Chanty McGee

Yesterday was another long day at work. After such a day, especially on America's National Drunk Fest (i.e. St. Patrick's Day), many people head to the pub for a pint. They sit with their friends, relaxing, taking in the atmosphere of dark wood, cigarette smoke, and alcohol.


Others go to the local Metaphysical Faire. That would be me.

We took our baby girl to nephew's house, where grammy was watching nephew. She took our girl, too, and hubby and I took off. We took the long way to get there, as it was rush hour and we decided to take some "shortcuts." We finally arrived.

Once there, it was a matter of browsing around for a tarot reader/psychic/other weirdo to tell us our business. Of course, the faire has many vendors as well, and I wanted to peruse them all. Which I did.

While hubby was waiting for his reading, I wandered around and realized that my back hurt. I almost sat down to rest (a sensible thing), when I spied a dude with a massage chair. "Ah!" I thought. "I can get a little mini-massage while waiting for hubby." So I gave the dude my money, and settled into his chair.

He began a-rubbin', and it felt good. He talked to me about energy, and healing, and how his engery would enter me (oh, dear), and that he might make noises and such while rubbin' me, because he likes to chant, to tap into the universal energy, etc.

"um..what?" I thought to myself. But before I knew what was happening, Chanty McGee began.

"ooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmm," he chanted, right into the top of my head. The sound went right down my spine to the small of my back, where I was in pain, and made it tickle. It tickled like when someone sneaks up from behind you, and talks right into the back of your neck with a low voice. You know that tickle? Yeah, that's the one, only it traveled down my spine.

"Does that hurt?" he asked, when I squirmed.

"No, the chanting into my head just makes me tickle in my lower back," I said, trying not to laugh.

So Chanty kept on chanting and rubbing, and I did my best not to squirm.

After that, I perused the vendors and found someone to read tarot cards for me, which was cool. It was a good reading, in that she told me everything that I wanted to hear. I like that in a reader.

Oh, and I got a henna tattoo on my hand. As evidenced above.

So, you decide. Better than getting drunk on green beer?