Psychic Mania In Las Vegas

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Psychic Mania in Las Vegas

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781467040150
  • Publisher: AuthorHouse
  • Publication date: 1/17/2012
  • Pages: 408
  • Product dimensions: 6.00 (w) x 9.00 (h) x 0.91 (d)

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PSYCHIC MANIA IN LAS VEGAS

"INSPIRED" By TRUE STORIES
By JOAN TAYLOR

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Joan Taylor
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4015-0


Chapter One

The Bookstore

It's funny how one can remember the first events that bring him or her to a place that changes the path of their life. Several people in my work tell me, after seeing me, that path-change has happened to them. Such comments always make me a little uneasy, as I'm still confused and struggling over my title. Am I a psychic or an entertainer?

It took several months of driving by that bookstore before I went in. Then finally on a drive-by, I noticed a "psychic wanted" sign on the window advertising this spiritual position and I applied for the job. I am a graduate of the Psychic Institute of San Diego and when I moved to Las Vegas, I had to fly back several times to finish my classes and receive my graduation certificate. Even with my clairvoyant studies, I never really knew where all of this was taking me, but I was driven by a profound urgency to complete the course.

Weeks later, holding my graduation certificate in hand, I was interviewed for the position of psychic by the bookstore owner himself and I was hired on the spot. As an independent contractor I was given an official outline of what was expected of me, dress code included. They no longer wanted the gypsy back-alley image, but a more professional look. Hurrah, my new career was now looking up with a little more class. Next on the agenda was an application to the City of Las Vegas for my "psychic arts" license, at an initial cost of four hundred dollars, plus a two hundred dollar renewal fee each year. Then after spending many hours at appointments for personal background checks and finger printing, I was finally handed my "psychic arts" license. I wrote a letter to Oscar B. Goodman, Mayor of the City of Las Vegas, with a carbon copy to Sheriff Bill Young, Metropolitan Police Department. I thanked them for the kind and generous services I had received from their great employees in obtaining my psychic arts license in the city.

It was a wonderful, gratifying experience, especially being a new resident in this fine city I now call home. I was delighted when both of these community leaders wrote back, thanking me for my letters and kind words about their professional staff members and employees. The letters are now framed and proudly displayed on the wall in my home office.

As I enter the front door of the bookstore, a bell rings; I am sure it is telling me that I am entering another world. There is an odor like musk in the air, masked by burning incense and lighted candles. The soft music I hear is either haunting or sad depending on one's mood. Just before I enter my six by eight foot, purple-curtained haven, I look back into the store and see all those rows of flat tables holding hundreds of books from all over the world. I think to myself, "If only I could read them all, but there is no time in my busy life right now. Maybe someday I'll have lots of time for reading, but by then, I could be blind." As I continue toward my allotted space in the back of the store I get quite excited and something inside me shouts, "Come join me; adjust your chair, and follow me into my psychic world in the bookstore." My space is small with tables, chairs, candles, statues, and glittering wall beads, that help re-create that special atmosphere connected to the metaphysical world. Every day I lay out my Indian napkin runner to help guide me in my tarot card readings. They call me on the phone, come in person: these strong, beautiful, intelligent, well-educated people (some rich, some poor) and they return time after time. What do I have that they want? Am I a psychic or an entertainer? Come, follow me and decide.

Chapter Two

The Beginning

I have just received my new Community College catalog for the fall semester. Flipping through the pages persistently, my eyes catch a page titled "Substance Abuse." The hours and days of the week offered for this class fit perfectly with my busy schedule as a psychic and the college is only twenty minutes from my work. I am a firm believer that when things go smoothly and fall into place, they are meant to be and this great schedule was leading the way.

There are many addiction problems for so many people I read for. As a psychic, I wanted to educate myself on these important issues. Now, when I turn over the tarot cards on the subject, I might know a little more how to guide people. I immediately enrolled in the class entitled Substance Abuse-Fundamental Facts and Insights, for the fall semester with a small enrollment taught by Dr. Marcus. His astrological sign is Pisces. "Ah," I tell myself, "the same sign as Einstein." I'm sure he would have liked that, if I had told him. I knew I'd learn something from this man, and I did.

The class lasted several months. I hung onto the instructor's every word, taking notes and studying them during my four-mile walk each day. Study and exercise each day for several months really improved my mind and helped my body become stronger. There were times when I felt incapable of absorbing the difficult language, puzzling over complicated words such as "serotonin," "dopamine," "tetra hydro isoquino lines," "benzodiazepine" and "endorphin;" leading me to ask myself why I wasn't taking a basket-weaving class instead of a class with all this scientific jargon. I didn't give up though, and it got better and better. My tarot card readings seemed to develop more depth and meaning each day. I learned about avoiding the addiction problem, protesting, blaming others, self-reliance and responsibility, controlling and the kind of anxiety a couple of my clients were living in hell with.

It got easier on topics like self-worth, self-esteem, self-value and self-respect. Then we moved on to denial, construction of emotions, depression, hyper-vigilance and compulsion. Understanding these topics became second nature to me regarding dependence, enabling, dysfunctional families, all-arounders, uppers, downers, obsessive thinking, inhalants, stimulants, and the infamous American apple pie: cocaine, heroin, alcohol, tranquilizers and the well-used marijuana. It is amazing how many times each week I hear, "Oh, I just smoke a little pot" when I've been taught that it is six times stronger than it was in the sixties. With the new technology it's right up there with cocaine.

Now the classes have ended and I can honestly say that I really enjoyed the ride. During my last day in class Dr. Marcus surprised me when I went to turn in my exam paper. He asked me to sit down. He seemed intrigued with me when I told him that I was employed as a psychic in a bookstore down the street. He was a small man in his sixties, highly intelligent like Einstein. He had lived, worked and traveled all around the world. He told me his interests were turning from teaching to studying Christ and the Bible. I really liked him and felt we bonded. We hugged and said goodbye.

I had a strong feeling that we would never see each other again, but who knows? Perhaps one of these days he'll pop into the bookstore for a reading, or better yet, I'll sign my book for him. On the ride home, I did some deep thinking, wondering what I really had gotten out of those months of studying and it hit me like a hot flash: Expectations! What people expect when they use drugs, alcohol, nicotine, gambling, love, sex, jobs, family, friends and most of all, what they expect from their children. All of this circumscribes my life too, what my guests expect from me when paying for a psychic reading. It's all under the umbrella of "Life's Expectations."

That sums up what I learned from Dr. Marcus at Las Vegas Community College. All those tools he taught us to use help me pass my knowledge on to the wonderful people I'm reading for in the bookstore today.

I feel blessed, not only to be able to read tarot cards for my guests, but also blessed that I took those classes and can now guide them more intelligently. One day Dr. Marcus wrote on the chalkboard in class, "Ramble On In Life, But Keep Your Mind On The Donut And Not On The Hole." Today it still sticks in my mind.

Thank you so much Dr. Marcus and the Community College in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Chapter Three

Fuck The Handyman

Right now it's lights on. Break a leg. I'm an entertainer and the front desk host calls, "Joan, someone is here to see you." She's a famous musician. She floats, like a musical note, into my small space in the bookstore. I adore her. We hug and I invite her to sit down. I go to the front desk and register my unofficial guest for a psychic reading. When I return and look at her sitting across from me at my table, I visualize a British horsewoman. All laced up, with a white, buttoned-down, long-sleeved blouse, vest, long wool skirt, and a bowler hat looking prim and proper on her mount.

Yet she's far from that. She's a walking time bomb and what I would call "a happening." She has what every woman in the music world is trying to achieve: in her early forties, she has a slim body, beautiful blonde-streaked hair and to add to her resume, she's rich and famous. Over the years she has mastered the art of makeup and can create any look she so desires, from a devil to an angel.

That angel is making her stops around the world, smoking pot and playing her beautiful instrument: the piano. I always thank her for coming and sharing her private life with me. I feel like a famous musician for a few hours. She laughs and tells me it's not all that glamorous out there and I know she's right. She has a wonderful, loony sense of humor and is always poking fun at herself. She usually finishes my sentences before I do, which I don't mind, as this is a habit I'm trying to overcome.

She's Cancer the Crab in astrology. Mother of the Zodiac, she wants to know where she's going with this crazy life of hers. Also, where is Mr. Right? I tell her a little about her Cancer sign. "You're highly sexed, emotional and especially enjoy long-term relationships.

You're wise, imaginative, sensitive and home-loving," I say. "Now Carrie, what man would not want you? Those are characteristics every man is looking for in a woman." I shuffle my cards and tell Carrie, "This is your life before you." I lay them on my Indian napkin and reiterate that if she makes good decisions, her life will be good. However, if she makes bad decisions, her life will suck.

The first card I turn over reveals that she is depressed and blindfolded with several layers of tape binding her arms. She feels trapped and is very emotional, but I see that there is no tape around her ankles, so she can walk away from any bad situation she's in. It's all in her head, just mental.

"What's making you so depressed, Carrie?"

"I'm fucking my handyman, that's what, and I'm so disappointed in myself. Not only do I fuck him, but I pay him for the work he does around my house. What's the matter with me, Joan?"

"Is he a good fuck?" I ask.

"No," she says, "he is lousy. He can't even get it up!"

"Is he good looking?" I ask. "Not really," she tells me. "What's his birth date, Carrie?" I say. She answers, "He's a Virgo."

"In astrology, they say most Virgos have a wiry frame, boney shoulders, long thin fingers and usually don't require much sex. Now, there are always exceptions," I tell her. "No," she says, "that fits him to a 'T.' He's in his early forties, but he tells her his years of smoking pot have taken its toll on his pecker. They keep trying and trying, especially after a few tokes on a joint. When she is not working, they spend their afternoons and evenings in the local hardware stores, picking out door knobs, tiles, window frames, screws and paint for his next day's work in remodeling her dream home in one of Las Vegas' not-so-ritzy areas.

Realtors have told her not to put any more money into this house as she will not be able to recoup any of her investments. The area does not warrant such high prices, but she continues to spend her money on it. She feels that she's Miss Home & Gardens at her best, when she's not working.

"There's also that handyman doing his thing," she tells me. "He's always leaving his tools, not his clothes, around the house so he has to go back and forth, back and forth." This is driving her nuts. She now has no privacy and privacy, as an entertainer, is very important to her. "How long has this been going on?" I ask.

"Three or four months, and now he's taken my precious front entrance fountain apart, and has an intricate part with him that needs to be put back together. The fountain won't work without that part and I have to call him again and again to remind him that it is still in his truck. Every time I want to break up with him, there's always something."

"When you make love, do you talk afterwards?" I then ask.

"Are you kidding?" she says. "I can hardly look him in the eye. I'm so ashamed of myself. I'm still so concerned about my beautiful artsy house I'm remodeling. It's my passion and outlet, and it's still not finished." She adds, "So far, he's done a great job on it."

I'm laughing and so is she. She doesn't want to brag, but she's famous and when she's on stage she thinks to herself, "I wonder if anyone knows I'm fucking my handyman?" He's clean but poorly dressed, you know, like a handyman; casual, very casual. I tell her that there is a very sad part to this affair. "Your Virgo handyman happens to be madly in love with you. He's had a great ride. You've fed him breakfast, lunch and sometimes dinner. You've paid for the food and for his handyman services and he got to practice his pot pecker on you. Let's hope he'll meet another woman and his ego will be at an all time high because of meeting you." I suggested she get her fountain part back, end the relationship and find a new handyman.

When good men (that is if you're looking for one) are searching for a special woman, they will shy away unknowingly from a woman who has another man's aura around her. I tell her that I don't know where I got that from, but I do recall something of this nature on a television show. We both laugh, but agree.

With her next card I see three men in her life. The first one is tall, dark and handsome. She tells me she has many pictures of him, hanging all the way down the hall in her artsy home that she is remodeling. In fact, her handyman has even helped her line them up, while she stood back and critiqued the alignment of the photos to make sure each was centered properly. Then he very carefully tapped in the picture hangers. This younger handsome man took part of her crushed heart with him when he left her. He literally drained her, sucking life and blood out of her veins.

She walks around today, deeply hurt that he left her, weak and unemotional, repeatedly asking herself, why did he have to leave her? He was her life. Is she ever to love again? This one-time happy woman is now bawling like a baby in front of me. She truly is one broken spirit. How could any man do this to a woman?

I hope someday soon she'll heal and come to terms with her depression and pain. Maybe that's why she let her handyman come into her personal life. He understood. God called the tall, handsome man's name. It was his turn. Her young, handsome, twenty year old Aquarius son, had committed suicide with a drug overdose. She's sharing this story with me; no more phony laughter now, only tears from both of us. Too emotional to read on, besides our time is up. "Goodbye Carrie, I love you. Let's meet another day." After she leaves I wonder which hat I was wearing. Was I a psychic? An entertainer? Astrology nut, maybe? Or just another mother having empathy for a woman who lost her only son by an overdose of drugs?

Chapter Four

I adjust my headset and push my phone button. The front desk tells me that Barbara from Los Angeles is on the line. I connect and hear this woman crying hysterically. Has someone died, I wonder? "Barbara, we haven't read before?"

"No" she said, "but I need your help Nancy."

She calls me Nancy, but I do not correct her. I ask for her month and date of birth. She is a Scorpio, born on November 18. She is thirty-eight years old and mentally wounded. She calms down, telling me that she has some specific questions regarding her Cancer husband, Robert. My knowledge in astrology helps me understand this complex couple, Scorpio versus Cancer.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from PSYCHIC MANIA IN LAS VEGAS by JOAN TAYLOR Copyright © 2012 by Joan Taylor. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Title PAGE....................PAGE 1 Auhor House - All Rights Reserved....................PAGE 2 This Book Is Dedicated To:....................PAGE 3 The Prologue....................PAGE 9 Chapter One – The Bookstore....................PAGE 11 Chapter Two – The Beginning....................PAGE 17 Chapter Three – Fuck the handyman....................PAGE 21 Chapter Four – The orgasm....................PAGE 27 Chapter Five – Porno swinger....................PAGE 33 Chapter Six –Is He Cheating?....................PAGE 39 Chapter Seven – Guts Of An Addict....................PAGE 45 Chapter Eight – Baby Ico....................PAGE 55 Chapter Nine – Stupid Bitch....................PAGE 59 Chapter Ten – Who's Next?....................PAGE 65 Chapter Eleven – The Family Man....................PAGE 71 Chapter Twelve – Scratch That Secret....................PAGE 79 Chapter Thirteen – Prison Jerk....................PAGE 83 Chapter Fourteen – The Bastard....................PAGE 89 Chapter Fifteen – The Keyhole....................PAGE 95 Chapter Sixteen – The Black Beauty....................PAGE 101 Chapter Seventeen – I Want My Husband Back....................PAGE 109 Chapter Eighteen – One Night Stand....................PAGE 113 Chapter Nineteen – The Nurses....................PAGE 119 Chapter Twenty – Should They Tell Him?....................PAGE 125 Chapter Twenty-One – When Is She Going To Die?....................PAGE 131 Chapter Twenty-Two – But I'm Not Gay!....................PAGE 137 Chapter Twenty-Three – The Cowgirl....................PAGE 145 Chapter Twenty-Four – Abandoned....................PAGE 155 Chapter Twenty-Five – House Of War....................PAGE 163 Chapter Twenty-Six – The Miracle....................PAGE 169 Chapter Twenty-Seven – Addicted To Sex....................PAGE 175 Chapter Twenty-Eight – Hello, Can I Buy You A Drink?....................PAGE 183 Chapter Twenty-Nine – No One Wants Me....................PAGE 195 Chapter Thirty – In Love With Two Women....................PAGE 201 Chapter Thirty-One – Mr. Wife....................PAGE 209 Chapter Thirty-Two – The Mistress Takeover....................PAGE 215 Chapter Thirty-Three – Bug Off!....................PAGE 223 Chapter Thirty-Four – The Trailer Park....................PAGE 231 Chapter Thirty-Five – Free Phone Sex....................PAGE 239 Chapter Thirty-Six – The Wheelchair....................PAGE 249 Chapter Thirty-Seven – The Frenchman Moves To China....................PAGE 257 Chapter Thirty-EighT – The terrorist....................PAGE 267 Chapter Thirty-Nine – The Leaky Faucet....................PAGE 273 Chapter Forty – Cobie's Missing....................PAGE 281 Chapter Forty-One – Thirty Year Affair....................PAGE 285 Chapter Forty-Two – The Psychic Junkie....................PAGE 293 Chapter Forty Three – Mom, Was That My Dad?....................PAGE 305 Chapter Forty-Four – Will He Kill Me?....................PAGE 313 Chapter Forty-Five – The Military Homecoming....................PAGE 321 Chapter Forty-Six – The Soap Star....................PAGE 333 Chapter Forty-Seven – Where Do Old Strippers Go?....................PAGE 343 Chapter Forty-Eight – Rich Wife stays home....................PAGE 351 Chapter Forty-Nine – The Secretary's Affair....................PAGE 361 Chapter Fifty – The Kiss....................PAGE 371 Chapter Fifty-One – Candy Girl....................PAGE 379 Chapter Fifty-Two – Why I Want To Be A Writer....................PAGE 387 About The Author....................PAGE 389 Let me introduce you to your astrology sign....................PAGE 391 Capricorn—The goat....................PAGE 392 Aquarius—The Water Bearer....................PAGE 393 Pisces—The Fish....................PAGE 394 Aries—The ram....................PAGE 395 Taurus—The Bull....................PAGE 396 Gemini—The Twins....................PAGE 397 Cancer—The Crab....................PAGE 398 Leo—The Lion....................PAGE 399 Virgo—The Virgin....................PAGE 400 Libra—The Scales....................PAGE 401 Scorpio—The Sting....................PAGE 402 Sagittarius—The Archer....................PAGE 403 THE END....................PAGE 404
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