Proof That Being Innappropriate Isn’t Just For the Living

Hello my fine, non feathered friends. Unless there’s a bird reading this. In that case, I’m sorry for stereotyping my readers and being a jerk.

I am finally getting back around to being able to type, and be online, and do things that need to be done. I’m officially and genuinely shocked at the amount of emails and internet related things I’ve had to do, and my arm still isn’t sure how it feels about doing anything on the computer in long stints. It seems okay being minimally useful, though, so I’m going with it. I have so many fun little stories to tell you all, but I’ll start with the most recent one.

For those of you who are new to this blog and don’t know me, I’m a psychic medium. In doing this, I also work with the Historical Society, who do their research and pull records on a site to verify what I’ve said while working with them on a case. After nearly a year, they still continue to work with me, and I’m honored. I’ve never said I wasn’t crazy, but if I am, I have proof that I’m crazy, but right about what I pick up. It’s a very complex issue. I never ask anyone to believe me and some people will think I’m at least half a fruit loop, but I believe everyone is entitled to and should have their own beliefs and opinions. I don’t blame you stop reading now. For those who do believe, thank you for continuing to read this. I promise this is funny.

Part of being a psychic medium is understanding that spirits will openly waltz in and out of all rooms of my home, my life, and anything I’m doing (This does not exclude showering.) to get my attention. Some I can cross over immediately, some take awhile longer, and others are essentially what are known as spirit guides. They guide me and help me along with cases, giving me information when the offending spirit I am working a case around won’t help me or give me information for a variety of reasons, including that they don’t wish to cross over or leave a space.

That being said, there is a particular spirit that I’ve had for just over a year. She’s called Sarah. Sarah is a bit different from the other spirits I’ve had, and she needs a special, specific kind of help, therefore, though I’ve been actively working her case to help her this entire time, it’s taking awhile longer than any other spirit I’ve had. Sarah is loud, outspoken, says exactly what she thinks (Because, as she’ll tell you, she’s dead and doesn’t have any reason to monitor herself.), and refuses to apologize for it. Because of the specifics of the situation and what helping her entails, it’s been a bit difficult to get my mom to understand what is going on. She has always believed me before, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around Sarah. Yesterday, Sarah decided she wasn’t having any of that at all anymore.

In order to understand this story, you have to understand that my mom is one of those women who is set in her ways, always right, or just generally doesn’t care. She’s pretty much going to do whatever she’s going to do, etiquette and appropriateness be damned. I had mentioned to my mom earlier in the day that Sarah was with us for this particular excursion, she asked me some questions, and seemed to be coming around to Sarah, which was fully unexpected, but I rolled with it. After lunch I had gotten up to use the restroom and came back to find my mom sitting alone at the table with a funny look on her face. I knew something was up, but I decided to sit back down at the table and let it play out.

Not long after I sat down my mom asked me if she should leave five or six dollars as a tip. She never asks me this. She just decides and that’s that. But since she was asking, I told her she should definitely leave at least six for the tipping rate to be appropriate to the price of our meal. She nodded and reached for her purse, still with a funny look on her face. After a few minutes passed, she proceeded to tell me what it was that had her looking so bewildered.

While I was in the restroom, she was deciding on what she wanted to leave for a tip. It was just the two of us, so she was alone at the table and silent. She reached for her purse, deciding she was going to leave a five dollar tip, and as I mentioned before, my mom pretty much does what she wants, appropriate or not. Just as she went to pull out the five dollar bill, she heard a young girl say, “You cheap bitch!” Her first thought was that it was me, but I wasn’t at the table. Her second was that it was someone in a surrounding table, but she was contemplating a tip silently. No one else knew what she was doing. And that’s when it hit her.

She looked me straight in the face and said, “Sarah called me a cheap bitch.”

She doesn’t give me a hard time about Sarah anymore or question her. And this is so right on par with Sarah’s behavior that I didn’t even question it. She has no off button. I’ve been called many a things by Sarah when I’ve not done what she wanted me to do immediately, which includes but is not limited to buying something at the store in the style she likes since she apparently “lives here too” and not paying attention to her because I need to sleep and she likes to talk twenty four seven. Ghosts don’t sleep. But never in my life did I think she’d call my mom a cheap bitch.

My mom left a six dollar tip.

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