The Psychic (or Vampire Crazy Lady)

See, there's the psychic I was friends with... The hubby and I were actually a member of her paranormal investigative group. We did all sorts of things for them, basically investing time, money and energy into her many causes. I shouldn't say "her" because it was a family affair.

This particular psychic (to the stars, she claims) has three major projects: She charges people for psychic readings, privately, over the phone, email, at parties and events, she publishes (or was publishing, because there hasn't been an issue in a long time) a psychic/wiccan magazine, and does paranormal investigations.

She's a busy lady. When we were friends with her, we helped her. And by help, it always seemed to me that we not provide assistance or do anything along side her, but do it for her. Everything needed to be done immediately because she had deadlines. Yet, when something completed was handed over to her all the sudden the rush, the necessity wore off.

I did mock ups of website for her to improve her business model. She had lackluster sales and being that I was heavy into selling at online venues at the time (which I have been taking a break from since April because of the hubby's health) and with almost 20 years of award winning customer service under my belt, I shared my tips and tricks with her. Her website is out-dated, not user friendly, and basically looks like it's circa. 1995. She did not feel that was a hindrance to her success.

I sent friends to her website and they complained about it. I sent potential advertisers to her page, but never heard back from most of them. When I did, it was the standard "that's not right for my business". Even I didn't want to put out money for advertising in her magazine with her website such a mess. No one would stay on her site long enough to see my ad.

The most embarrassing moment was when the two of us were guests on a popular paranormal internet radio show. She directed listeners to the website to look at evidence from previous investigations. Even the hosts of the show could not get the EVPs to play or so they said. My guess is it just took too long to get the page... or they got lost in the twenty-thousand new spawned tabs and windows.

She uses Facebook, but not a fan page, but a friend page that has a cap on total amount of friends and limits you ability to market your brand. I suggested a fan page, but she wasn't interested. It was a darn shame because people like Aaron Goodwin and Anne Rice have excellent models of fan pages. Anne Rice by far has the most engaging, interactive fan page I've ever seen. She's responded to me personally *swoon*. Aaron Goodwin has not only promoted his television show, but created a lucrative side business with his use of social media. Her time was spent accepting gifts on Facebook, I guess because it's boosted her ego.

None of my suggestions were given a second thought by her, yet my husband could say the exact same thing and it'd be a great idea. You see, she doesn't have a very high opinion of women at all. My husband and I tested this theory all the time with little things. She'd take what he said to heart, not realizing that I told him to say it.

But when it comes to her business, the only person who could ever influence her in those decisions were one of husbands. (She's had twelve). She only seems to wanted to use me as her personal assistant, free of charge. I let her, I ashamed to say. She only wanted to use the hubby to boost her credibility. She has a history of burning through the kindness of friends, sucking them dry like a vampire.

The last command she barked at me was a letter she wished me to type up. She gave me the summary for a reference (because why should she type the letter herself?) of what she wanted said in this letter. She wanted my husband, with the letters behind his name, to sign and deliver it to her. We've given her a letter of reference before, so I was not surprised or unwilling. When I got the email, my jaw dropped to the floor.

I don't know what my husband agreed to exactly, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't that. And if it was, then he did not understand completely thanks to his surgery. (Comprehension is something he has issue with at times) I discussed the outrageous lie of of a reference with him and he agreed that it was not something we wanted to be involved in. I don't want to attract any bad karma, especially since she is even worse with money than we were and has a long track record of either suing landlords or being sued by them. I was not letting her have carte-blanche with my husband's reputation.

I sent her a nice, cordial, but honest reply. Her being a psychic, I assumed that she'd understand that the choice was to prevent bad karma and the tone was kind. I said we could give some other sort of reference, but not that one. I'm not sure she's that good, at least not in emails. Or perhaps selfishness over-ruled any gifts she has because her reply to me spewed venom. You could just feel the evil emanating off the email screen.

And she wonders why bad things keep happening to her?

Reminded me of my ex's crazy rants. She threatened me, my kid, my husband... Oy. She's going to have me deported, dontcha know. I can only hope because I need a vacation and Denmark is a beautiful place filled with my family, so I wouldn't need to pay for a hotel. Ticket to Aalborg, if you would Uncle Sam. (It's too bad I was born in Washington, D.C., huh?) She's going to call someone to punish me for having a homeschooled child with Asperger's Syndrome, too. And she's gonna tell my husband's parents how awful we are (like they don't already know us). She is just gonna get me. Punish me for all my sins against her. Punish me for telling her the truth.

If it were my husband who said any of this, she'd crawl right up his rectum and say "no problem" and leech off of whatever he casts out to her. But I'm a girl, so how dare I not bow down to her?

I was shocked at first, but now I'm flattered and in stitches over this. When I'm 62, I'm gonna wear a big, ugly hat and put spam in people's shopping carts, not on their Facebook feed. I'm gonna sun myself on the beach in some gaudy bathing suit, on a hot pink beach towel. Even if I'm homeless, even if I'm in wheel chair with pink racing stripes and neon yellow flames. I'll pimp our my walker and smile at young kids. I won't go around asking people to lie for me, especially not friends. And I'd be gracious when they refuse such an outrageous favor because I understand that no one owes me anything.

Booby Traps

Asperger's is such a fun and interesting disorder because you never know what your kid is going to do next. Right now, we are into skateboarding. That's probably because we've expanded our social horizons and have some Paxil each day that makes us want to get out and shred (a term meaning skateboard as far as I can tell). Most kids in our town skateboard, so I'm glad the my boy has a way to break the ice with new kids he meets while enjoying common interests  with his regular group of friends. 

It's a little scary to watch him maneuver on a skateboard.  As a mom, my super power is the ability to see ever single injury-- big and small -- that could occur while he's practicing tricks. "Wear your helmet" is my new motto it seems (and for someone with sensory issues it's a miracle I can get him to put it on). I try to ensure a proper fit every time he puts it on. For him, it's entirely uncool to have your mom dote over you like that. (Evil safety freak, I am. I'm also no longer allowed to refer to myself as "mommy" because that, too, is uncool and embarrassing.) My boy does have cat like reflexes on hit skateboard and since his birthday, I've only dressed one skinned knee. It makes me wonder if he is a re-incarnated skater, because with everything else and like his mom, he's a klutz.

But bragging about my super powers to see his future broken bones and his amazing ability to not to break anything while trying the latest skating trick is not why I write this post. Skating is his new interest. When his anxiety was higher, when he was worried about intruders all the time and before Paxil, his obsession was digging little holes, or booby traps, around our house whenever he was outside.

At one point, he'd dug so many holes in the backyard that my hubby went to work filling them all in and we instituted a no digging holes in the backyard policy.  Why? Because the only people the kid was going to thwart were himself, his family and his friends. The only thing thwarted after the great hole filling in by daddy was the no more holes policy. The boy was literal. We said no more holes in the BACKYARD. With asperger's, you have to be specific.

The kid started a small pit to China in the side yard, or alley between our house and our neighbor's -- right split in the middle. The hole once again was to trap anyone who meant us harm. We put a stop to that digging as soon as we discovered complete silence and a missing shovel. We explained to the boy and his hole digging companion (after all, boys love to get into the dirt, so the kid's obsession was cool)  that that's where our neighborhood had a special drainage system put in because our gutters were emptying into our neighbors house and garage. If he'd hit a pipe, it would have been disaster. I kept meaning to fill in that hole, but never got to it. I also reminded the kids that part of that hole now belonged to our neighbor, who wouldn't appreciate the extra security.

Then we parents instituted the absolutely no digging holes anywhere at anytime without express permission, except at the beach. No use of shovels without permission, except at the beach. Specific enough? I think so. 

The other day, I was looking for my less fearful much braver kid whose forgotten almost entirely about intruders (and only says "lock the door" 50 times a day instead of 5,000) and whose focus is now playing with other kids like a regular, non-anxiety having kid. He's supposed to let us know where he is going and who he is with whenever he changes locations. This time, he didn't. Mommy, er mom, was irritated because he forgot a lot that day. (Too many children in the neighborhood behind us are unsupervised, unless its by me our neighbor, which is one reason we worry when the kid goes-a-playing out of our line of vision.)

I was walking along the side yard in a huff when I discovered his booby trap worked really, really well. As I fell onto my right knee, sliding across the grass and dirt, my left foot (the one I'd injured severely as a teenager, which has never been quite the same) did its own crazy Tony Hawk like trick. I cussed, I held back tears, I said "the boy is now grounded officially" and I realized that his booby trap was successful, especially since enough time had elapsed to allow grass, when it needs mowing to hide the almost adult foot sized pit.

It being Fourth of July weekend, I couldn't imagine hobbling into the emergency room to wait ten hours to be told what I already knew: I sprained something. So, I did all the good first aid stuff while my husband found the kid playing happily with well supervised kids. The kid felt bad that because we were looking for him and because he'd dug a hole, I got hurt.

The kid and I both learned some valuable lessons from that experience. The first is that yes, the kid needs to report his where-a-bouts because bad things happen when you don't, which he's taken to heart. The second is that there is a reason we don't dig holes in the yard (a phase I think is over). The final thing is that his booby trap was really well designed and all those times I thought about filling it in, but put it off makes me currently an idiot.

I also think I now prefer skateboards to booby traps. 

My foot didn't get better, so I ended up at the emergency room at seven in the morning to beat the crowds today. It appears I injured the middle of the foot, in which is an area difficult to x-ray clearly. The doctor guessed that nothing was broken with caveat that sometimes you can't see a break until it starts to heal. He gave me something for the pain, said I didn't necessarily need crutches as long as I stayed off my foot for a few days. Since it was already injured, I could have strained the innards of an already weak foot. If it doesn't get better within a few days, I'll need to see a specialist-- either a podiatrist or an orthopedic surgeon. So let's pray it gets better because its summer, we need beach time and I still have a recovering husband.