Getting Ghosted Every Day … and Loving It

Well, everyone, she’s back.

As you may recall, Amethyst Realm, a reported spiritual counselor, has been in a super intense relationship with a ghost she met in Australia.  They have been dating six months.

I will give you a minute to go back and read that again so you’re up to speed.  Done?  Ok, let’s move on.

Amethyst can’t see her boyfriend, obviously, cause he’s…well, you know, a ghost.  But hey, she knows he’s there.

Now, as you can imagine, I have a few questions.  As a spiritual guidance counselor, is she counseling her boyfriend?  If so, isn’t that an ethics violation?  At the least, I would think it would be a conflict of interest. But, I digress.

In 2017, Amethyst was even slut-shamed for having sex with twenty ghosts.  One ghost, however, really tickled her fancy, among other things he reportedly tickles.

Amethyst explains in a recent follow-up interview that she and her ghostly boyfriend are going to be married and raise a ghostly family.  I personally haven’t received my invisible wedding invitation; still waiting on that one.

As for the ghostly family? Well, she has decided, in a wisdom far beyond most cantaloupes, that “phantom” pregnancies are fathered by ghosts.  Phantom pregnancies are, of course, a heartbreaking syndrome where a woman’s body begins to simulate a pregnancy that isn’t real, showing all the symptoms of a true pregnancy. There could be any number of reasons why this might happen, none of them good. Amethyst believes that phantom pregnancies are exactly what they sound like, phantom induced.  Amethyst has been avoiding her ghostly birth control, hoping to get knocked up by her ghost boyfriend.

Why would her imaginary boyfriend want to be tied down by an imaginary baby?  It’s a sure bet he’ll just disappear when the baby is born, leaving her with imaginary diapers to change all by herself.  She’d better get that imaginary ring, and fast!

On a sobering note, Amethyst really believes her story with all her heart.  She came clean after being dumped by a boyfriend, so one must think the break-up affected her deeply.  She has sworn off real men for life, preferring her invisible men to human companionship.  I feel her pain, but she has taken this just a step too far.

You know, I’m not even necessarily saying that ghosts aren’t real; perhaps they are.  What I am calling total BS on is that they would be capable of impregnating anyone (okay, so yeah, that might be an obvious deduction).

For argument’s sake, let’s just say that she’s right, and she does get pregnant by her ghostly boyfriend.  What an odd scene at the hospital on the day of delivery!

Nurse:  Here he is, he’s beautiful.  (pretending to be holding a baby)

Amethyst:  Are you stupid!?  He’s over there!  (points at the chair next to the nurse)

Nurse:  Can you have the father sign the birth certificate, please?  (holds pen towards the corner of the room)

Amethyst:  Are you blind, woman!?  He’s right here sitting on the bed!

Nurse:  Your total bill will be $50,000.  How would you like to pay that?

Amethyst:  My imaginary insurance should cover this, but if not, here’s an invisible credit card.

Nurse:  I can’t see the father’s signature on the certificate.

Amethyst:  Of course not, he used invisible ink.

The fun would continue through the child’s first year of school, where he was repeatedly marked “absent,” all the way to his prom, where his date cried because she thought he stood her up even though he was waiting inside the invisible limo.

Graduation would be tricky; the video cameras would only show a small orb flitting across the stage to get his invisible diploma.

Perhaps one day, he would meet someone, too.   He’ll introduce her to the joys of ghost sex, and the cycle will continue.

Frankly, Amethyst, I am intrigued and more than a little jealous.  Getting ghosted doesn’t mean the same thing for you as it does for the rest of us, you can sneak him into movies for free, and you don’t have to worry about washing his clothes.

Not to mention, your life is planned out perfectly with your ghost, and I can’t even get a date for Friday night.

With a Spooky Girl Like You…

Mark Twain made an interesting observation that may or may not be true, but these days it certainly makes sense. “Man is the only animal who blushes…or needs to.” The “…or needs to” is the key phrase here. We do some pretty crazy things, that’s for sure. When it comes to sex, crazy can get even crazier. A case in point is a 27-year-old English woman who claims to have such mind-blowing sex with ghosts that she has given up having sex with men.

Amethyst Realm (yes, that’s her name – I couldn’t make this up any better if I tried), of Bristol, says that she’s had sex with over “twenty ghosts.” The first time was 12 years ago when she felt a “presence in the house” which, naturally, just escalated to doing the deed. At which point, she was hooked. This ethereal affair lasted for three years until her husband came home early from work one day and caught her. Or rather, caught the shadow of her lover on the wall of their shared home. While no details were given about this “unveiling” of the truth, presumably the marriage ended at that point because her husband isn’t mentioned again in her story. If you ask me, I think that her infidelity would have been the least of her husband’s concerns. But hey, that’s just me.

Undeterred by this turn of events, Ms. Realm apparently let the spirit world know that she was available for some spectral shenanigans, because over 20 ghosts have since stopped by. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m not slut spirit-shaming by any means. The sex is so good, she claims, that she’s given up on living, breathing men altogether. Hey, to each their own, I guess…?

To take it one step further, she even wants to get pregnant by one of her ghostly companions. I’m not sure if she’s discussed this with her spectral buddies or not, but I can’t help but think that ghosts aren’t exactly up for co-parenting. I could be wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the last. But I’ve always assumed that hauntings and otherworldly goings-on would take up a huge chunk of their time. I’m also really curious as to how child support would work in that scenario…or, if the baby took after dear old Dad, how she would even keep track of her spawn offspring (cause, you know, it would be invisible), but, whatever. I’m not even going to touch on the intricacies of childbirth. If horror movies have taught me anything, it’s that ghost-human pregnancies are nothing if not a very, very bad idea.

Now, I’m not saying that Ms. Realm has lost it. That’s not my place. I will say, however, that I hope she gets the help she so desperately needs. Whether that’s from a shrink or a demonologist is up for grabs.

Some psychiatrists believe that she suffers from “sleep paralysis.”  It’s a condition where one gets stuck between a sleeping state and wakefulness. You feel immobilized. You can sense a “presence” near you. You can feel as though someone is touching you. I guess at that point, anything can happen. Our minds are strange, complicated things.

If, per chance, her story belongs in the true-romance section of the bookstore, instead of the horror section…it flies in the face of everything I’ve ever learned about paranormal activity and my entire life has been a lie. With the one exception of “The Entity,” I’m much more accustomed to ghosts and other demonic entities trying to murder people in incredibly creative ways instead of searching the earthly realm for hook-ups.

Truth be told, maybe she’s just having a bit of fun with all of us. Then again, maybe it’s just a spooky kind of love.

 

When Aragogs Attack!

I recently read a news story about an incident in Australia that sent shivers down my spine.  It wasn’t a “new” news story, but it was certainly news to me. Police in Sydney were flooded with calls from concerned neighbors who heard what sounded like a tremendous domestic dispute.  They reported and a man shrieking, “I’m going to kill you.  You’re dead. Die!  Die!” All of this was accompanied by the sounds of crashing furniture and things being smashed. It sounded as though someone was…well, being killed.

That, however, is not what terrified me. I mean, hell, I see that every day on Law and Order: Criminal Intent. It’s what the police found when they arrived. A distraught man who was out of breath and quite flushed opened the door. The police demanded, “Where’s your wife?” He told them that he wasn’t married.  “Then, where’s your girlfriend?” He told them that he didn’t have one.  “The neighbors told us they heard a woman screaming in here.”  The man confessed, “That was me.  I was screaming.”

click for story

After inspecting the home, the police came out and explained what was going on to the to the concerned neighbors. “It was a spider,” they said. “A really, really big one.  And he really, really hates spiders.” The terrified man had been chasing the large spider around, trying to hit it with insect spray, knocking over tables and shelves in the process. He was definitely an arachnophobe. I mean, he is in Australia after all. I think they have more man-killing spiders per capita than anywhere else in the world. Australia definitely produces their fair share of “WTF, stay away from me!” kind of animals.

I am not an arachnophobe.  Nor am I an arachnophile.  I’m arachno-neutral. Or at least, I was. Till along came the Huntsman spider – which I believe was the culprit in the above-mentioned terror-filled story.  Now here is the part of the story that truly reminds me of some of those B-horror movies I love so much and what scared me the most about this story. Huntsman spiders can grow to have a leg span of almost one foot. They are ugly creatures.  I mean, I’m sorry, I feel for the poor things, but yeah, they’re not cute. They bite, but only if provoked…which I for one am thankful for — AND they don’t fly, thank whatever God was put in charge of creating spiders. People in Australia have taken to calling them Aragogs, the deadly spiders of Harry Potter fame. You can’t really blame them. If I woke up to find this thing in my house, I think I’d be calling it some names too…though perhaps not such a literary one.

When I first read about the poor man in Sydney who woke the neighbors, I got a good laugh from it. But then, after a little visualization, I decided that maybe it wasn’t quite so funny after all.  Imagine walking into your kitchen and finding a fuzzy creature the size of a dinner plate walking across your counter top, and you don’t own a cat (or at least not one with 8 legs). I’m quite sure the neighbors would hear me. Hell, I think the residents of the adjacent states would hear me. So, yeah. Bless the citizens of Australia because if this is the shit they have to deal with, they deserve our awe and our admiration.

Although I do sort of feel sorry for the poor spider…I mean, can you imagine just going about your spider-y life, then mistakenly wandering into the wrong house (I mean, come on! Who hasn’t done that after a full night of carousing and drinking!?) and then having some lunatic chase you around trying to smash furniture over  your head?

You Want Picante?? I’ll Give You Picante!!

I saw this on the newswire the other day, and be forewarned, it’s old…it was just something that popped up as a stupid meme and after researching, I found that it was indeed true: “Woman stabs boyfriend over salsa, say Akron police.” What?  She didn’t like Latin music? After reading several different articles on this incident, I found out that the story was even more ridiculous – more ridiculous than hating a sassy, sexy dance, you say? Why yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. This woman exploded into a murderous rage when she discovered that her boyfriend had eaten all the salsa they had on hand. Salsa. As in the condiment. The nerve of him!

Apparently blinded with anger at the thought of having no salsa picante to put on her cheeseburger, she grabbed a pen and started stabbing the boyfriend.  Not happy with the results from the writing instrument, she proceeded to knock the guy’s t.v. over (I have absolutely no idea what his t.v. had to do with anything) and after retrieving a knife from the kitchen, tried to finish the job the pen had started. After the “salsa savagery” was done, she fled, but was pulled over by police after a somewhat brief car chase. The boyfriend was expected to live and presumably has no dietary restrictions going forward.

My first thought was, “What the hell is wrong with people?”  That was my second and third thought too.  Maybe she would have had an excuse if he’d eaten all of their foraged truffle-essence quiche or their Coquilles St. Jacques. But salsa? Really? I mean, I guess I could understand if it was some kick-ass homemade salsa. You know, the kind you can’t find in your neighborhood grocery store or say, the 7-11 on the corner. Understanding is one thing, but I just want to make it clear, I still don’t condone food-related violence. Even if someone who shall remain nameless did steal the last bit of my Haas-Gooey Cake.

Anyhow, the woman in question told the police that the reason she stabbed him was because she “wanted to leave.” However, I’m thinking there has to be more. Right? I mean, there just has to be. A person doesn’t just snap over salsa. Do they? Maybe she had been salsa-deprived as a child. Maybe his finishing off the salsa was just the straw that broke the camel’s back in their relationship. But still, good grief! Leaving with her toothbrush after throwing his in the toilet would have been much better, and she wouldn’t be facing felonious assault charges.

Sadly, there are plenty of examples of stupidity out there in the world. A Utah man was convinced that his girlfriend was causing his headaches, so he shot her. She lived.  He’s still getting headaches in prison. Go figure. No-one ever said the guy was bright. Two ex-cons in Florida brought home a woman from a bar for an evening of “fun.” During the troika tryst, one of the cons shouted “Switch!” The other con didn’t want to, so he stabbed his buddy. You really need to be careful about picking and choosing your ménage à trois partners before doing the deed. Maybe set out some rules or sign a contract or something. You know, just to keep the stabbing down to a minimum.

But going back to the salsa lady…I don’t know if the boyfriend knew that running out of salsa was his girlfriend’s flash point, but seriously, should he have?? I mean, you’d think the guy would know just how strongly she felt about her condiments. Still, it seems like an awful lot of responsibility for one person to bear – eat this salsa and be stabbed or not eat the salsa and be deprived of some kick-ass salsa? What do I do, what do I do!?

I think, just to be on the safe side, I’m gonna start asking for extra packets of salsa when I go to Taco Bell to keep in my kitchen junk drawer… just in case something like this should ever befall me. I can use them to fend off any salsa-crazed zombies that infiltrate my house by throwing them as I back out of the kitchen to safety: “there! there! there is your salsa, you salsa-crazed zombie!” And all will be right with the world once more.