Junior high is supposed to be the worst time in your life. If it is the best time in your life, you are just preparing yourself for blood, sweat, and failure. Yes, I still remember the mean girls. They came to the bathroom, had their place at the mirror, and right away called me fat and ugly. Now these days they are fat and ugly, not to mention unhappy. Kharma is a bitch.
Recently I dealt with an adult mean girl, and it was in a place I thought I could be safe from such bullshit. To make a long story short, she used to be a semi-successful actress, and back in the day could stop traffic. Instead of polishing her craft, she became skilled in giving the ultimate blow job. Then rather than get success by her own merit, she decided to further fuck her way up the ladder and ensnare a successful actor by going off her birth control and saddling him with child. An evil bitch, she frequently threatens to take his kid away if he leaves. When she isn’t doing that, she is telling everyone she hates her child and wishes it had never been born. Yes, the Susan Smith School of Motherhood, Casey Anthony as the head dean.
In the past this Queen Bee aka Adult Mean Girl enjoyed a superiority over me. A pretty kid until she failed to lose the weight from having her child compounded with a terrible, inopportune genetic shake, she was a theatre school favorite who never admitted she trained at a state university above a whisper. In recent years, as her looks dwindled and life has sucked, a payback for being a troll, she has become more miserable. I never had a problem with her until this past week her crazy ass decided it was all my fault.
She has tried fighting with me, and told anyone that would listen I don’t deserve some of the success that has come my way. The thing also spread nasty rumors about how I attained some of the gigs I did, and even tried to start rumors to ruin me professionally. On top of that, she has harassed me by phone and internet, and tried to publically fight with me. I have done nothing to this woman, but work hard. She had a career and ruined it, now she wants mine. My friends, who have seen her carry on, pointed out she was so jealous it wasn’t even funny. Not to mention she has tried to enlist the help of other mean girl types to attempt to belittle me. Yes, those who are about as wannabe as her.
I wish I could say it was easy but it made me sick like it used to in 7th grade. I was locking myself in my room crying. Midweek I felt myself come to a rock bottom with this wench. Angry and hissing, I told myself if I saw her I might just kill her that’s how much I hated her. That is when I pressed the block button on facebook. Yes, block.
It felt as a peace had come over me, a serenity in a way. Then out of no where, I felt this thing that I cannot describe. It was sort of a sunshine. I had been telling myself I couldn’t block her, we had too many friends in common. But when I did, it felt this peace had been restored and this anger had melted away. I also had this weird feeling in my abdomen. It was like a demon had flown out of my person. Or maybe it was letting go of negative energy. I don’t know. Either way, I slept peacefully, and for some reason my mattress felt as comfortable as an infant’s cradle, swaddle and all.
The next day my head was buzzing like I had run a marathon the night before. I didn’t feel like doing anything, only staying in the comfortable swaddle I had created for myself. When I woke up I still felt peaceful. However, I now had a bizarre stomach ache as if something had flown out of my gut and other things had been torn asunder. Then my boss called me, a Wonder Woman in the Bronx. I didn’t feel like going to Fordham Road. Initially I was snappy. My boss Bruce for some reason was in a good place. This whole thing might not pay well. I mouthed off, which is rare for me. As this was going on, I wondered what the fuck was happening?
I got my Wonder Woman costume, and in a huff went to the train. It was at the bottom of my closet. Granted, I was just in a foul mood. When I got to Grand Central, Bruce called me. He had a Lady Gaga blocks from my house. The Metro North had been running odd, and I didn’t want to chance it. Plus it takes me hours to get into Lady Gaga. I tried explaining this to Bruce, but it didn’t come out calmly. Instead I screamed at him. Yes, I bit my bosses head off. Had we not had the history we did, I would have probably been fired at that moment.
When I got to the Bronx I had a stomach ache and nearly doubled over. Again, it was as if something had flown out of me. I couldn’t describe what. So I got some Ginger Ale. I called the contact Carlos who was a chunky man, and Latino. He came to the station, fetched me, and took me to the destination. Carlos explained that he was a priest in a metaphysical church, and I should not be alarmed if I see Santeria candles. Carlos also told me that he sold oils and other things to the psychics in NYC. A woman who is like a second mother to be is a 10 generation psychic, and at times I have worked as a palm reader.
Carlos explained Jose, the birthday boy was an opera singer as well as accomplished psychic and tarot reader. When not performing his duties at the shop, Jose works as a cantor at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and has toured the world singing opera. When we got to the crystal place, candle shop, and metaphysical church, Carlos again told me not to be scared. That is when I outed myself as a sort of reader. Carlos was thrilled, and I mentioned perhaps he had sold to me during my brief stint as a psychic.
I was taken to the top of the metaphysical church, and sent to a room with Santeria candles to change. I was familiar with Santeria briefly from my friendship with my deceased gay friend Chacho. Originally from Cuba, he dabbled in Santeria a little bit, but he had some friends that were really into it. As I suited up in my Wonder Woman costume, I looked around. In the midst of a spiritual crisis when I felt as if a demonic energy or negative vibe had flown out of me, and a resentment against a complete bitch was making me sick, what are the odds that I would end up in a Santeria shop?
My grandmother and great grandmother pounded the rosary, and my own mother did to some extent. I myself am a cafeteria Catholic, and while I pray, I don’t know each saint or what they do. I would need trading cards for that. While the surroundings were unique and would have scared most people, a sense of calm came over me. Maybe it was the kindness of the people who ran the place, or maybe it was the fact I was getting a chance to sit down. Or perhaps the candles and crystals were one that I had seen in my psychic second mother’s store front? Yes, the woman who taught me how to palm read, and the one that hid me when my ex fiancé was having a break down and I was scared for my life. Yes, that second mother. The one who used to give me food when I had none.
I waited there a while, and usually I am a stickler for my time, but I could have waited forever. As I chilled there, Carlos let me know that unfortunately Jose was busy doing a reading with a woman who was asking a lot of questions. I told him it was okay, take his time. Carlos apologized again for spooking me out, and explained he was a priest in the church and they used their powers for good. I told him it was fine, I knew. I could feel it.
Time came for me to deliver, and they took me downstairs. I went into the store, seeing candles that did all sorts of things. I saw oils and other crystals as well as spell books. They led me to the basement to surprise the Wonder Woman fanatic himself. When I was down there, I saw candles used to summon Chango. Yes, Chango. I had called him Change-o once. Chacho thought this was hysterical and laughed. I know, chica blanca in the house.
Next to me, I saw a bag that said Poppy seed on it. For those of you that don’t know, Poppy Seeds are what I call my followers. It was as if some power greater than myself put it there to let me know it was alright, and to calm down. Work had been kind of slow, which is probably why I fed into the crazy bitch I was having conflict with. I had also been doubting my talents, too. Whatever was pulling the strings, the ultimate puppeteer, was letting me know it was going to be okay.
A few minutes later, they called me upstairs. The Wonder Woman song played loudly, and up I went. Standing there was Jose. He was dressed in a pony tail and a sparkling top. Right away, he expressed that his ultimate birthday wish would be to wear my costume. Jose was thrilled to see me, and I tailored the Wonder Woman song to him. We danced, and he wore my cape. Then I sang an original song about his ability to sing opera and read tarot. The performance was a hit. To top it off, Carlos was his godfather. However, he wasn’t quite his godfather, he was his gay drag godfather. Yes, only in New York.
As this was revealed, I thought of my dear friend Chacho again. Through Chacho, I had a somewhat familiar but limited knowledge of Santeria. Additionally, Chacho had been a ball child, and had a drag godfather as well as drag godchildren. Not to mention he would have been the first to tell me not to sweat the woman making me cry. Actually, he would have just ripped her up. At times like this I missed him. Then it hit me, perhaps Chacho was letting me know he was still around. Maybe his spirit had taken me to this shop, this delivery, to let me know I was going to be alright and not to let a bully get the best of me. Or maybe this is just something random that happened, or maybe it was just something that could only happen to me. Either way, the psychics enjoyed the show.
Carlos gave me a fifty dollar tip. It was one thing that helped turn my day around amongst all the others. One of the helpers from the shop, Beatrice, took me back upstairs to the temple to get changed. Apparently, she had been trained as a dead talker in the Dominican Republic, and those were her duties in the shop in addition to tarot reading. I changed and she got some extra crystals out of a sort of vestibule they had there. As we talked, she spoke to me about some of the people she read, and how as a dead talker she reigned supreme but as a regular reader, she still needed some work.
When Beatrice walked me down to the store, she looked at me and said, “I like you.”
“Thank you.” I said.
“I like your energy. You have a good aura and a good spirit around you. Keep it, and don’t let anyone take it.” She advised.
Just then, the piece of advice hit me like a punch in the gut. My friend Tom once said it best, anger is emotional prostitution. You give away a lot of energy and get very little in return. I had given this lady who had been mean to me an awful lot of energy. Actually, I had let her steal my piece of mind. She was being who she was, a crazy bitch. In the world of mental archery, I was just her latest target. At that moment, a resentment lifted, and as I walked away I felt tears run down my face. It takes a lot of time to be angry, and suddenly I felt as if I had run a marathon.
However, I felt as if a kind spirit had touched my soul too. I felt compassion for her, and hoped this lady found peace. I also hoped she got the help she needed, not just for her sake but for that of her children. Also, maybe she will come to realize raising good, healthy humans is an accomplishment on par with any big time show biz career that anyone could have. I also made amends to Bruce, telling him of my 50 dollar tip. Bruce at first gave me some crap but then he forgave me. At that moment, I felt grateful I get to make people laugh in any and all capacities and get money for it.
Tonight I sang Dancing in the Dark and Cover Me to a Bruce Springsteen fan. Several weeks ago, I sang a Travis Tritt medley with a WWE Championship belt. In between, I get extra blessings from Santeria practitioners.
My life is better than yours. Yah suh!
Check out I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl