Just for the record – I never woke up one day and decided I wanted to be a professional psychic. As a young girl, I never dreamed I’d grow up and become this super sensitive freak of nature that with one small mention of her profession scares off any attractive available member of the opposite sex – OR whose simple casual conversation gets completely misconstrued by persons she’s attempting to impress – OR just by working her trade has her health and wellbeing invaded by things completely invisible to the human eye. My name is Justine, otherwise known as PsychicGirl, and welcome to My Psychic Life.
Even though this psychic thing has become more conventional, I still can’t seem to escape the flashbacks to past life memories of being burned at the stake. Like last week when some TV producer called me in on a casting for a show he is trying to sell (which b.t.w. I am not holding my breath over. If you knew how many of these – I have an idea for a psychic show – meetings I have been on, you too would be requesting for someone to wake you up when we get there)! Mr. Producer was directing me where to go – when all of a sudden, he spontaneously morphed into mister stand-up comedian and started expelling some pathetic joke I was about to be the butt of: “If you’re so psychic, shouldn’t you already know where you are going?” OMFG, was he serious? Believe me dude, I so wish it worked that way, and hate to be the one to awaken you to reality here, but even I am in desperate need of a GPS system. Oh, did I forget to mention how funny you are because I’ve never heard that joke before! Not.
I know, I sound a little less than thrilled to be here. If you walked a mile in my shoes you would be too. (Do you know how hard it is to find cute shoes in size 11)? Like Paris Hilton says; “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am.” I’ve built my career by whoring myself out in the streets of New York to every magazine editor that would have me and then moved on to national television forecasting really, really important predictions like who’s going to take home an Emmy or what numbers are going to come up on the roulette wheel in Las Vegas. I sell spirituality to the masses, yet ponder if the big guy upstairs is 100% kosher with my tactics.
I confess, there have been times when I’ve wished I had a more normal life. It’s no wonder I’ve developed a frightening addiction to Perez Hilton where I secretly fantasize about having a more Lindsey Lohan (pre-rehab) like life. Living in Hollywood, I’ve had my share of party girl nights, or at least tried to. But the last time I checked – okay, let’s be honest here – every time I’ve checked – being psychic on this planet – does not equal the kind of “that’s hot” or “coolness” one must possess to get past the velvet ropes of whatever venue SBE and Brent Bolthouse, have just opened up.
All of this can take a lot of out of a girl who’s passionately shown up and done the only thing she knows how to do, assist others in finding their way to answers and healing. For even though I didn’t consciously apply for the position, I now find myself preparing for the grandest party of all parties. The ONE that comes after ALL of this. The one where fame, fortune and the best PR, gets you absolutely zero pull at the door, nor your name anywhere on the guest list.