If you thought the posts about my dogs were weird, wait until you read about Grover & Moriah, cuz it puts the dog stories to shame. The Addiverse is one strange, strange place.
Grover, aka "The Grover," is a spirit guide. Not just any guide, he's my guide. (Feel free to sing "My guy" at this time, substituting guide for guy.) Photo to the left: I am dressed as Grover for Halloween. I'm sure he's proud of my effort to reproduce him in human forms. Rock on, Violent Femmes!
The Grove is an 80's punk rock type of guide, with an affinity for booze, cigarettes & leather. It figures that I'd get a guide like that. Trust me on this. I was introduced to him by Moriah Rhames, medium to the stars and the little people like me....although he's been with me since birth. (I think he was on a bender when I was getting married--no help there from ol' Grove.) She told me he doesn't like the music I play in my car (country western since getting old), so I've thrown in a little Punk and New Wave to make sure he keeps me safe while on the road.
(Speaking of Moriah, you really should read her book, "How to be a Happy Medium." It cracks me up. Grover gives it two bourbon bottles up. You might have a Grover of your own and not even know it.... )
So, Moriah tells me all this oujui oujui stuff, like there are seven angels standing behind me and that they are there to kick my ass. I know that when the angels start showing up, it's not really a good thing. I'm going to get my ass kicked.
She goes on to talk about the "three stadiums-filled" with spirit guides and 12 relatives that have come to see/be/visit with me. I don't see anything but I certainly don't argue. I don't want to piss off those seven angels and a punk rock spirit guide. I am very skeptical but listen further. I'm all for getting my money's worth, if nothing else.
I do not know this lady. She doesn't even know my first name. She does not know where I live or whom I live with or what I do for a living. We have just met. I figure she'll just talk about generic things that anyone could say and I'll give her info without even knowing it and I'll leave after my 30 minutes are up and we'll all have a good laugh.
My skepticism is wiped away when, out of the blue, Moriah blurts out," Stop being so constipated. And, by they way, you've always been constipated and you always will be constipated, so stop worrying about it."
Is this lady kidding me?
I HAVE always been constipated and I'm always talking about being constipated and I'm always trying not to be constipated. Every story I tell has to do with poop in one way or another. Ask my friends, family or co-workers. I'm sure they are sick of hearing about my poop (or, lack of it, in this case). I have on only a billion occassions said, "Stop being so constipated." There is no way this lady could have just pulled that sentence out of her ass (pun intended).
I'm listening now.
After 35 minutes, she asks me if I have any questions. I do and indicated I want to ask about my dog. Before I can answer, she starts talking about how the one dog is pissed off about the other dog we have. Moriah goes on, talking about how the older dog, "Zha Zha Gabor," is irritated that the young, "ugly" one gets any attention. I am confused for a second because I never told Moriah we have two dogs. Without me ever asking, she answered one of the two questions about the dog. Woof.
She indicates that the dog wakes me up in the middle of the night because my relative is visiting and has a good sense of humor--he tells the dog to wake me up. This makes me laugh. I would have a dead relative that likes to bother the dog so I wake up.
The session ends with Moriah talking about "the stupid Kraut" and how this dead relative really likes this person. She apologizes for the derogatory term being used and asks who the German is in my life. I shake my head and tell her I don't know anyone in my life that's German. She insists on this and says, "the person you live with. The Dumb Kraut. He likes her and protects her, too." I stand up to leave, as my session is over--and, then I freeze. Jesus, I LIVE with someone who is 3/4 German! (I've only been with her for over 20 years...you'd think I'd recognize that she's German when asked.)
So, I now talk to Grover when I am walking the dogs or riding in the car or pondering things at work or contenplating decisions now and then. I'm sure my psychiatrist would just LOVE to hear that.
Grover tells me not to worry about that and to get busy playing some kick ass punk rock.
I'm all for that.
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