Let's See What Madame Ruby Sees...

Another Haunt Trade Show has come and gone and we all came back home excited and inspired. Work has already begun on our little spooky house and I'm diving right in with floorplans, themes, rooms, costumes, set designs and promotional stuff.

Along with being part of the creative force behind our Haunt, and having a personal collection of occult related books, skulls, Dia de los Muertos paraphernalia and other dead things, I have one other unusual talent I probably haven't told yall about.

I read Tarot cards. I've been reading them for over 20 years.

When I was 17 my mother got herself a deck and we were both fascinated with them, doing readings for each other on a near daily basis. Soon afterward I read in one of my books that in order to take Tarot card reading seriously, one should have their own personal deck and treat it with great regard and respect. So I purchased my first deck, the famous Rider Waite Deck.

Over the years I have picked up another 5 decks, the most recent purchase at the above-mentioned Haunt Trade Show. One of my team alerted me to a booth for Monolith Graphics that had a Tarot deck for sale. Lucky for me they had a whole slew of them for cash-and-carry. This Gothic Tarot deck is absolutely beautiful and I was thrilled to get my own along with the compendium book. Whenever I get a new deck, I always get the compenium, read it, study it and program it in my head for future reference.

So out of my 6 decks, I have 4 that I like to use: the Rider Waite, the Alice in Wonderland deck, the Halloween deck and my most recent purchase. So whenever I do readings, I bring those 4 with me and let my 'customers' pick the deck that appeals to them the most.

Yes, I've done readings for private parties... anything from a high school fund-raiser to a corporate Christmas Party. And I've made some decent money doing it, too. I also do free readings for friends.

Now I always tell folks up front that I am NOT psychic. I don't foretell the future, I don't 'see' things and nothing I say is set in stone. Everyone is in control of their own destiny and everything in life is subject to change. Folks can simply take what I have to say as advice or pure entertainment. It doesn't hurt my feelings if people don't believe in this stuff. But I do think it takes some courage to sit down at my table and shuffle those cards.

And I've had all type of life forms sit down with me. A few years ago I was doing readings for a fund-raising event and I had two women, a mother and a daughter, sit down together at my table. They were kinda rough, loud and boisterous but I took in stride. Until one of them didn't like the 'result' of her reading and wanted another one.

I told her as politely as possible that I don't make this up. She is the one who shuffles the cards. I just lay them out in a pattern and tell her what the picture on each card means.

But no, that was NOT a good enough answer. So I gave her another reading. Once again, the 'result' was a rather negative final card.

(Normally, when I get a layout that ends up with a negative result, I remind the person of my earlier statement: nothing is set in stone, we are all in control of our own lives and if anything, take this as a warning to be on your guard. Now that you know what to look out for, hope for the best but prepare for the worst.)

Well, she was still not pleased with her reading nor my answer to the negative final card and demanded (yes, DEMANDED) a third reading, saying "I'm gonna do this until I get one I LIKE!"

No, we were stopping at 3 whether Ms. Arrogant Bitch likes it or not. I was doings readings that night for free since it was a charity event and I was NOT gonna sit there and be her personal Ms. Cleo.

So I did one more reading. Quick. Blunt. No emotion. Not rude, but not my usual pleasant self either. This time we got a positive ending and she was happy and left. But I thought to myself, "You know, you just got two negative readings in a row. If I were you I'd consider that a sign."

Needless to say, that forced me to adopt a new rule: One reading per person. No exceptions.

Besides that one rude encounter, I had another unusual situation a couple of years ago. At a 'Ghostly Sleepover' at the Mansion, I had one lady sit down for a reading. She was very quiet and somewhat shy. As I began the reading, I noticed she had a nervous twitch and kept quickly turning her head to one side.

You have no idea how hard it was to not only keep a straight face, but to remain nice, polite and not get distracted while this woman was spazzing out on me. Her twitch occurred about every 30 seconds. That was probably the toughest reading I ever had to do. But I made it to the end and she was happy with her reading.

One thing I don't do is ask a lot of questions. If people want to kept their questions or thoughts private, that's perfectly fine with me. I let them decide what or how much they want to tell me.

At one corporate event a man sat down at my table with a skeptical and dismissive attitude. He was here on his wife's request. I gave him my usual opening speech and then let him loose on the cards.

I laid them out and started describing the images and what they meant. The ones representing his 'current situation' showed things murky and unpleasant. They continued to show his unhappiness where he was in life, not getting along with someone and his desire to move on to other things. His final card showed him doing just that; leaving something behind and going on to something better.

While I was telling him all this his cocky attitude disappeared and his expression softened. At the end of the reading, he lowered the boom: He was unhappy here at this job, he didn't get along with his supervisor and was thinking about going to another job. So it was pretty obvious what his next move should be.

His demeanor totally changed. He smiled, shook my hand and thanked me, leaving my table with a pleasant and somewhat befuddled smile. I think he even mumbled a couple of "Wows."

It's impossible to not get emotionally involved in these readings. Most of the time I don't know these people but I get very sensitive to what the cards pictures tell me. I'm always worried about how someone will react when a reading has a bad turn. My most profound reading took place last November at yet another Ghostly Sleepover.

I had a man in his early 30s sit at my table and shuffle the deck. This disturbing reading started off with cards that showed something underhanded had just recently taken place. The cards had images of stealing, dirty dealings behind one's back, a loss of trust and a feeling of being hurt and betrayed.

Something very bad had just happened to this man.

The cards didn't get much better. I continued, as best I could, to relate to this poor man that the images were showing something had been taken from him or he had been lied to. The only glimmer of hope was the final card, which showed that the situation could heal if he and the guilty party came together and worked this problem out.

I looked at him sadly and told him I hoped that he and those involved in this awful mess would be able to heal this situation. He then told me his question and I nearly fell out of my chair.

He had just recently discovered his wife had had an affair with his friend. She had confessed but they were still in that early, raw period of 'oh, hell, what do we do now.' His hopes were diminishing of any kind of reconciliation. He had tried counseling but she wasn't making the effort.

Stunned, I pulled myself together and reiterated that this situation took TWO people to make things work out and for any healing to occur. He thanked me (he was pretty blown away, too) and I wished him the best as his left.

He and his wife (yes, she was there at the Sleepover, just not in the room where I was giving the reading) ending up leaving early because she started to feel ill. He was the only person I did a reading for that night. The rest of our Sleepover guests were wandering around the Mansion playing amateur Ghost Hunters.

I went downstairs and sat in the Main Hallway with my Mansion pals and proceeded to tell them what had just happened. We all sat there in some seriously stunned silence for a while. Someone eventully brought light to the situation by claiming, "Damn, Holly, you're GOOD." But no matter what, THAT reading will always stay with me.

But don't let that discourage any of you. I love doing readings and I have a new deck to play with. Just don't ask for more than one. I'll smack you.

Random thoughts and links, part 116

Hi. Yeah, it's me. I'm still here, hanging around.

Life has not changed much. My hours are still shorter by 8 a week (altho that last couple of weeks I've been lucky - got busy, they needed me, got my 40 hours in). The Spouse's job situation has not changed. We just keep waiting and waiting... *sigh*

Luckily the Haunted House construction is zooming by. The Staff's maintenance guy has proved very valuable in his knowledge and ability to build things. I've been productive assembling 'bodies' and I've even got my dad involved. It's good to have a tool and die maker in the family. Together we've come up with some marvelous things... Oh, yeah, there will be photos later...

Also, some of you got to keep up with the Louisville flood a few weeks ago as I continuously updated on Facebook as it happened. It was a wild time watching our toilets at work literally 'fountain' water all over the place, watching the water quickly fill up the front half of our building (up to 4 inches in some spots), and watching the water rise on Broadway, gently lapping in our front door.

Everything's back to normal, well, except for my hours. Our part of the building got plaster repair, new paint, new carpet and we got moved back in last week.

I do plan on writing again. It's just with the seemingly endless job situation, my focus has been on other things. Hopefully by the time I write again things will be different.

In the meantime, here's a pile of links that have been waiting to be posted...

My, why does that shape look so familiar?

Stay busy for hours... days... and what sweet music is makes...

Bathroom humor at it's finest (and I just finished reading Stephen King's "All That You Love Will Be Carried Away.")

Have Easter all year long.

This dog is having way too much fun.

You know it's a classy stereotype when it gets its own website.

My best streak was 3.

Oh, just 10 more minutes... please?

Hey! How the hell di you get home last night? Beer Scooter!

Yeah? Well, what about you? How'd you get home? Lay-Z-Boy chair!

Well, these guys are so flexible.

Sesame Street listens to... SLAYER!

For that late night trip to the shitter.

The Itchy and Scratchy Show

I apologize humbly, deeply and profusely for not being here more often. It has been a very uneventful time. Well, actually kind of a depressing time. The Spouse’s job situation has not improved, only changed by having his hours cut back. Suck. And my job gets more and more questionable all the time. We haven’t just slowed down. We’ve nearly stopped. Really. Hours... days go by with nothing for us to do. Just when I think it’s going to pick back up we grind to a halt again. And my hours are about to be cut as well. Double suck.

And when I’m down I really don’t feel like writing. Plus there’s enough bad news out there that I don’t need to contribute to the growing pile. Furthermore, I don’t think ye olde faithful readers (all 15 of ya) would be interested in hearing about my personal little contribution to the pile o’ despair.

But I will tell yall about my most recent adventure. It was kinda depressing but it is improving, with some unusual side effects. And side effects can sometimes be funny, so here goes...

Oh, wait... hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*

Ok, so 2 days ago I wake up at a bright and early 5:15am to a violent itching around my neck. I scratch and scratch as I shuffle off to the bathroom for early morning duty. In the mirror I see a bright red neck (no pun intended) but I’m not concerned since I just finished laying into it with my well-manicured and decorative claws of death.

But throughout the rest of the day the itching continues. All over. In the weirdest places. Intimate places. Well, not THAT intimate, but definitely places that are covered by underwear.

Sorry, excuse me... *runs to get cup of coffee*

Ok, when I get home that afternoon I’m scraping my entire torso. All over. I disrobe to discover that from my neck down to my thighs I am COVERED with red, splotchy welts. Now I’m starting to freak. I show the Spouse who is also freaked.

All thru the night my body is just tingling. I woke up the next morning with my ears and thighs on fire. The bathroom mirror shows me a space monster. My face is red, bumpy and puffy. My ears are nearly fuchsia. My torso had cleared up by my thighs, front and back, look like they caught fire and were put out with golf shoes.

I can NOT go to work like this.

I call in sick to work, then I call my doctor. She’s not in, there’s only one other doctor in the office, and he’s only there a half day and is already booked.

Triple suck. Things are not going well for the space monster.

My next plan of action to high-tail it to Walgreens for some Benedryl and Cortizone. I check in with the bathroom mirror again to find the space monster has been replaced with my own face. Since I feel fine physically (despite the itching) I decide to go to work anyway. Hopefully, there’ll be work for me to do.

Hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*

Throughout the day I notice several things: the Benedryl and Cortizone take the edge off the itch, but just barely, and the red splotches are on the move. They’ve left my ears alone and have moved to my hands, feet and lower down on my thighs. Every once in a while I’ll feel something stinging like an insect bite and look down to see a new welt literally pop up.

By 1pm I’m going insane. The urge to dive into a good, hearty, satisfying scratch is becoming unbearable. Scratching feels great but doesn’t solve the problem. And it only makes the area more red and puffy. Speaking of puffy, my hands and fingers have swollen to the point they look like a package of hot dogs.

Urgent Care Center, here I come.

Dammit. Hold on... *goes to get cup of water*

I go thru a full onslaught of questions at Urgent Care. Have you eaten or digested anything out of the ordinary? Have you come in contact with something? Have been outside in a wooded area? Have you recently acquired a new pet? Does your current pet go outside? Have you recently switched to a new detergent, soap, skin care product, or bedding?

And my answer is no to all of the above. So we’re stumped. The doctor did suggest that sometimes excessive heat might bring this on, and the night before it all started I was working at the Mansion’s Haunted House, which is the un-air-conditioned carriage house, and it was hot, and I was sweaty. But hell, it’s always hot there. And I’ve been doing this stuff for 9 years. So who knows.

But the doctor gave me a prescription for magic pills: Hydroxyzine and Methylprednisolone. 12 hours later I’m nearly back to normal. Very little itching, red splotches nearly gone. Every once in a while I get a splotch show up somewhere, but it disappears within an hour.

But apparently these magic pills have some unpleasant side effects. I’ll let you guess what they are.

Berry Scary

Summer is here and that means several things for those of us in that special region of Hell known as the Ohio Valley: the bad - return of the All-98 weather (98 degrees, 98% humidity, 98 pollution index) and the good - berry season!

I loves me some berries: cherries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries (or, as a friend calls them, “evil little sponge fruit.”) And those of us berry fiends living in this area are lucky enough to have Huber’s Orchard and Winery right across the river in Indiana.

Saturday the Spouse, my parents and I ventured up to Huber’s for some fresh strawberries, wine and other tasty food tidbits. And I discovered a new addictive snacky thing: wasabi soy nuts. Oh, my, I could eat my own weight in these hot lil’ sumbitches.

One bad thing about wasabi soy nuts. One should really eat them in moderation. They produce a large amount of gas. I was pretty much jet-propelled all weekend.

Last night after dinner, instead of snacking on the wasabi soy nuts (I was pretty tired of feeling like a leaky balloon, altho fart humor never grows old in our house) I nibbled on some fresh strawberries instead.

Now our vicious cat-beast, Gilligan, always wants to know what we’re eating. Through his curiosity we’ve discovered he likes all sorts of chips, hard candy, candy corn, dried anchovies, ham, and various cheeses, Parmesan being a favorite.

Gilligan is so fond of Parmesan he insists on sitting at the dinner table with us whenever we have pasta in order to get a smattering. I am not making this up. He’ll sit in the vacant chair between myself and the Spouse and peer longingly over the edge of the table. I’ll then dump out a small amount of Parmesan on the table in front of him. He’ll happily lap up the little cheese appetizer, then hop down and leave us to our dinner.

So when I started enjoying the strawberries last night is was only natural that Gilligan come to investigate to see if what I was eating was something he wanted as well.

No here is where it starts getting interesting. Gilligan approached the couch to sniff the plastic container of strawberries and stopped just a few inches away. He didn’t just merely stop, he jolted to a halt. He took on distant sniff and his eyes grew large and alarmed. His ear tucked back and he jumped backwards about a foot.

The Spouse and I looked at each other like, “What the hell just happened?”

I then, very gently, took one strawberry and slowly offered it to the cat. He ran and hid between the recliner like I had just started up a chainsaw. As I picked up the container to put it back in the fridge, he saw me approach and darted further into the corner to hide.

Weird. Anyway, thinking last night was just a freak thing with the cat, I tried offering him a strawberry this morning at breakfast. Now normally in the morning, Gilligan is yowling and dancing circles at our feet begging for his morning moist food treat. Even if one of us has already fed him, he’ll yowl at the other, hoping to get a second breakfast. The cat tells lies, I tell you.

Well, Gilligan certainly did NOT want strawberries for breakfast. When I showed him a single berry he got that same scared look on his face and ran out of the kitchen.

Maybe he was attacked by vicious killer strawberries in a previous cat-life. Whatever, more for me. Let’s just hope he doesn’t discover the wasabi soy nuts. Bad cat gas - now THAT’S scary.

Random thoughts and links, part 115

At 7:16am this morning, at the intersection of Bardstown Road and Grinstead Drive, my beloved little Focus wagon rolled over 100,000 miles.

As much as I loved my T-bird (which became known as the Thunderchicken in its later years), the Focus has been good to me, and continues to do so. Every six months I was pouring several hundred dollars into the poor old Thunderchicken to keep it running. The Focus, however, has needed very little maintenance and it still just as nice as the day I drive it off the lot.

To here's to another 100,000 miles...

Also on the good news front, the Spouse has landed full-time employment. He's been doing two part-time jobs until now, one of which will be ending Sunday. Luckily, the other part-time job is turning into full-time.

What's even better is that there's a really good chance another, even better job is on the horizon.

It's been tough the past several months. We've had to cancel a vacation, cut out all unnecessary spending and really cut corners on regular expenses.

But it could be a lot worse. The Spouse and I both know others that are still looking for employment. Our heart goes out to them and we both keep our eyes and ears open for any leads for anyone.

In the meantime, the cold and rain seems to have left us, and there's a deck, a book, a cat and a cold drink waiting for me outside...

Links!

I couldn't have said it better. Who really want to go around the house looking like a gay Satan worshiper?

Speaking of Satan, heavy metal band names explained.

Go on. Type in your fucking zip code.

Oh hell, the donut fries look good. And I'd give soe serious cash for an Elvis donut.

Guess what we're gonna mix at the next party?

Japan really loves Obama. No, I mean REALLY loves Obama.

Damn, I wish Louisville had a subway system.

I am so getting a pair of these... as soon as somebody manufactures them.

How little kids can start smoking at an early age (this kid is sharp).

How to have fun with elevators.

And finally, the absolutely best rendition of the Star Wars theme EVER!

Get off the lawn!

Well, it’s finally happened. I kinda felt it creeping up on me with little hints here and there. But I’m smart enough to recognize the signs and humble enough to admit when they’ve become overwhelming.

I’m now officially old. Which sucks.

It sucks because I am no longer one of the ‘kids.’ On this most recent Haunt Trade Show road trip, no one wanted to ride with the Curator and me. No one. Never mind the Curator and I had a hell of a fun time, hooting and hollering the whole way, bouncing from one crazy topic to another, acting like a couple of goofballs.

Oh, no. See, we’re ‘old.’ We’re no longer part of that 20-something crowd. We’re old enough to be moms, and even tho we aren’t moms, hanging out with mom-like creature is totally uncool.

It sucks because I know how old I am, but I still find myself drawn to the whole Hot Topic fashion thing. Yes, I know I’m too old for all that but dammit, I was doing all that stuff decades ago! The black hair with multi-colored streaks, the rock’n’roll t-shirts, the neon colored socks, tons of silver jewelry, clothes and shoes with multiple buckles...

1983 baby. THAT was the first time all that stuff came out. And I was riding the wave WAY before anybody else in this town was. That means 26 years before you punk-ass kids were, too.

I was Goth before Goth was cool, dammit! You emo kids with your died black hair. You see this stuff on my head? Natural. All natural. No dye job here. I even got the Lily Munster streaks coming in naturally, too.

You know that shirt that says “Natural Blonde?” I need one that says “Natural Goth.”

Being old sucks because I am no longer in touch with pop culture. I try, believe me. I hit about a dozen pop culture websites daily, trying to keep myself hip to current trends while being entertained as well. But I’m terribly out of the loop.

This morning the Spouse and I are reading the paper... now see, there ya go. Egad, we must really be old because we’re reading a fucking newspaper. Yesterday’s news delivered to your front the door (for a small price) a couple of days after it happened. Never mind we already saw most of this stuff on CNN or other various news websites - for free! We’d much rather enjoy it again in disposable paper form. Plus it’s good for swatting the cat when he’s being bad.

So, anyway, yes. We were reading our near-obsolete method of news delivery and the Spouse noticed I was well into the ‘Features’ (that’s the not-news section of the paper: comics, celebrity gossip, bridge strategies and horoscopes).

(And for that matter, WHO IN THE HELL READS THE BRIDGE STRATEGIES COLUMN?!)

Well, the Features section is just slathered with full-color photos of all the big-name celebrities that came into town for the Derby Saturday and attended all the rich-and-famous bashes. And the Spouse says, “Ya know, I have no idea who any of those people are.”

And then I realized after perusing said photos, neither do I.

Well, there’s that one actress who was really big 20 years ago, and that one woman who was on that talk show. But the rest of these people... no clue. I know their names get bounced around in the media a lot, but I couldn’t tell you who they are and what they do, least of all why they are famous in the first place.

The same goes for music. I haven’t listened to commercial radio for years. The 3 iPods I’ve gone thru killed that for me. Now I still buys a lot of new music. Well, new as in ‘I don’t own it yet,’ not new as in ‘it’s on the current top 40.’ I hit the local-owned record shops and browse their used section. And I’m always finding something nifty on iTunes, not to mention the cool and obscure out-of-print goodies I discover on the net once in a while.

But every time I see one of those “Now That’s What I Call Music” cd commercials, I find myself saying, “Who?” a lot.

Saturday afternoon, tho, was the proverbial ‘nail in the coffin’ of my youth. Saturday, as most of you may know, was the Kentucky Derby. And for those sane individuals who don’t want to wallow around drunk in the infield, staying home and having a party is the next best thing.

The folks that live across the street from us were having just such a party. And they had rented a Moon Bounce for all the kiddies. Needless to say, a large, inflated, bouncy, red, blue and yellow thing is quite the child magnet. It must have sent out one hell of signal because within a couple of hours of inflation, every kid in a 5 block area was hanging out on our street.

Which is fine. I don’t care.

But they meandered from the Moon Bounce to congregate in the street on their skateboards and scooters. Which is still fine. They’re kids, they’re having fun.

Then they started wandering from front yard to front yard. A whole slew of them. About 20 crotch-fruit ages 7-13. And they eventually worked their way over to our yard.

Which, and this may surprise you, still doesn’t bother me. I don’t care if the local street urchins play in our yard or our driveway. Hell, as long as I don’t have to play with them.

But then, a couple of the boys started a shoving match, which escalated into an even bigger shoving match, which ended up in our front flower bed, which I had just planted with flowers less than 24 hours prior. When I saw one of our solar lights get knocked over and a sneakered foot stomp into said flower bed, well... my inner ‘mom’ got really peeved.

Up went the window and out my head came. “OK, guys, I don’t mind if yall play in the yard or the driveway, but you need to stay away from the lights and the flowers.”

That got their attention. A couple of them apologized and the mob migrated to the next yard, still shoving each other.

So there you go. The third and final sign that I am officially old. I’m yelling at the neighbors’ kids to “Get off the lawn!”

A-Haunting We Will Go

Good news: Last weekend a troupe of our Haunted folks ventured out to St. Louis for the Haunt Trade Show.

Bad news: Since it's only a 'Haunt' show, and not a Haunt, Halloween and Costume show, it was a lot smaller that what we seen in the past. a lot of our favorite companies were not there.

Good news: We bought some cool stuff, kept it all way under budget, and got a ton of ideas for this season.

Bad news: Prices on everything went way up, so our purchasing was limited.

Good news: This was one of the few trips that I did NOT feel the urge to kill anyone after it was over. Everyone had a good time, was well-behaved and no one pissed me off.

More good news: The drive was nice, traffic getting into St. Louis was a breeze, our hotel was very posh and literally right across the street from the Convention Center.

Bad news: One of our drivers had a brain fart on the way home and, well, had some bad car-karma (locked auto, something about driving off with a gas pump...)

Good news: Like I said, we have a ton of great ideas for this year's Haunt.

Bad news: We need a bigger house. We have so many ideas that we don't have the space for all of them.

Good news: We have a lot of costumes, sets and construction projects to get started on, and we have help coming from various sources. Let's just say it's good to have a spouse who's an avid gardener and a dad who into the tool and die trade.

And videos? Yes, we have them...

Old people and their walkers:



Talk about driving someone up the walls:


Happy Bat. Happy Bat is hungry:


Death has come for you all, and is staying for the all-you-can-eat buffet:


How not to lose your head. And that horse could use a sandwich: