Psychic Karen

Dearest Alexis,

I hope this finds you rocking out as always! I know that it’s been sort of a LONG time since we last spoke, but I hope that we can rectify that! For starters I can’t wait to hear all about everything that you’ve been up to these past few years.

Let me begin by saying that you look absolutely gorgeous, darling…simply stunning as always! What’s your secret? Let me know all of the skincare products that you’re using, and I’ll rush right out, and buy STOCK in all of them! Dang woman! I’ll openly admit that my dentist’s office doubles as a Botox dispensary, and my husband sort of thinks that I’m an asshole because of my shameless war against aging.

I will also spend more money on my hair, skin and diet than I do on practical things. Ipso facto, I drive a fairly hilarious, bronze 2003 Buick LeSabre LE; It’s fully loaded with leather temperature-controlled seats, Bose speakers, a CD & TAPE CASSETTE COMBO! (I know, I know…you’re jealous…try not to hate!) HUD display…Alex…wait for it…my “Whip” has OnStar! It also came with an extremely heavy fragrance of the men’s cologne, “Aramis” soaked into said leather upholstery, and the piece de resistance…a glove box that was stuffed to the hilt with my dead Great GREAT Aunt Lillian’s dusty rose colored babushka, a hula girl dash dancer, a rather impressive collection of miniature Matryoshka dolls, Barbara Mandrell’s COMPLETE Hawaiian Pedal Steel Christmas Collection, only about 1000 rosary beads, and random eulogy cards from people that I’ve never met that lived in Clearwater, Florida by my Aunt and Uncle.) that my Great GREAT Uncle Paulie had willed to me.

While we are on the subject of my Buick…I have the ultimate of all funny…as well as bizarre stories about used cars for you.

So, here it is. TRUE STORY: when I moved back from, “NO-Ohio” in 2012, I didn’t have a car for a while. I was taking a LOT of public transit! Also, as you may remember…I was dealing with that awful custody battle, my shitty ex-husband from HELL, living with my sadistic parents out in Piss-O-Tone (Peotone), and well…my life was completely in shambles at that time. Don’t worry — I have zero intention of dwelling on all that negative bullshit, but I bring all of that up because it relates to how I came into possession of “Paulie” (I named my Buick after my dead Uncle.)

I digress, A friend of mine pleaded with me to go with her to this PSYCHIC MEDIUM that lived and worked locally in Peotone. And she would not take, “No” for an answer. So, I agreed to go with her. I figured that it might be fun, funny, and completely harmless at $30 for a half hour reading. Let me just tell you…. this was right after Hanukkah of 2012 ended, which would’ve been on the 16th of December, but before Christmas. Now, I don’t have a calendar in front of me at the moment, but I recall that we went to visit, “Psychic Karen” during the week.

Keep in mind that this was WAY BEFORE “Karen” was derogatory. But I will say this…part of the reason that I went with my girlfriend Cindy was because I wanted to be certain that she wasn’t being put upon by some local “Karen”.

“Psychic Karen” took Cindy into the back of her (Fairly clean, if not sparsely furnished) 1940s Cape Cod home, which had an addition that must’ve been built in the 70s sometime; it appeared to be some sort of converted mud room that was decorated with the standard moon, sun and stars…complete with quartz crystals, and incense burning with such a fervor that my nostrils were screaming! I was instructed to, “Have a seat in the waiting area, and enjoy the complimentary, homemade iced tea”, which for the record tasted suspiciously like the lemon flavored, “Arizona” brand green tea.

The waiting area was her, “Family Room”, where there sat a man whom I assumed was her boyfriend, or husband. He was watching some college football game and yelling at the television. He acted as if I was completely invisible. I tried to say, “Hello”, and introduce myself…only to be immediately cut off by a raucous groaning, some sort of statement about a player’s lack of skill, his cell phone ringing quite loudly, and without even the slightest hint of acknowledgment…he took his call, stood up, jogged past me and out the door.

Alex, for good measure…I called after him, “Hey, cool! It was great meeting you!” Then I sat down on Psychic Karen’s oddly lavish, midcentury settee (I began to wonder how many clients she was taking on to be able to afford such fine pieces.), but not before I made the effort to snatch up Psychic Karen’s VERY rude male counterpart’s TV remote (I’d heard his truck — yep, he drove a BIG RED CHEVY — start up, and drive away.), and I flipped through the channels until I landed on a Jeopardy rerun, which helped the time pass quickly.

Before I knew it Neighbor Cindy was walking my way. Psychic Karen was finished with her reading. I noticed that Cindy had a goofy look on her face, and this did not inspire confidence. It was too late now as Karen was already leading me by the arm into her, “Reading Room”.

I could feel my nose hairs being singed by whatever she was burning, but I didn’t want to distract her. I decided to keep an open mind, and see what, “Psychic Karen” had to tell me. She began by telling me to, “Close my eyes, and picture a white light.” I closed my eyes, and all that I could think about was her rude male roommate, and I started giggling. She then told me that it was perfectly fine to laugh, and then she told me that she was taking out a microphone to, “Tape our session”. She said that the $30 “Donation” included a recording of any visitations that I might receive from spirits in her, “Energy Field” that have crossed over.

Alex, it was SO hard for me not to BUST OUT LAUGHING AT THIS WOMAN. I called upon my high school thespian training. I remained composed. And that’s when Psychic Karen told me that she was going to play some of her original music to, “Accompany our journey.” I could feel myself about to piss my pants (LITERALLY, as I’d drank three full pints of her “Homemade” iced tea, while I was waiting for Cindy’s session to wrap up), and the feeling of pressure on my bladder, married with this test of my will against Psychic Karen and this general scale of ridiculousness felt like a punishment for being a “Heathen”; if ever any did exist. And, just as that thought entered my mind I could feel my eyes starting to well up, my lip quiver. Alex, I had to do “Kegel Exercises” to stop myself from PISSING! I wish that I were joking! First of all, this “Original Music” was “Psychic Karen” playing open chords (BEYOND BADLY) on an out-of-tune acoustic guitar, accompanied by some sort of stock syncopated drum beat and occasional synthesized flutes (meant to seem fit for the Renaissance Faire) running in the back while Psychic Karen was talk-singing over them…in a VERY CREEPY, and breathy voice.

The song went something like…and I will NEVER forget this for as long as I live:

“Angels and Dragonflies, Waterfalls and Ghosts…breakfast with DADDY…but DADDY isn’t coming home…Mommy is an Angel…Daddy is a GHOST, and Daddy likes butter on his toast…and mommy likes dragonflies the most…DADDY isn’t coming home…Mommy isn’t coming home…”

(More stuff about breakfast foods…) The kicker was that out of fucking NOWHERE…she JUMPS UP…STOPS her music…She tells me that my, “Uncle with a short name” who has crossed over has come through and is with her. And she (I SHIT YOU NOT.) starts talking to me, as my uncle.

She says, “Nikki, I have a gift for you sweetie. Your auntie will call you. I’m sorry about the necklace, that’s for your daughter.” And, then she very DRAMATICALLY grabs her throat and starts coughing, and she tells me that he is, “Breaking up.” And, then she tells me that, “He’s gone.”

Okay. Here is where things get beyond fucking ridiculous. I asked her what my Uncle’s name was, and she told me, “I couldn’t understand him. He had something in his throat. He was trying to use his finger to write it on my arm…a short name…maybe three or four letters. He mainly needed to tell you about his gift for you that is on the way. That’s the most important thing.” She also told me that she got a sense that he wasn’t very “close” with me, but rather with my mother, or with someone on my maternal side. That confused me. I obviously had to take a step back and remember that she was quite possibly a fucking charlatan! She gives me my recording, and I pay her the “Donation”. Cindy and I leave. Cindy is convinced that “Psychic Karen” is GIFTED!

Fast forward to 3 days before my fucking birthday, when things get really FUCKING WEIRD… May 24th, 2013. I’m on the 27. My MOTHER’S sister calls me and tells me that my GREAT GREAT Uncle Paul (My mother’s father’s father’s brother…the man hardly knew me! He was living in Clearwater, Florida.) He PUT ME IN HIS WILL. I am completely fucking dumbstruck. And, NO…I’m not thinking of “Psychic Karen” and that craziness AT ALL.

It turned out that my Great Great Uncle Paul had been in a fucking COMA from November of 2012 — May 24, 2013, when he died. My mom’s sister went and got the car for me, as she was the executor of his estate.

I went over to my neighbor Cindy’s to show her the Buick, and the first thing she says to me is, “Go back and listen to your Psychic Karen recording.” Alex, I hate to admit it, but it wasn’t on the forefront of my mind. When Cindy said that to me…I swear to God(s)…I could feel something strange shift in that moment. As big of a weirdo as that woman is…uggg…she…I don’t know…I was forced to concede. Because here’s the wildest part of all…my Uncle Paul died eventually from his EMPHYSEMA, so what she said about him not being able to talk…did not escape me.

That’s the story of how I got my Buick, “Paulie”.

Your Friend Forever,

BGC President Cola

— N.L. Webster-Strein ©️2022