Stop looking at my soul. It feels weird.

Today I had a somewhat life-altering phone call to make. I knew whatever this person on the other end of the line said would be filled with either opportunity or disappointment. I decided to go sit down in the perfect place on Venice beach in order to brace myself. I bought a lemonade. Lemonade always helps when bracing yourself.

I dialed the number.
It rang once.

Just then, a man approached me.
“You’re destined for greatness,” he said. He looked like a regular old Jewish father. His T-shirt and shorts did not peg him as the average crazy from Venice beach. I didn’t sense he was on meth.

I thought the timing was strange because I was just about to make a phone call that would tell me whether or not I am destined for greatness. I hung up the phone to hear what he had to say. Maybe this stranger would tell me the size of the greatness or the exact kind of greatness.

“I see your soul,” he said.
I just spent a year studying Spritual Psychology, so I am all about souls. I decided to give him a chance.
“Your soul says you are headed in the right direction,” he said.
Yes! Yes! Please tell me more!! Validate me, fine sir.
“I just got off the phone with Madonna. She was crying about her 13 million in real estate she lost. Money is not the answer.”

Hmmm…. I am pretty sure there are other ways to teach me about money without dropping names. But, it’s LA. I gave him another shot. Maybe he could be my guru.

“Tell me your father’s first initial?”
“J.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. I am a see-er. I see everything around us right now. Your father is right here. What was his name?”
“James.”
“Yes. That is correct.”

What?

Of course it’s correct. I know my father’s name, and, yep, that is sure it. I wanted to tell this ‘see-er’ that HE was supposed to be the one to do the naming. He was doing it all wrong. He said that he is a Kabbalah master for all these celebrities including Steven Spielberg and Bla Bla and Bla Bla.

 And he could see my soul.
All I could see was a yacht ride with Madonna as we tied on each other’s red bracelets and laughed about adoption law in Africa.

After bragging many times that he speaks fluent Hebrew, he told me he could fix all my problems. He said that the ‘other side’ did not want me to reach my goals but that he could fix that by doing some healing work on my lower back.

“I’m going to go get a water. You make your phone call. I’ll come back and ‘treat you.’”
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“You’re not sure? Well then, forget it.” He got up, pissed, and walked away.
“I mean, can we maybe meet up later?” I called after him.

Was my chance at being a big deal walking away? What if this Kabbalah guy really was a healer and everything holding me back in life is stuck in my lower back? WHAT IF?

But I was really hungry and wanted to make a phone call. So I let him walk away. And now that I am home, I am so happy I did not agree to some lower back servicing. I mean, come on! DUH! I don’t even like Madonna. At all. How did that work on me? I am such a fucking sucker, and I’m sick of being a sucker. I paid $50 for a car wash the other day because it was a special detail ‘just for me.’

In India, a similar ‘see-er’ approached me. He said he could read my mind. He really hooked me while I was lamenting that his underarms emitted quite an onion scent. He said ‘I think American girls smell bad. It’s just a cultural thing.’ HE DID READ MY MIND (I was not thinking that all Indian men smell like onions– only him, but it was close enough)! And my mind was talking shit about him. So embarrassing.

I spent ELEVEN days under his guidance. We spent ELEVEN days eating meals together that I paid for. We talked about life, and he told me when I was being negative. That’s it. Those were his services. They were actually really helpful. After gaining my trust, he said my problem was that I needed to feel unconditional love. And he said that would happen by us laying in bed together hugging.

Come on!
I understand that I may look gullible. Or stupid. There must be something about me that tells all these people I will fall for their schemes. And maybe I do sometimes fall for their schemes. BUT LAYING IN A BED with a smelly Indian stranger to experience unconditional love? Um, sorry. I could buy a dog, or I don’t know… call my friends and family who love me unconditionally! When I said no, there was a similar angry huffing like Kabbalah Man’s. As if passing up an opportunity to lay in a bed with a stranger in street clothes (barf!– I wouldn’t lie with Javier Bardem in street clothes on my bed) was the most unbelievable thing anyone could ever do.

They must teach that in sales school or something. Because, damn. Getting angry at rejection really makes people (or maybe just me) feel like they’re missing out on something big.

Well, I am not falling for it anymore. Done. Today’s Hebrew-speaking name dropper has shown me the light. I think what these people see in me is my lack of trust. If I am looking to some stranger to tell me I’m destined for greatness, that must mean I’m lacking some confidence in myself. Fuck that. I know I am destined for greatness. Who isn’t? I don’t need anyone else to tell me. No see-ers. No gurus. No phone calls. Nobody but me. I happen to know myself really well, and even though I wear pajamas most of the day and sometimes forget to brush my teeth, I am fucking destined for fucking greatness, dammit.

The next person who tries to give me a deal ‘just for me’ gets a crotch punch.

This is my Indian guru on the top of a mountain. This wasn’t just any mountain. This was a ‘special’ mountain where he only took ‘special’ people. 

When looking through my India photos, I noticed this guy. I think this is India’s version of white people. Thankfully, most of us don’t really look like Spicoli with blue highlights.

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