I have always admired resourcefulness in a person, and Ass Burger Boy practices that quality with reckless abandon. When he was little, he loved to take things apart. I think he was hoping to catch the items in the act of working, so he could see how it was done. After I instructed him to remember the sequence of disassembling, he then reversed it so he could actually put things back together. He may have Asperger’s Syndrome, but he’s wicked smart.

Even though I aced my hardware course in school, he has far better eyesight than I do, and I get him to do all the hardware stuff. He’s that good.

Recently, we had a crisis at casa witchypoo. His internet connection was not working. It could be the Microcrap router, but it could also be his wireless card.

His priest also had a bit of a geek crisis. Seems his baby boy dropped the external hard drive enclosure for his laptop (while it was connected and running!), and the delicate platters of his 250 GB hard drive did not take kindly to the fall. Since his internal hard drive was only 6 GB, he had a need.

ABB has been lusting after a laptop for some time now. He figured if the router was at fault, then he could always go somewhere else to play World of Warcraft. Laptop goes where the lap goes, you know.

He proposed a trade with his priest, who readily accepted, because ABB’s desktop has a speedy processor and a 250 GB hard drive. Also, ABB set him up on his laptop in the first place, and got it all tickety-boo.

ABB was over the moon. He has the laptop he always wanted, (Toshiba Satellite!) and the wireless card works on the router. The router will still need to be replaced shortly with a faster one. After all, I have the blazing 15 MB connection, might as well get as much router as possible to handle it.

More resourcefulness: Since the router was behaving petulantly, and I noticed that it was quite warm to the touch, ABB said he would do what I did for hot flashes, and trained a fan on it. Bingo! Smart, resourceful guy.

Only drawback with the laptop is that it needs more RAM. He can’t play WoW with what is on the machine. He also wants a bigger internal hard drive, so he doesn’t have to lug around the 80 GB drive that I had to spare. (The one that had all the funny military images I needed to access anyway) Who needs three hard drives? Not me. After transferring the data from the 80 GB drive, I still have 125 GB free on my secondary drive.

This was the impetus to open a shop. We want to fund our computer habits.

I have crystals galore, and some of them have been specially worked on by my shaman friend in Texas, the fabulous Lucy in da Sky.

I have gotten a few orders for my purple plates through this site, but the amount I make on them is laughable. I don’t want to raise my prices on them at this time, because I want them to be accessible to those who need them.

I also have artist friends, and I would like to market some of their offerings in the shop as well. I need one of them to come over and take pictures of my pretty crystals and artwork. Stop in from time to time, and see what is up. I like to change things up on a regular basis. My shop page is on my navigation bar. It’s a handy thing. I will have a new item up later today.

If you aren’t up for funding our computer habits, I understand. You can always vote for me.

I was a tad surprised about all the controversy about Part I of this piece, because I was writing from my own experience. Really, what else can you write from, unless you’re scraping news stories about Britney Spears?

What people don’t usually want to know, unless they have special circumstances, is when they will die.

Often I will tell a woman that she will outlive her husband, so that she can make sure he has good insurance. Not enough so that she’s tempted to kill him her ownself, because really, all women can relate to that impulse by times. No, enough so that she won’t have financial worries hit her at the same time as grief does. It makes a wreck out of a woman.

Yesterday, I read a beautiful spirit. I saw her husband’s death very soon.

I didn’t see mourning, yet she had been a good wife. I saw her whole life drastically changing, and her dreams coming true very soon.

Her dreams were simple. She wanted to travel. She wanted to have sex after repressing it for over 20 years.

Her husband suffered brain damage over 20 years ago. She has been taking care of him for lo, these twenty some years. She has forgiven him his angry unreasonable outbursts, his irrational behaviour, because she remembered the man he was before. The wonderful man she married.

This man rages and is depressed because he feels trapped in his brain-damaged existence. I wept when I looked at his picture. I saw the pain he suffers.

This woman touched my heart so profoundly. I know I will never forget her.

His death will be a blessing for all concerned.

Bet you didn’t know that about me, did you?

Well, that’s because I’m not all snooty about it.

And, there were six other stars in the movie, all with equal billing.

And it’s a Canadian movie.

A documentary.

Oh snap. I know. Try to contain yourselves.

Truth is, over 200 psychics from my area were interviewed for this film. And only 7 were selected. So I felt speshul. Don’t spoil it for me.

Okay, I’m over it now.

I was really surprised that the film crew were so nice. And helpful. We had a potluck as part of the filming, because I held meditation groups at my house, and they wanted to get them some of that riveting footage. Who knows what could happen? Anyway, the crew stuck around afterwards to help clean up.

The director even hired me to teach an energy raising class in a fun way for her daughter’s birthday party. It was great fun for them and me too.

You weren’t likely to see it in your local theatres, unless it was during a film festival. There was one screening locally, and I was gobsmacked to later meet another person who had actually seen it.

It was a well done film, as are documentaries from the National Film Board of Canada. And no, I’m not linking it. Go find it yourself. Hah! It’s called “The Kitchen Goddess”.

I took Ass Burger Boy and Skinny Bitch with me to the screening. We had so much fun at the catered, celebrity-filled (real celebrities!) pre-party that we arrived late for the actual screening.

We had to sit in the front row, as those were the only seats left.

It didn’t bother me a bit to have a camera the size of my living room ten inches from my face during the filming.

Note: It is painful to see a closeup of your face on the big screen when you are in the front row. And for Skinny Bitch, it was doubly painful, because she had just gotten out of her halo, a device that is used to immobilize the head of patients with neck and head injuries.

But that’s a story for another day. I do love me some Skinny Bitch.

Shameless self-promotion: Show me some freaking love. Go on, vote. You know you wanna. You have to register first, but you will make me very happy. Check your junk mail folder for the registration confirmation. Oh, and if it says voting is closed? It is for 2007, but this award is for 2008. Click the button to vote for me. If you’ve already voted, thank you. Now Stumble me. I’m bossy that way.

This is where I send the newcomers back to Part One and Part Two. Oh! there is also Part Three. It’s a long story, okay? Back off. Don’t make me hurt you. So scraping from my last installment…

There are complications because these two policemen have me in a secret file that their superior officers will not ever see. They aren’t going to be able to get their search warrant on my say-so, because their superiors do not know about me. Even though I feel cheapened by this, I agree to meet them at the actual crime scene later for several reasons. I will go into these later.

First, I am still young enough then not to be uppity with the police, and also used to being treated with secrecy, like the mistress to a married man would be.

Second, I really want to help. Duh.

Third, and most compelling. I had never before physically visited a site that I had visited via remote viewing. I was pretty excited about that.

When I got to the farm, it was indeed what I had seen in my remote visit.

How cool is that?

The two policemen, lets call them Simon and Judas, wanted me to enter into the psyche of the shooters. Okay. I had done this before. It isn’t always pretty, but then, neither was the dirty old bugger.

If I hadn’t made it clear before, the dirty old bugger had molested the younger of the two shooters. When I went inside the shooter’s emotions, I found only elation and exhiliaration. “I did it! And I’m glad I did!” In fact, he didn’t leave immediately afterwards. he stuck around a bit to gloat.

I pointed out the places he wandered because they may have held potential evidence. He didn’t have to step over the body of the dirty old bugger, so there were no bloody footprints. The only evidence recovered were shells from a 22 rifle. (A rabbit gun)

A search warrant had been served and executed on the hiding place of the weapon, but the older guy had gotten antsy, and had re-hidden it.

After the visit to the crime scene, there was a lengthy session at the police detachment. This is the part where I was starved all day and became cranky and tired. I produced sketches of the weapon’s new hiding place, sketches of the two, and the accomplice who owned the antique truck they arrived in. I traced the route the two had travelled in the truck, because I recognized the landmarks.

It was during this session that Judas looked me straight in the eye and barefaced lied to me: “We’re going to make sure that you will get paid for all of your time and talent.” Up to that point, I was somewhat naive about police trickery. It was before all the good cop shows on tv heh-heh.

To me, that was the last straw. I know when I’m being lied to, and the worst thing about it is that a liar will never own up to it. What do you say when someone lies to your face? Sheesh. I never brought up money at all. He did. With a big fat lie. While I was hungry and tired. And cranky. Did I mention cranky?

They couldn’t serve the second search warrant for the weapon because they were threatened with a harrassment suit.

The weapon was never recovered. The two got off scot-free because they couldn’t get any evidence to convict.

Serves them right, the big fat liars. They totally ignored my information about the antique truck, even though I gave the licence number. They could have questioned the owner, at the very least.

I provided the best I had to offer, was exhausted in the process, and my information was selectively used. I wonder how many other dirty old buggers got theirs at the end of this guy’s arm. Because I do know that the shooter felt no remorse, only exhiliaration. I think he got a taste for it.

I thought of him a while back when a young man from my area went on a rampage. He had a list of pedophiles and he was killing them. I bet Simon and Judas thought about him, too.

It’s frustrating to know that the police didn’t use information I felt strongly about. That’s why this is the final installment of Working with the Police. Psychics have huge egos when it comes to their information. It’s a housewife’s dream to hear “You’re right” time after time, and then get paid for it. I hear it all the time. With the police? Not so much.

When I do a reading, and see trauma in the client’s past, I really have to judge whether or not to go into it. One, is the client ready? Two, do I want to go there myself? If we go into the trauma, we can effect a healing. Working with the police is like experiencing the trauma without the benefit of the healing. It’s just not for me.

Shameless self-promotion: Show me some freaking love. Go on, vote. You know you wanna. You have to register first, but you will make me very happy. Check your junk mail folder for the registration confirmation. Oh, and if it says voting is closed? It is for 2007, but this award is for 2008.

It’s contest time! That’s right, something for free. Now, I’m not fixing to give out actual money, because, really, I have my eye on a new laptop and a spiffy new camera. That way when I travel this summer (as I do every summer) I’ll be able to post and show you where I am.

What I want you to do is whip up a post on your own blog, linking to my contest. Say in the post why you would like to have a reading by witchypoo.

When you have your post up, leave the link in my comments section.

The winner gets their own personal reading by me, phone call is on my dime. So, think of all the questions you want to ask me, write them down in preparation for your win, and get busy writing your post.

Contest closes Monday next at midnight.

We will appoint a time that is mutually convenient when we determine a winner.

To see exactly what you will get, here is the place to do it.

Shameless self-promotion: Show me some freaking love. Go on, vote. You know you wanna. You have to register first, but you will make me very happy. Check your junk mail folder for the registration confirmation. Oh, and if it says voting is closed? It is for 2007, but this award is for 2008.