in love. but there are two women, not my ex-wife, with whom i am still in love. which is true. and, see, that's all you need to hook me. so I sit and listen and agree to bring pictures tomorrow. and she holds my hands and looks me in the eye. and she talks to me. i haven't experienced this in a while. human contact. bullshit, maybe, but is it any less bullshit than any date? at least i'm being more or less honest here. but i don't want to open up any more. i'm done. i say yes to everything, just to get out the fucking door. just to get back on the enlightened path to chicken burritos with the whole chicken. i say, sure, i'll bring pictures. burn some candles and figure out how i'll ever be happy again. see you later.

so, i head out again. but i have lost my hunger. i don't want any fucking burrito. i want a fucking beer. i want to get wasted. i want to get home and see if this woman has called me. so i walk and walk. but i pass the liquor store, and the supermarket. i don't want food and i don't want beer. i want to go back there and tell her forget it. fuck it. i don't want to be told what i'm doing wrong. you were right, tiffany. i want to handle shit my way. let me fuck up my own life. i don't want guidance. i don't want religion. i want a beer. i don't want a beer. i want hard alcohol. i want to get totalled. as i circle, i imagine getting hit by a car and having that be my last encounter. went to a psychic and died. but no. i circle back and wind up at the psychic's again. i want to tell her forget it. i'm not doing it. no fucking pictures. forget it. i wait for a few minutes while some young asian woman gets her palm read. and i talk to tiffany. who asks me just to trust her. just to try it. she'll teach me some meditation skills. i don't care. this is less than a shrink. and the shrink never looked me in the eyes, as i recall. and he was a guy. i give in. i'll be back tomorrow.

and then i go get a beer. a foster's fuck face can. and the woman has emailed me instead of coming over. she's too sick. and i drink the beer and i write this and what the fuck have i done? i went to a psychic... fuck... i have a long lifeline and won't die of an illness, just old age. so, cancer isn't in my genes. whoosh.

my good friend who was mad at me actually called me today and apologized for going too far. jesus. i know an adult. that is the hardest thing, for me anyway. to admit i was wrong. or maybe it used to be. it's hard to separate the jim i used to be from the one i am now. i think i'd cop to a mistake these days. but i'm not sure that i wouldn't hold a grudge. that's kind of fucked up. but i'm retaining my immaturity in some ways. but it is good to have at least one or two adults as role models.


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