A Christian Psychic in a Crystal Store Fortells My Demise

This isn't quite an official part of my Travelouge, but rather a snipit from last night that was too good not to write about. 

So last night Katie and I ventured our way through the desert to Palm Springs to see the giant Marylin Monroe statue.  My hopes were to see if I could look up her dress and see the glory but alas it was nothing more than colorless concrete.  (Does this mean that Ms. Monroe's lady garden was nothing glorious but rather a dry hard place forboding of all men?)  It just so happened however that there was some sort of giant street fair going on all around the statue up and down the main strip of Palm Springs.  We looked at it as a fortunate experience because we were in dire wanting some activity. 

The street was lined with an assortment of people of all different sorts.  Dolly Parton's methed-out twin sister sold me a necklace made of carved cow bones.  A failed Romanian gymnast sold Katie some crab earrings and a cobra bracelet.  An angry Armenian sold me the greatest pair of sunglasses ever (picture to come in the future when I'm at a computer that isn't from 1983).  Two 6'3 drag queens roamed the streets soliciting people for pictures at $10 a pop.  It was great, it was everything I wanted out of a California experience.  Live music, "You Got Served" style dance-offs, and strange market foods abounded everywhere but one of the most unique experiences was yet to come. 

As we made our way down the strip, we came across what I called a "Hippie Crystal Chakra Shop" which sold healing crystals, dreamcatchers, little Bhudda insence burners, tarot cards, unicorn meat, and every other sort of thing you would associate with crystal hippies.  We went in because, although I don't believe in any of that nonsense, I still find it fascinating.  In the middle of a store sat a bald man adorned in crystals and what looked like a discarded Guess shirt bought or found at a Goodwill store.  He was advertised as a "Psychic as seen on TV".  It didn't list what TV show he was on, but it also didn't discount the fact that it could've been on public access. 

I don't put much, if any, faith in psychics.  I find that they usually are just really good at reading people based on posture, facial expressions, and leading questions.  Sometimes they get lucky and sometimes they are able to lead the follower into giving up all the information to make an informed decision.  Katie wanted to see what he was all about.  She begged for like 10 minutes and I finally said "Fine, see what he says."  The guy worked off of "donations" so there was no set price for his services, so I figured what's the harm.  We walked over to the little man after he had finished with what appeared to be a happy customer and Katie asked him for his services.  He agreed but told me that I could not be present and that perhaps I should take a walk.  I smiled, rolled my eyes and strolled around looking at all the self-help books and pictures of the Dhali Lama. 

Katie sat with the man for about ten minutes and she came and found me when she was done.  As she approached me it looked as if a ghost had just took a crap down her throat.  "What?"  I asked.  She proceeded to tell me all that he fortold.  He told her that she could ask him three things of her choosing and no more.  It could be done in the form of a question or simply a name.  Katie didn't want to give him too much to work with so she kept it simple and said, "My husband."  The little man with the crystals and the Goodwill Guess shirt told her that I have cancer and that he regreted to tell her that I would not survive.  Now this, I hate to admit, did kind of hit home because as some of you may know I've had cancer in the past and beat it and as it stands today, I'm awaiting some test results that will tell me if I have multiple myeloma which they suspect.  I'm not worried about it because that is not really my nature but it does cross my mind and it worries Katie to death. 

Katie was floored at this man's response about me and she said, "Holy f**king shit!!"  He was taken aback by that and told her not to say that as he was a Christian and he promptly prayed her misgivings away before proceeding.  She then asked about our children and somehow he nailed them down to a "t".  He told their ages and even knew that our oldest child was her step-child.  Pretty trippy stuff.  He told her that they would be fine after I'm gone and that they would "get over it in time."  She then asked about herself, would she be okay and would she be alone forever.  The crystal Christian psychic man told her that she would feel near death after I died but would recover with the help of her father (whom she is very close to) and our children and would eventually be with someone who is already in our lives.  Which my interpretation was that she was going to start dating one of my friends dammit!!  Murphy is my one single friend so I guess that means, "Murphy, you better be good to my wife when you marry her after I die." 

So Katie told me all of this through tears and confusion.  I don't know what to really think of it so I've decided that I'm going to put this psychic to the test.  Today I'm going back, dress in a nice button up shirt, not wear a hat, and just look totally different and see if I get the same fortelling.  Katie will not be with me, of course, for I fear that it would be a dead give away.  I will let everyone know by the end of the California day whether or not I'm going to die or not. 

On the bright side of things, whether or not my prediciton of death holds up, I'll be going to the Comedy Store tonight to see two of my favorite comedians, Marc Maron and Sam Tripoli.  I'll look at it as a nice dying wish or a good victory. 

The Strange Travelogue of Sleepy, Day 3: Xanax and Conning your way to 1st Class

If you are reading this then you already know that I'm in California and I'm attempting to document as much as possible through the blog, so this introduction is probably redundant.

When I last left you, dear reader, we had settled in to a "hooker-free" hotel much to the relief of my lovely wife.  We settled into the Grand Plaza or something of that nature.  The night was mainly spent not sleeping and worrying about whether we would wake up on time for our flight.  Luckily for us, we spent the whole night sweating and lying awake so when 5:30 AM rolled around we were ready to go.  We rushed out to meet the shuttle at 7:30 to make our flight and head to Hartsfield Jackson Airport. 

I don't believe I mentioned this tidbit of information earlier but my wife is absolutely terrified of flying.  It's not a small fear, it's more of a soul-crushing, tears flowing, vomit inducing fear.  The moment that we stepped of the shuttle bus at the airport my wife went into full-blown panic mode.  Thousands of people were rushing to their flights and to security with ease and confidence...not Katie.  No, she was rushing to find where she had shoved her "flying pills" or as they are better known, Xanax.  Before I tell you this might I say that if I took only one Xanax I would be completely incompacitated for the next 8 to 10 hours.  I would be lying in a puddle of my own drool while being stepped over by all the other alert air travelers. Katie, my dear panicked wife, she pulls out not one but two Xanax's and throws them down her throat.  Now take note that we have only arrived at the airport and there is still security to go through and the security line is seemingly a mile long. 

As we are standing in line, the Xanax takes hold.  Katie goes completely goofy-eyed.  I spend the next 45 minutes nudging her along through security and apologizing for her complete lack of coordination.  Luckily we make it through and get to our gate unscathed and undetained.  I kept waiting for the hammer to fall and be yanked out of line for suspected human trafficking.  I could just imagine the invasive full body search that awaited me and how no one would listen that I wasn't trying to smuggle my wife but that she was just really nervous and had taken too many "flying pills".  But alas, I made it with my dignity in tact.  I thought that we were homefree when we made it to our gate but I did not count on the fact that we would be flying across country with my in-laws.  I can get along fine with them but Katie and her mother are a different story.  They love each other like bin Laden loved America. 

A verbal argument immediately ensued the moment that they saw each other.  As their voices grew louder and the name calling got deeply more nasty, my fear once again grew of the TSA tackling one us and dragging us away to some dank room and stripping us naked.  I've learned that in these situations that all I can do try to be a voice of reason, but if you know of anything dealing with in-laws and your spouse there is no reason or logic.  Only my wife and her parents have the unique ability to argue while under the influence of a benzo.  I finally got everyone involved to shut up and seperate.  We would be sitting on the plane in two totally different sections and the worries should end there.

We boarded and found our cramped quarters in coach as the in-laws sat in First Class, which to my surprise wasn't all that great to begin with.  The main difference in my opinion was the fact that two people sat to a row rather than three and the flight attendant seemed to care about their well-being a little more...oh that and free booze.  Free booze would've been a God-send back in coach.  I could not get my first nerve calming alcoholic beverage fast enough.  My nerves weren't shot due to the anxiety of flight but rather the tension of witnessing a verbal assault and then trying to get three children settled in to their seats while finding all of their headsets and video games.  As I was nervously awaiting a strong drink, I looked up to first class and noticed with envy that my mother in law was already sipping on her first Chardonnay.  Damn you coach and your slow booze slinging flight attendants!!  When I finally got a chance to order a drink I made sure to go ahead and make an "anticipatory order".  God forbid I run out of alcohol and have to wait another 10 minutes.  So I ordered some Merlot and three shooters of vodka, enough to last through the next 4 hours I hoped.

As I settled in with my first glass of wine, I felt that things were starting to calm down.  I put my earbuds in to listen to the Joe Rogan Experience Podcast.  I was set...until I looked over at my wife.  Somehow she had turned an odd shade of green and was desperately looking for a "barf bag".  As any good husband would do, I first pretended not to notice her and continued listening to my iPod and went to sleep.  Ok, ok, I didn't do that.  I tended to her needs and actually talked her mom into giving up her First Class seat to Katie so that she would have some more room to breathe.  The combination of fear, anxiety, motion sickness, and "flying pills" I fear became too much for her to bear.  She spent the next 3 1/2 hours puking with the First Classers while I sat crammed with my kids and a nice Asian man in coach. 

I found later that she chilled out enough to stop being sick and was able to enjoy her flight.  But I wonder now as I write this, "Was this just her big plot to be able to sit in First Class all along?"  If so, may I just say, "Well done Katie, well done."

Check back tommorrow or later today for Part 2 of day 3 when we actually got to California and experienced the decadence of Hollywood. 

The Strange Travelogue of Sleepy Day 1 & 2: A sea of Estrogen & the Fortelling of the Apocalypse in a McDonald's Bathroom

As per the usual I'm off on a summer vacation with my wife and kids....and in-laws.  I wanted to document the travels day by day and see how the weirdness stacks up.

California.  A destination of dreams for me for pretty much the last 31 years of life and if you're counting that would mean basically since I came screaming out of my mother's stomach in 1981.  Everything that I'm interested in and care about when it comes to entertainment and music comes from California.  So it was to my absolute delight that I found that this years vacation would be to the glorious previously unvisited by me California.

A lot of build up has been leading to this trip, a lot of hassle, a lot of near cancelations, but come as of this past Thursday it was absolutely set into concrete with no turning back.  To avoid extra money and hassle, my wife and I decided to fly from Atlanta instead of our home base "airport" of the Tri-Cities.  Somehow it was an extra $300 per ticket to fly from there?!?!  So on Thursday, after what seemed like 2 straight days of packing, we set out for the 4 hour drive to Atlanta where we were planning on staying with my mom who lives down there before flying out.

As with any good and proper road trip there are always fun little stories that happen along the way and this was one without exception.  As we made our way into North Carolina we decided that we were hungry and stopped off at the fabulous McDonalds of whatever God-forsaken area we were in.  I'm not a fan of the place but it was the only offer of any "food" substances within several miles.  After choking down the chicken paste that had been formed into fun-sized nuggets, I made a trip to the bathroom to avoid any further unnecessary stops in our trip.  My visist to this magical McDonald's made the entire drive worth it for me when I overheard the following exchange between two gentlemen around the age of dead dressed in what I figured was either their Sunday best or their Anticipatory Funeral Uniform.

Man #1:  I tell you John, the end is drawing nigh for this whole world.  I jest feel it.

Man #2 (John, I presume):  No doubt brother, make no mistake about it.  God has had about enough of this nonsense.  I feel his holy wrath will be upon us any day now.  We're living in a modern day Sodom and Gommorah.

Man #1:  Yessir, did you see that girl at the register with her nose pierced and that tattoo on her arm?  Looked like one of Satan's harlots if you ask me and you could see it in her, not one bit of shame in her heart for it.  Ain't gonna be no pierced noses or tattoos in the heaven I'm goin' to.

John, I guess?:  Amen brother, amen!!  Well I guess I'll see you in church Sunday?

Man #1:  You better believe it!!

It was all I could do to contain my laughter while hiding away in the stall listening to this exchange.  Old people are hilarious.  The way they think and judge people just tickles me with delight.  I just hope the world doesn't end on them before they can meet up on Sunday again.

Anyway the rest of the drive to Georgia was pretty uneventful and we arrived at around 10:30pm that evening at my mom's house.  Katie was not ready for sleep and I was up for whatever as well, our flight didn't leave until Saturday so we had all of Friday to rest and visit.  So I did what any good and brave husband would do, I took Katie to the midnight opening of "Magic Mike" the Channing Tatum/Matthew McCounaghey stripper movie.  For some reason she has a thing for men with perfectly chiseled bodies that can dance, which does leave some concern for me since I can't dance. 

Anyway we got the tickets and the theater was packed for the grand premiere of this movie.  I didn't mind to see it because I heard that it at least had a story line worthy of not falling asleep to.  When we arrived it was a pure sea of estrogen, nothing but wall to wall teenage to middle age girls and women all excited and squealing.  I knew this was coming but I love my wife lady and didn't mind.  When we made it to our seat I decided to do a "man" head count.  By my scientific count, including myself, there was a total of 8 men in the entire theater of roughly 342.  Eight!!  And of that eight, I was fairly sure that at least four of them were there for the same reason Katie and the other 334 females were there for...Tanning Chatum (yes I know it's wrong but no one ever corrects me when I say it out loud and it's funny to hear women agree with me).  The movie, suprisingly enough, was pretty good.  It wasn't completely about well built men shaking their balls in women's faces, it wasn't all about younger men dry humping questionably attractive women on stage, no there was more to it.  No the two stars of the show for me where the vomit eating pig and the pot dealer who (unseen in the film) that apparently kept McCounaghey high as a kite throughout the entire movie to the point where he had trouble stringing together more than one coherent sentence at a time. 

I was glad to say that I felt that 90% of the women who attended this premeire left unsatisfied.  They never got to see Tanning Chatum's frank and beans, it was kind of a weird artsy film, and there was a big shot of McCounaghey's backsack.  An audible groan eminated the entire theater when it simply ended without resolution while the loan sound of laughter came roaring out of me followed by many dirty looks from teenage girls who snuck in. 

We went back to my mom's house in the suburbs after that at about 2:30 in the morning and prepared for our ultimate departure on Saturday.  If anyone has ever flew out of Atlanta, they can tell you that getting to and parking at that airport can be a nightmare that not too many people would dare choose to inflict upon themselves.  We were trying to figure every which way out of it that we could and finally my dad offered to the solution of staying at a hotel near the airport and just riding the shuttle into the airport directly.  Great idea, right?  In theory yes.

In case you didn't know, dear reader, that airport hotels are made for two things:  travelers and hookers.  Hooker's love to stay at these hotels because the theory is that most of these travelers are lonely businessmen traveling around the country in need of some no strings attached loving.  My dad is a frequent traveler but didn't really know about this particular hotel that he booked for us.  As we were driving to the airport, we crossed a bridge and noticed a very attractive girl with her skirt hiked up above her ass with a man digging his hands into it.  "Ahh, don't worry Katie.  It's just a hooker."  I told my wife.  Well, upon arriving at the Hampton Inn we discovered that it was more along the lines of Hooker Inn.  I was almost immediately accosted by a larger, unattractive woman of undetermined race/ethnicity and told that I could have her for the price of a mere $200.  I explained in the kindest of words, no.  Katie must have heard this same woman as she was waiting for me in the car as she explaining aloud to her friends, "I'mma bout to go pop my thing up in Room 408 and gets me about $200 tonight, girl"  This was all that Katie needed to hear.  As I was inside checking in, I was unaware that Katie was on her cell phone making other plans at a nicer hotel.  By the time I got to the car, it was done.  No more Hooker Inn, we were off to the Grande Plaze which we were guaranteed was "Hooker-Free". 

Check in tommorrow for the next installment where I'll tell you about the Airport Hell, Xanax Flight Assistant, and finally cruising Hollywood.