Back in 2006, when a psychic opened her doors in Livingston, New Jersey. I was ecstatic. For five dollars a palm, I thought this was a real steal. Shortly after moving to NYC in 2007, the psychic went out of business. I'm fairly certain that I was her only customer, solely responsible for keeping her in business that year. At the time, I was seeking the answers to many unanswered questions involving a certain boy that held a special place in my heart. Mostly, I wanted to know if we would end up together. She told me that we would. In hindsight, she was probably telling me what she knew I wanted to hear, and when things with that boy crashed and burned; I knew that my days of seeing psychics were over.
I spoke to Meelz this morning, and she told me that she had stopped at a psychic on her way to going out last night. (Don't you just love New York City?) She too was lured by the mystique of the five dollar palm read. Amelia was impressed with what the psychic told her, and felt that her psychic was right on with many things.
Amelia's visit to the psychic inspired a visit of my own. I walked to my own neighborhood psychic. I was invited in, where I sat on a stained couch, while a woman looking close to ninety years old chain smoked two feet away from where the psychic (Pam), and I were sitting. An albino cat rubbed up against my shins. So far, this was not a great sign. I think most people would agree with me--unless of course, you are my friend Derek. And, then a cat rubbing up against your legs would be a fantastic sign.
Pam began by stating some things about my personality, and my background. Some of her assessments of me could not have been more wrong. For example, she said that I am "a closed book" and keep everything inside. (Raise your hand if you've ever received a Lauren Fisher feelings e-mail, know the inner most details of my bodily functions, and or have heard a story about my sexual past that should have most likely stayed private). Seeing as I get joy out of blogging about the personal details of my life, and most recently wrote about a thirty year old Indian man unexpectedly sticking his finger up my ass at a routine checkup. Well, a closed book, I am not.
But, Pam redeemed herself. She knew that I was a teacher, and that I have a positive, youthful energy. She said I am a people person, and care deeply about the people in my life. She also mentioned my discomfort and disdain for change. Okay, Pam. What else you got?
After she gave me a reading of my lifeline, I asked her the two questions that brought me there in the first place.
Question Number One: Will I be happy at my new job?
Translation: When will I stop crying every day after school?
Pam's response: With great change, comes great opportunity, you need to ride this one out.
My takeaway: (Well, duh. I'm not planning on quitting and becoming a professional homeless woman). Pam's answer was common sense, and did not entirely satisfy me. But, for now it will do.
Question Number Two: Will I end up with someone, in the long term? Find a partner, a marriage etc?
Translation: When will I stop having to sit at the "singles" tables at friends weddings? When will I stop having to decipher the hidden meaning of Gchats, BBMs, and text messages? When will I no longer have hilariously bad first dates? Or have a guy ask me on date # 2 if "I mind getting this one?" (I'm still not over that one). When will I not meet guys who sleep in twin beds? When will twenty-three year old guys stop approaching me in bars because they think I'm in college? When do I get to stop nodding and smiling, as some arrogant asshole talks for way too long about private equity? When will my grandma stop asking me to please get married before she dies? When can I stop enduring the chaos of dating in NYC, all in the efforts to find the right person?
Pam's Response: November. You'll meet someone. Keep your eyes and ears open, he's coming And, don't worry, I see one marriage, and no divorces in your future. That will be twenty dollars.
My Takeaway: This is why I'm broke.
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