Miss Cleo speaks

I went down to the psychic's house in the ever reliable New Orleans-in-June noon rain. I got there early, so I took an impromptu tour of the Ninth Ward. I hadn't been down there in a year or so.

I noticed a new Waffle House in Chalmette.
That probably is the best news of the entire experience.

She couldn't have been friendlier. She seemed relieved that I didn't have questions about demonic possession or foreclosure, and only was asking for boring old "romantic" advice.
She was genuinely thrilled about that.

She told me all about some of her other clients, many of whom are really just "plain crazy", and how she can spot them. She seemed to have a really level head.
The gist of what she told me was that I ought to be concentrating on my career right now, whatever my "career" is. She wasn't quite sure how that should play itself out, but she encouraged writing.
Bo-ring.
Anyway, she also informed me that I'd been a member of the Praetorian Guard in Ancient Rome.
Mmm...hmm
Yeah.

Her: "That's where you get your being so methodical from. It's a carry over from when you were in th Pppp Guard, in Rome....
Me: "Praetorian?"
"Yeah, that's it!"

Otherwise she recommended I go to "more gallery openings" and to "get out more"...and recommended a few books.
Bo-ring.

Some of what she told me gave me some clarity, but not much.

Thankfully I didn't have terribly high hopes. She spent an hour and a half chatting with me while it poured outside, but only charged me for 30 minutes, which I thought was really nice.

Actually, she seemed like she'd have been happy for me to hang around longer, but I really had to pee and I didn't want to impose on her to use her bathroom.

Afterwards I went with Dennis and some of his friends to Phillip's for their gay happy hour. I needed a drink. It's full of college-age gays....and only a few older people.
Of these, whom do I see there?

None other than this guy who'd sort of stood me up a while back.
wtf?
I hid behind the post.
He was there with a friend of his, whom I had met before Katrina no less...someone who once told me I had a westbank accent.
Assholes!

Anyway, they're probably both right, but I don't want to hear it.

I had three drinks (made with some sort of sweet tea vodka) and left.

This is why I should probably never go out. This is why I should probably move from this terrible place.

The psychic, however, says I won't.
She's probably right about that. Hell, maybe I was a member of the Praetorian Guard too. What do I know?