Lydia Aswolf

Some psychics bite.

They don’t bite strangers roaming around in some murky, dystopian dreamland someone came up with and turned into a best seller.

No, they sink their teeth into their own.

Whoever threatens their business, their money, or their reputation, they hunt.

Sometimes, they even eat themselves.

They see or hear of other psychics who are doing well, gaining the business, the money, the reputation.

Then they stalk them relentlessly.

After they pin their locations down, they set a trap.

Sometimes they ambush.

Results vary.

They might book a session and when time comes for feedback, proffer their figurative tenderizers.

After that, they eat.

Often, they ambush using well worn minions.

Otherwise known as clients.

Their clients.

People desperate for their approval, and their time.

Their clients will do anything; anything at all to gain free or low cost readings in return for a blistering review of a session with someone else.

So their clients book the session.

Leave nasty feedback.

Then stop payment on the credit card so the psychic they sabotaged doesn’t get paid.

Often, groups of cannibals roam together.

They stick together in little cliques, who send their minions after psychics who are doing well.

Showing them up.

Making them look bad.

But it’s not hard to make cannibals look bad.

They swap transcripts of live chat sessions.

They swap information with one another after phone sessions.

They keep notes in text psychic services.

All so they can repeat almost word for word what you were told by that other psychic.

The one in the clique.

Never mind that these conversations, whatever form they take, should be confidential.

They think it makes them look omnipotent.

We know it makes them look foolish.

These are the psychics who, if you book a session, will badmouth other psychics by name.

They can prove it, too.

Their minions will tell you all about that bad old psychic.

While the cannibals nod and smile approvingly.

They will tell you that only they can help you.

Some go so far as to tell you if they ever find out you went to someone else, you are done.

And they’ll know.

They are psychics, after all.

But not for long.

Never for long.

In the end, they always eat themselves.

Which is the thing, really.

We’ve realized all along what they never comprehend in the first place.

Paranoia, jealousy, and envy motivate them.

But envy, paranoia, and jealousy are cannibals, too.

She was late.

Unbelievably, incredibly late.

She snatched her luggage, ran out the airports sliding doors, stuffed the luggage in a taxi and told the driver to hit it.

It wasn’t the dignified entrance she had in mind for this conference.

But it would have to do.

She signed in at  the entrance quickly, hastily plastered her badge over her left breast, glanced at the map telling her what was where, and started out at a brisk trot.

We’ll call her Dr. Grand High Poobah. A doctor with so many letters behind her name, the alphabet trembles preemptively before she opens her mouth to introduce herself.

Dr. Grand High Poohbah should have looked at her map a little more closely.

She flings open the doors to the room where her colleagues are no doubt listening to the introductions.

If she’s lucky, that is.

She is due to present someone today, and, glancing at her watch as she enters the room, thinks surely she’s in time for that.

A woman comes up to her, asks her name, and reacts impressively as the alphabet quivers from the recital of all those letters behind Dr. Grand High Poohbahs name.

The woman eagerly ushers her up to the podium, which the good doctor was not expecting.

Startled, she puts on her professional face and introduces herself from the podium, squinting a little in the bright lights momentarily.

Her first impression is there are a lot of people sitting up straighter after she introduces herself.

Her second is that none of the people present look dressed for a doctors conference.

She glances at the woman who’s followed her up to the podium, then leans in her direction before quietly asking the woman where she is.

Dr. Grand High Poohbah has belatedly realized she must be in the wrong room.

She realizes correctly.

The woman informs her that this is the annual meeting of hypochondriacs supporting hypochondriacs convention.

It wasn’t her imagination, then.

The eager group in front of her did straighten in anticipation after she announced herself.

She has a decision in front of her as the people wait for her to speak again.

She takes her time about making it, as every good doctor does before prescribing, slicing, or dicing.

But we will get to the good doctor’s decision, and why she made it in a moment.

There is only one difference between our doctor and psychics and mediums.

This is likely a one time occurrence for the doctor.

It is a daily event for us.

If you happen to follow me or be a pal on Twitter, Facebook, or Goodreads, then you know this: I don’t talk about what I do.

All are social networks in my mind; not advertising forums.

I want to be social. I want to talk to people and not let what I do for a living get in the way.

But some days are harder than others.

I’ve been asked several times why I shut off comments on the blog.

Well, it’s simple.

Questions. Via my comments on this blog, on my contact Lydia link, or sent direct to my email address.

Questions: Direct message on Twitter. Sometimes asked right on the Twitter feed.

Questions. Infrequently asked in open threads on Facebook; frequently asked via email. Some people friend me for the explicit purpose of asking me questions.

Haven’t had any on Goodreads yet, but we’ll see. It’s a nice place to be because no one cares what you do; they care what you read.

But that never stopped anyone before.

Once, I was held hostage in a house.

You heard me.

They found out what I did (I had an office in town), invited me over for coffee, and proceeded to pepper me with questions for the next two or three hours.

Sure, I could have gotten up and stormed out; but these were neighbors we are talking about.

You have to live beside them.

My husband rescued me; based on his kill first and ask no questions whatsoever face, I escaped.

When I was a young psychic, starting out, I had a published phone number.

It didn’t take long for me to make that unpublished.

Not long at all.

Because of all those questions.

We’ve moved since, into a rural area where no one is here to ask what I do for a living.

But let’s get back to our good doctor’s quandary; see what she decides in a place I and my colleagues know well.

She stares unseeing at the crowd, who, truth be told, are rustling uncomfortably and wondering when they will get to ask the good doctor for advice and counsel only someone with her expertise can answer.

She sees clearly what will happen if she graciously obliges the large crowd in front of her.

Hours spent answering questions this one time and in this one place is a problem. But not the largest problem.

The biggest problem is that she gave her name and her credentials.

She has a website.

She has an office.

So, it won’t merely be hours of questioning; no, never just that.

If she gives this crowd what it wants, it will be phone calls.

Emails, Tweets, possibly physically showing up at her office.

Definitely calling her office.

All because she humored them this time.

Because she opened the door a crack.

Took one for the team.

Gave an inch.

Dr. Grand High Poohbah stands there a minute longer as the crowd starts to murmur.

Thinking about the time.

The time these well meaning people will take up with their calls, visits, emails, tweets, Facebook pleas for her advice.

For her time.

Dr. Grand High Poohbah knows herself well.

Knows if she answers one question, she’ll have to answer others. It would be fair no other way, and whatever else she might be, Dr. Grand High Poohbah is fair.

This will prevent her from dealing with patients who expect to give and receive equitably.

It has to be fair for her, too.

Dr. Grand High Poohbah has to keep a roof over her head.

She has a car payment to make.

A family to feed.

Her life to tend to.

Her life to live.

And so do I.

Here’s the thing: Psychics throw readings all the time.

That’s right; we throw readings. Wrong on purpose. Not connecting right. So sorry, don’t want to waste your money, etc, etc.

Why do we do it?

Well, lots of reasons.

Some people are entitled assholes who deserve perfection, and nothing less.

Like the woman who told me she dumped her boyfriend because he put the toilet paper on the roll wrong.

No joke.

No shit.

Lucky him.

Others want fairy tales.

Like the guy who told me he didn’t want me to tell him the truth; he just wanted best case scenarios.

Occasionally, they are mentally ill.

A woman who had underwent a nervous breakdown came to me once. She was in love with her therapist’s husband. The guy had answered the phone at his wife’s office, and then proceeded to take advantage of this poor woman in her time of desperate need…behind his wife’s back.

Why?

Because he could.

A select few are bitter harpies who opt to take their problems out on us rather than actually confront the people and issues in their own lives.

I used to deal with their type quite often; sometimes still do.

They generally call, email, text, get in live chat, or on the phone and rip us new assholes. This species is best located in places where psychics/mediums are rated for the services they provide.

To add insult to injury, after a verbal ass ripping, they then tell the world at large what a bad reading they had.

Lest I forget, psychic and mediums are often cheaper than sex phone lines. Sad, but true.

So people sometimes call hoping to get a little R&R from us; a Rise and Release, if you will.

On one memorable occasion, I told the gentlemen caller that I was certain he had two hands, lotion, and Kleenex. He was summarily invited to use their services and not mine. It wasn’t the first time I’d uttered those words. It won’t be the last.

And we get suicidal people. All the time.

Con artists going by the name of psychic might throw those calls; I don’t know.

But one might be surprised how many psychics and mediums keep important hotline numbers beside wherever it is they read.

I’ve talked a fair few down from the ledge, away from the pills, and out of the same room as a razor.

If a foul mouthed little troll like me has done it, can you imagine what the best among us have done?

People forget all too often that psychics/mediums are human.

In other words, for every person who’s rash, stupid, hurtful, or exhibits frighteningly harmful behavior towards others or themselves; there is a psychic equivalent.

A counterpart, in other words. One who doesn’t mean you, the consumer well.

Who you should walk away from.

But I digress.

The point here isn’t that we throw readings for people who would happily abuse us.

Nor is it that when served a steaming hot shit sandwich, we don’t have to eat it. Everyone does, from time to time. Psychics and mediums are by no means exempt.

But if we can avoid it, we will.

When we have the choice, we make it.

You should, too.

There are millions of us and only one of you.

Therein lies the answer, and also the problem.

We aren’t meant to connect with every single person in the world.

That’s why there are millions of us, and only one of you.

Chances are pretty damned good you aren’t going to get the right psychic or medium the first time around. Or the second. Maybe even the sixteenth.

I prefer consumers go to a psychic/medium with a money-back guarantee.

Ever notice most psychics don’t offer that little guarantee?

Yeah, I think there’s a reason for that. I don’t like the reason, and I don’t understand the reasoning behind it.

Some of my colleagues will not be pleased that I’m throwing this particular information out there. Obviously, I don’t give a rat’s ass. Lots of legitimate psychics bitch, whine, and moan about how they aren’t taken seriously,  or are mocked, hissed at, spat on, etc, etc.

There’s a reason for that.

That reason has an awful lot to do with expecting money handed to them regardless of their actual performance.

I offer a money back guarantee, and I use it liberally.

Not because I’m a shining example of humanity…but because I most assuredly am not.

And I fucking know it.

I know I won’t connect with every single person, because I’m not supposed to. My personality is not what most would call genial.

I don’t believe in telling someone they are going to shit gold and piss rainbows. Life doesn’t operate like that. No one should expect it to.

I do believe if the perception of psychics and/or mediums is going to improve, it will only do so because some of us band together and show people we don’t expect money handed to us for no apparent reason other than we claim we can see/know things other “normal” people can’t.

So be harsh.

Know that odds are against you connecting with psychics. Maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe it will only take a few times for you to find the right psychic for you.

Realize that most psychics/mediums ask for money up front. This is because we got screwed without benefit of lube many times before instituting such a policy.

Do NOT put any money up front until you have asked the psychic/medium in question if they offer a money back guarantee. If they don’t…be cautious.

Because I can’t say psychics and mediums who don’t offer money-back guarantees are not legitimate.

But I can say if they are asking you more questions than you have asked them.

If they suddenly start freaking out and saying you are cursed/have dark energy.

If they tell you that you should see them and them only.

If they aren’t getting one damned thing right.

You need to ask for your money back.

Make us earn it.

Frequently Mistaken Assumption: I can see into your brain effortlessly.

Reality: Nope. And this comes up a lot. A whole lot. I’ve seen people all but run from me when I’m introduced at parties, social gatherings, events and what have you because they assume their every secret is privy to me with my “special” sight.

I can’t wander around the supermarket aisles telling you good ole Uncle Fred is right over your shoulder, and wants to let you know you forgot to turn the oven off. I can’t tell you that you’d better dump the bitch/bastard who’s been taking a helluva lot more than they ever intend to give  you either…even if good ole Uncle Fred tells me too. Unless you grant me permission to look by asking me a question, I can’t tell you anything at all.

All I need is a question.

And all you should have to do in ANY reading is ask the damned question. After you ask it, it’s all up to me. The only question I will ask you is, “Make sense?”

What do I expect as an answer? “Yes, no, or makes sense.”

I do NOT want you telling me everything, or really anything at all. Because if you do, you are giving ME information to work with.

That is an abyss you do not want to fall into. Not because I’ll use it against you; I won’t. No, it’s because if you decide to consult someone else who is less than legitimate, they won’t hesitate to take you for a ride on your own dime…and with the information you gave them.

Most con artists have the gift of gab. You give them any information, they can twist it around and make it look like they are brilliantly reading you, when all they are really doing is just repeating what you’ve said, in a different way.

Takeaway Value: I’ve done plenty of readings where men and women have gasped and told me I was telling them what they were thinking. That’s how readings should work.

Hell, one of my good friends really did run away from me when she asked her question. I told her what worried her, and then answered those worries without her having to say a word.

She avoided me for awhile, but hey: she ASKED for it.

Which is the whole point.

The less you say in a psychic/medium reading; the better off you are.

Frequently Asked Question: How’s my health looking?

Frequent Answer: I am not a physician.

So you forgot to water your cactus plants. You left them in the kitchen chair before going to bed so you wouldn’t forget in the morning. For some reason, in the middle of the night you develop a blinding fear your beloved cacti are going to die if they don’t get watered now. Or, you have to go to the bathroom. Or you left your cell phone perilously close to the kitchen chair. Whatever. You blunder out naked and in a bizarre twist of fate, fall ass first on your beloved cacti, who pays you back for this indignity in the worst way possible.

If you call to ask me what the hell do to, I’m going to a) ask if you have a roommate, neighbors, and a bullhorn with which to summon them for help. Shortly after this, I will move to b) why in the hell you haven’t called 911? I will then heavily recommend you utilize option c) all of the above, to best help you out of your painful predicament. I will further advise that you stay where you are until help arrives, and recommend that you avoid making this your do-it-yourself project of the month.

Takeaway Value: The scenario above is not likely to happen. At least, I fervently hope not. Yet, I have been asked countless times how to deal with a potential client’s terminal illnesses, chronic pain, or acute symptoms that have popped up shortly before they placed the call to me.

The first words out of my mouth are normally “You are seeing a physician, right?” Often, the answer is, “I have an appointment, but I want to know now.”

That is not our gig, and you should never, ever allow yourself to be swayed by a “psychic” claiming they can heal you of said terminal illness, chronic pain, or acute symptoms. Unless they happen to have a medical degree they can attach to an email/fax/snail mail you. If they do, make some calls to make sure it’s legit. Problem is, that takes time, and I’m assuming you want help sooner rather than later.

Opening the door to ‘health readings’ could cause you more than physical pain. If you aren’t consulting a legitimate psychic (most of whom flatly refuse to read for health) you could find yourself with a happy asshole who tells you things are worse than you think. If these assholes catch you in the right mood, they can cause a whole helluva lot of  financial pain for you.

Bottom line: It’s too damned expensive to call or book a reading with a psychic for a health reading, period. You need concrete facts, figures, and face to face time for diagnosis, treatment, follow up care. We can’t do that.

I know some physicians advocate the use of leeches in treating their patients.

Unlike the leeches, any “psychic” you use to ascertain the status of your health will provide you with only one result: bleeding you dry.

Frequently Asked Question: Am I pregnant?

Unwavering Answer: No idea. See, first, I’d have to be able to see your egg pop out of your ovary. Second, I’d have to monitor if little swimmers were headed towards that egg. Last but not least, I’d have to see the little bugger entering your egg.

Sounds like a on call, round the clock gig to me.

Look, I respect you. Enough that I don’t want to probe your internal plumbing, order you to have sex, and ensure that the load delivered makes it on time.

Don’t get me wrong; your sex life is part of my job. If the guy/gal you are looking at can’t get job #1 done for you in the bedroom, it’s my responsibility to warn you about that before you hop between the sheets. By the same token, if he/she is passable, I’ll mention he/she needs a little remedial anatomical training, but will sail along just fine with some direction from you. Up to you what you choose to do in such a situation, but I’m not a bump, tickle, and squirt girl myself. I don’t expect you to be, either.

Alternative Point of View: There are some people who, for whatever reason, know as soon as a bun hits your personal oven. Most often, these are people you know or have always known who are NOT psychics. And most often, these people volunteer the information, so you don’t have to ask first.

Some psychics claim to be able to tell when you are pregnant, but frankly, I am doubtful…because some psychics also claim to be able to reunite you with your ex, 100% guaranteed. Even if said ex has been happily married for a decade to his lovely wife, and they have their fourth kid on the way. Yeah…no.

Takeaway Value: Unless someone you know of the aforementioned variety comes up and announces you are pregnant, buy a pregnancy test. It’s cheap, fast, and doesn’t involve someone barking at you to do it doggie style because penetration is better.

Trust me on this.

Take a peek in the bottom center of this CNN pic of the Oscar Gift Baskets handed out last night. Yep, that’s my pal Zoe Moon’s astrological calendar for 2012, which also found it’s way into the Grammy’s Gift Baskets, as well. Zoe is just THAT good. She’s also a helluva friend, in case you were wondering.

Believe it or not (and I had a hard time believing it) Zoe approached me to contribute a quote to her magnificent calendar, which I was more than happy to do. Time flies. So much so that I forgot to order the calendar (something I shall remedy after this post) and even though it’s almost March, the information Zoe packs into her calendars is worth it. Anyone who wants detailed astrological information…or just has an interest in astrology, would benefit hugely from snapping one of these up before all the stars get to them first.

You can find the calendar here: http://www.astrologyscopes.com/

BUT…Zoe also offers in depth free weekly and monthly horoscopes via her site. I head there every week, and she even does a separate detailed weekend forecast for each sign. When Zoe guested on Psychically Correct, she confessed it takes her hours to put these forecasts together. I guess I mention this because neither Zoe or I believe in sell, sell, sell. We both believe in give, give, give, and trust me; Zoe gives a LOT. So if you have a minute, check out your horoscopes; after you see them I’d be surprised if you didn’t want to pick up a calendar as well.

Find your own detailed weekly horoscope with Zoe right here: http://zoemoonastrology.blogspot.com/

Frequently Asked Question: What are the winning lotto numbers?

Answer: If I knew the winning lotto numbers, you wouldn’t. I’d be sitting on a beach right now, sipping tropical drinks with my husband while debating if that cloud floating overhead looked like a monkey’s ass or projectile vomit.

Which is the point, really. If psychics knew the winning numbers, they’d play them. If people knew psychics could summon the winning numbers, the likelihood of our being kidnapped to spew out said numbers would skyrocket.

Takeaway value: If a so-called psychic tells you they know the winning numbers, tells you to bet on that horse, buy a ream of scratch off tickets, etc, etc, walk away. Far away.

You could take a gamble on them knowing the winning numbers, bet big, and lose your shirt. Or you could bet them they don’t know the winning numbers and buy your chicken dinner with the proceeds from said bet.

I’ll take it on faith that you’ll overnight the resulting chicken bones to them. Since that kind of “psychic” probably uses them fairly often to “cure” people of incurable diseases, ward off curses, and all that.

#hereswhaticantdo

Frequently Asked Question: When will I meet the one?

Frequently thought but (usually) not said reply: When you get off your ass and start looking.

In a week,  I come across no less than three potential clients who think the one should come crashing through their ceiling and immediately begin making incredible, life altering love to them (never mind the injuries the one suffered upon hitting the ceiling and then crashing through it). More men and women than you would ever expect refuse to look for love at all, reasoning the one will come to them. Bullshit.

What is actually said: I can’t tell you when you’ll meet the one, because I don’t subscribe to the theory of the one; never have. You have a variety of useless, likely self absorbed twats and bastards you learned on…and then you moved onto something better. At least, most people do. Some seem to enjoy running face first into a door spiked with rusty nails over and over again. I don’t know why, but there it is.

Finding love is a lot like teething. You have to put a helluva lot of disgusting things in your mouth to chew on and spit out when it tastes wrong. Eventually, you’ll lose that “one” tooth to exchange it for a better, more long lasting one. You lose a lot of teeth. You replace a lot of teeth. Finally, you wind up with a (hopefully) healthy set to last you a lifetime. Love isn’t that different.

Takeaway Value: I personally wouldn’t trust any psychic who told me this or that guy/gal was ‘the one’ for reasons mentioned above. This includes soul mate/twin flame relationships, of which I have a dim view (I’ve blogged on it before, so those posts are floating around somewhere).

We psychics might like the guy/gal you are considering. Most likely we’ll advocate and point out detailed examples of why he/she is so good for you. This might help you make a decision; it might not.

So my public service announcement for today works as well for consulting psychics in finance and work issues as it does for love: Trust us second and yourself first.