Channel from Moms

Hey my friends – for those of you who might not know, a channel is a message brought through from a guide or other source. Usually the person bringing the message through knows what’s happening and has been practicing for a while. My mother has been a seeker her entire life and now channels messages from Arcturus. I don’t want to get into it with any of you about belief systems or whether you think it’s real or not. I’m simply offering this information for those that are interested because I thought this was a good one. If you want to see other channels her website is
                                                  NOVEMBER 28, 2010

Hello to all.

We are here to say to you that all is proceeding according to plan.  You are rapidly moving out of the old energy and into the higher and brighter light of the new dimension.  We say that what you are hearing and seeing on your news is not always the truth, so keep to your own inner guidance at all times and trust your intuition.  You are being confronted on many sides by the energy of the dark who wish you to stay in the old consciousness.  That is the way they can once again gain control over the masses,  but do not buy into this dear ones, it is a ploy that you have outgrown and no longer will work.  They know this, and are “pulling out all the stops” so to speak.  Just allow these  energies to play out.  They are made of wind and nothing else.

We trust that you will be having much change in your lives.  We see you moving quickly into better circumstances as changes unfold.  Do not despair dear ones, you are moving forward, even if it does not seem to be so.

Today we would like to speak of the energy of ascension.  The energy of ascension is the movement into a new state of consciousness.  It is a leaving behind of the old ways and beliefs, and the energy that  comprised them.  Ascension means ascending into a new evolutionary level  and is something that happens by grace.  You do not simply choose to be ascended and the next day you have ascended.  You must be in and of an energy that is able to handle the higher frequencies of the more refined light.  This is what is happening now to most of you as a result of hundreds of lifetimes of spiritual growth and awareness.  After many footsteps, and many of them bloody, you are ascending.  Gaia is ascending.  Those “modern” scientists who  “poo-poo” the idea that Gaia is a living entity,  will be much surprised at some point in their own evolution.  There is nothing  not living and ascending.

Ascension entails the release of old energies; those energies held in place only through accepted beliefs and concepts.  All is energy .  This is why we tell you that you are now releasing old patterns of energy.  This is why you may be remembering hurts and pains from the past and feeling emotions of guilt, anger, or sadness.  These are old energies that are now releasing from your energy fields in order for you to incorporate  higher frequencies of light.  It is very important to let these go; to allow those feelings to release and move into the nothingness that they really are.  Do not claim them back in, saying to yourself; “I am so guilty, or  I am such a bad person etc.”   This is very important because unless you understand what is taking place,  the temptation is  accept old energies back in because  you are experiencing  them as they flow out.

You  are releasing, but the mind is interpreting  on the levels it knows.  So if you have dreams of some past event that is scary or is weird, but seems very real, it is probably the releasing of something from a distant past that you were still carrying around in your energy field.  Mind  interprets according to what it already knows, and so  interprets experiences during sleep time as something that may make no sense to you.

The process of clearing  uses energy and as a result many of you are feeling very tired and think something is wrong with you.  The fact is  that you simply don’t have as much energy left over for the usual things, when you are busy expending it for  release and integration.  At some point this will come to an end.  Just  lay down if you need to.  Rest more, relax more, and allow yourself to have more fun.

Most clearing is done in a general way, but when an intense  experience buried deeply from the near or distant past is ready to be released, it will somehow come to your conscious awareness either through a dream, a channeled message, healing energy work,  memory, or  some way that enables you become aware of it.  This is necessary in order for  you to release it on a conscious level.  To do this, you simply become aware of it (this may be accompanied by some emotion) , and then when you are ready, realize that you not longer choose this  to be a part of your energy  and consciously choose to release it.  This happens often with regard to sexual abuse energy, or traumas like being burned  the stake in another life, being murdered or events of a horrendous nature experienced when the world was at a very low level.

Do not dwell on these events of the past, they are coming to you simply in order for you to release them. They carry only the energy or power that you give them now or have given them in the past.  You are graduating and do not need to drag these with you,.  Indeed you cannot drag them with you because thy only exist in the lower frequencies.

Many hold on to past events of trauma as if they were medals of honor.  They earned you  lessons, but after that, you must let them go.  Many spend their whole lives reliving and reactivating the energy of traumatic events. This is the ego at work.  We are not denying  that there was indeed much pain in the experience and that there is a need to heal, but  what we are saying is that there comes a time for every individual to let the past  go through the realization that there is no law to support these things, the are not God ordained or God sustained. They are images; illusions created in the third dimension through a belief in duality and separation.

You see dear ones, it is time to move on.  Many are experiencing this as  the need to clean house–  physically , emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.  This is new energy of release and movement.  This is the ascension dear ones.  You are ascending, should you choose.  You can choose not to, if you wish because  as always you have free will and there is no one forcing  you to graduate.  If you choose to stay in the old energy, that is fine because at some point, in other lifetimes or places, all will evolve- it is the truth of being.

We say in love,  think about what we have said dear ones, time is drawing short and many changes you will see in 2011.

Thank you Arcturian Group                                                                                 11/28/2010

Internet Obsession

Lord. My life is like Lucy Ricardo’s but with loud music, more booze, and pets. I kind of like it. 
During unhappier days I asked a very good psychic when there would be peace. She said, “You are afraid of peace and the boredom it might bring.” I could see that what she said was true, and I’ve come to accept that a little bit of chaos is not a bad thing. As long as it’s not dark chaos, it keeps life lively. I suspect that many people have consciously or unconsciously made the same choice; it’s becoming increasingly apparent to me that we are all mere souls trying on various people suits and situations, and when we are able to stop freaking out and enjoy the ride, things can be pretty entertaining.

Last Saturday morning I woke up with a black eye. I have no idea what happened, just a random black eye. Then Sunday morning my Android phone committed suicide by leaping off of the bed during the night. I looked over the edge and it was just laying there, face down. So sad. It wouldn’t turn on or respond in any way. Perhaps there was just one too many cat photos on it, I pictured my poor little phone teetering on the edge of the bed, thinking it had no other choice and imagining freedom on the other side. If only it had told me it was feeling down.
Abandoned by hand-held technology, I felt cut adrift for three days until a new Droid II arrived (free via an amazing deal from Amazon, yo), struggling sadly through life with no text messages and looking battered with a bruised swath underneath an eye. It did come to mind that it might be kind of dumb to be so unhappy without a cellphone when one is surrounded by other phones and constant internet. But this is the age we live in, and while I do not embrace the music of today’s youth, I do embrace their technology.

I loooove the internet. Way more than is dignified. I’ve got myspace, which will be dismantled as soon as I muster the energy to collect all the photos housed there. There’s this blog. There’s Facebook, upon which is spent an embarrassing amount of time, and in which I communicate more regularly with friends than via standard email. And now there’s Twitter, something I swore I would not do. And then I swore that I was only joining it to follow my friends but began tweeting almost immediately upon sign-up. Drew, who thinks it’s all bullshit, said, “Great. So you’re a twat like everyone else.” Yep. I’m twatting! Just like Demi Moore, except with far fewer bikini shots. Add me! Let’s communicate pointless trivia when we could be doing something more productive! It’s @MissAnthropeNYC.

Then, on Thanksgiving, another tragedy struck. Facebook shut my page down with no warning. SHUT ME DOWN. Boom, gone! The log-in page appeared with a notice that said the account was disabled due to violation of terms. What violation? How dare they? I clicked on the link offered and it gave me a form asking for a scan of my driver’s license to check the name associated with the account. 
Oops. So they were serious about that name thing? Effing nerds. I was on there under Anastasia Beaverhausen, a name I have come to love, but which was obvious enough to give me away. I had planned on changing it to something more real anyway, it was just difficult to give up being a Beaverhausen. So elegant, like royalty. It’s where the beaver live. And I never imagined that Facebook would shut someone down with no warning. What about that Indian guy that’s posting ads all over the Murphy’s Law page? Why does he get to live to spam another day?

So I sent off my response, and as expected, got no response in return. I sent off two more over the course of the last couple of days and still have not heard from them. Bastards! In the meantime, I set up a new profile and started apologizing and re-adding friends. And THEN I got a warning from Facebook that I had added too many people in one day, and if I tried to friend any more they would shut me down. So there you go. Facebook hates popular people with exotic, beautiful names. 
The whole thing has made me feel weirdly vulnerable and attacked, like a virtual black eye. In the grand scheme of things, it’s clear that if this is my biggest problem for the day, life is pretty good. t’s frigging Facebook fer Chrissake. But it was weirdly upsetting, like someone had invaded my private world: photos lost, connections severed, the Beaverhausen legacy destroyed in the blink of a black eye.

Alison suggested that someone may have turned me in, to which I recoiled in dismay, “But everyone loves me! Don’t they? Who would do that, Ali?” She laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t know, Mary! You’re always so sweet!” Bitches! So there is that possibility that one of the many people I’ve offended over the years got a small revenge. But I choose to believe that it has nothing to do with my obnoxious personality, and the Facebook staff is populated by mean Nazis who hate fun.

On a less retarded note of interest, I did send a (Facebook) message to a girl who I had much drama with in the ’80’s. She was part of our friend circle until she slept with my chronically unfaithful boyfriend behind my back. I (being completely unhinged on a good day back then) tortured her for months and then beat her up at a Raging Slab gig. And in return, she sent me to jail for two days. Good and classy times, my friends. But she is actually a very nice person and dropped the charges when the philandering boyfriend in question put in a call requesting clemency on my behalf. She asked that I’d quit torturing her in return, which seemed a reasonable request. It was a large life lesson, and she has my eternal gratitude. She also went on to get a black belt in karate, so even if I wasn’t grateful and respectful, I’d have to pretend or get my own ass kicked.
Anyhoo, it’s a long and entertaining story that I am trying to write down, but I had questions and couldn’t remember some details. I knew she was online so I sent some questions and stated that I would understand completely if she preferred not to respond. She did respond, and merely asked that she’s not made to look too bad, which is pretty easily done since it’s fairly obvious who the maniac was in that equation.
So that’s my internet report for today. Not quite as pithy or deep as it could be, but it feels good to share some internet pain. And so I don’t appear completely vapid I’ll also post (in a new blog) a channel that my mom sent out today. Maybe Facebook will see it and note that I come from a nice family and it might be more prudent to go after that spammy Indian guy.

Morning in Manhattan

ME (flipping through hanging clothes): What is this? Is this your jacket? When did this get here? I don’t recognize it.

DREW (without looking up from his book): Yes, it’s a jacket.

ME: Yours? It’s not mine.


ME: You are ignoring me.

DREW: No, I’m busy picturing throwing this book at you. It just bounced off your head and make a really good sound. 

ME: Really.

DREW: Yes, and now you’re laying on the floor silent. You’ve been knocked out cold.

ME: Well, I suppose a man can dream, Andrew.

DREW (smiling, eyes closed): Shhhhh….


MIKE: We watched this Spanish horror movie the other night and thought of you the whole time.

MIKE SQUARED: Yeah, it was pretty funny.

ME: Why?

MIKE: One of the characters looked just like you. She was your doppelganger, except she had red hair.

MIKE SQUARED: Totally. Just like you. Same energy.

ME: Wow, awesome! What was her character? Was she cool?

MIKE SQUARED: I’m not going to lie to you, Raff. She was the tattooed carnival slut.

ME: Goddamnit. Again??

MIKE: Yeah. Sorry.


Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution

Weeeeelll, I had a classic old broads kinda weekend I thought I’d share.

The Friday before Halloween found Alison and I on a bus to Philly to hang with La Montenegro (Kim) and see the Black Crowes play at the Tower Theater in Upper Darby (birthplace of Todd Rundgren, for you equally, ahem, “seasoned” readers). Kim’s good friend Alex was able to procure 4th row center seats and I haven’t seen the Black Crowes play live since the early 90’s, and Kim and I spend a lot of time listening to them when we’re together, so it seemed a worthy undertaking.

The beginning of the night started with Kim in the middle of a really good rant about her latest ex. I love her rants:

“You know what? I hate that fat fuck even more now. UGH. Take away the beard and mustache and he’s just an Irish potato. A POTATO!  WITH A SHITTY ATTITUDE!! ECK. And those hands. THOSE LITTLE HANDS! They’re all tiny and grasping, like a troll. LIKE A FAT FUCK POTATO TROLL! He should be UNDER A BRIDGE!!! I hate that asshole, I can’t believe I ever let him NEAR my vagina.”

Alex and I accidentally wore the same McQueen scarf (which, btw, is a $500 rip-off of the $8 skull scarves we used to get on St. Mark’s Place), hers was purchased legitimately, mine stolen from Drew. A female fan gave it to him at a gig in Europe and I relieved him of it immediately upon his return home, my argument being that he was never going to wear it and items from admiring women must go to the girlfriend for use or discard. He rolled his eyes and handed over the scarf. 
We laughed at our matching designer scarves and then because Alex is in the middle of a pumpkin ale love affair, I helped her shove a leather-covered flask full of the stuff into the back of her pants right before we entered the venue.

I felt puffy from PMS and stressed over what to wear that would make me feel svelter than I really am. Kim has a broken toe so she’s forced to wear a medical boot for a month, so she wasn’t much happier, and Alison was worried about the way her ass looked in her pants. There was no need to stress it turned out, as we discovered that a Philly Black Crowes audience is not an overly glamorous one, and in fact consists primarily of wasted old fat dudes, with a few tolerant wives scattered here and there. As soon as the four of us entered the building we were accosted by a man who could barely speak from overuse of spirit, who  found us all equally attractive and urged us to high five over and over again in celebration of Kim and my tattoos. We were, indeed, the belles of the contractor’s ball.

We fought our way to the front of the large theater and found ourselves seated behind the biggest mountain of a man I’ve ever seen. Why is it there’s always a giant guy in front of you, no matter what show it is or where you stand? I think there should be a tall dude section in every venue. In the back. But whatever, we were so close to the band it didn’t matter.

I know I should take the time to give proper show reviews, but I find show reviews tedious and am far too self-absorbed to pay enough attention. Last time Jesse played he got off the stage with his wireless mike and made his way through the crowd to point out his oblivious ex-girlfriend as I stood yammering with Zoe and Rabbit at the bar. It was embarrassing but well played. I do love his shows, it’s just that there’s so much to talk about!
So review: the Black Crowes put on a great show: nine people – the core band and then another percussionist and two back up singers. They are tight as hell and I am a huge fan of the music so that helps. What I am not a fan of is their Grateful Dead tendency to ramble off into never-ending jams. I hate jams. And I am not alone on this, the great Lemmy Kilmeister once said to me, “I don’t jam.” Well, of course you don’t because it’s tedious as fuck. So in between great versions of great Black Crowes songs you have to stand and look interested in the tedium of a 15 minute song breakdown. Cut the jams, people! No one cares! That’s my goddamn review.

We danced and sang along and drank copious amounts of cheap beer (after we polished off Alex’s flask), as it was the only alcoholic beverage available. As I tried to avoid another high five from our original friend (who somehow was seated right next to us), a girl I’d known in the 80’s and 90’s made her way through the row to me. She was a little bombed and hugged me repeatedly and said “I miss you!” I told her it was great to see her, and she handed me what I thought was an aftershow VIP sticker, one of those sort of backstage passes that generally lead you to a holding pen where you hang out feeling like a dick wondering if the band will eventually deign to hang out with you and the other dicks. 

I thanked her profusely and said, “Babe, this is no good to me unless I get three more.” And she said, “That was mine, I’m pretending I lost it. Don’t tell anyone where you got it. I want you to go backstage and say hi to Chris Robinson.”

Ed note: Quite a few centuries ago, during the paleolithic era, I had a brief couple of moments with aforementioned singer. It is not worthy of too much discussion, although I will put it in the book if there ever is a book. It was at a particularly low point in my life, no reflection on him, I was just not in a good head, and it went down in the standard rock and roll sputter: girl thinks there’s something actually going on, boy just having fun on the road, girl writes boy a particularly scathing letter, boy thinks girl is crazy and refuses to make eye contact next time they’re in the same room. Which was cool, and it was 20 years ago so it’s embarrassing to even bring it up, but her statement wouldn’t make as much sense if I didn’t. I’ve bumped into him numerous times since then and it’s all good, mostly because I’m so determined to show that I’m not crazy that I’m as stiff as the Queen of England. Which probably only makes me look crazier. No matter how hard I try to hold it in, the crazy seeps out through the cracks.

So I slap my sticker pass on my leg and get to dancing and clapping. BOOSH! All of a sudden I’m completely drenched in what feels like a bucket’s worth of cold liquid. What the hell? Is this a GWAR show? I look at the moron next to me. He is stoned beyond any sort of functionality and stands swaying and staring emptily into space. I know that he had a full plastic pint of beer two minutes before that, now his cup is empty and hanging at half mast in his grubby mitt. I pick up my shirt and wring it. Liquid drips onto the floor. I can feel my sock squishing in my boot. Yes, there is beer pooling in the bottom of my extremely overpriced Jonathan Kelsey boots, which were procured at half price but still cost almost as much as my rent.

Rage flares, I turn to dumbass and say, “Do you want to explain why I’m COVERED in your fucking beer?” He mumbles a word and goes back to staring forward. He then drops what’s left of his beer, and slowly, sloooowly squats down, feels about on the sticky floor for the cup, and sloooooowly stands up, brings the cup to his mouth, and swigs the last bit in the bottom and and then stares into the bottom of the empty cup. I hate him with every fiber of my being.

“WELL???” I sputter ineffectually. He mumbles again, “I said I was sorry.” He turns to his equally stupefied friend and they exchange a look which says, “Bro, I am so fucked up and this bitch is freaking me out.”

I turn around and start pointing out my state of soaked-ness to anyone who will listen. It does not bring me satisfaction, but it’s all I have. A lone security guard makes his way to the idiots, says something to them but moves on. I want to yell at him, “I DEMAND SATISFACTION, GOOD SIR! REMOVE THIS LOUT, IMMEDIATELY!” But there is no satisfaction when you’re covered in beer and the guy who did it is too stoned to care. I go back to watching the band.

The show ends and I tell the girls I’m going to see if the pass is worth anything. It is not. I find an accommodating security guard at the backstage door and he says, “Who gave it to you? I can look and see if they’re back there.” I panic and mumble the girl’s name, as she told me not to mention her. Another security walks by and says, “That’s a working pass, you can’t just pass those around! You should go wait in the diner across the street, maybe the band will show up there.” Then he snickers. I look at the nice security and say, “Well, that was a bit snarky, wasn’t it?” And then I snicker as well. I’m separated from my crew and so coated with beer that I can’t really defend my honor too mightily at this point in the game. I also notice that this is, indeed, a working pass, and I am very obviously not on any sound crew. Quelle embarrassment.

The nice guy says, “Who do you want to see?” And I say, “Okay, I REALLY don’t care if I get back there, but I had intended to run in and say hi to Chris Robinson, and then run right back out to my waiting friends.” He says, “Who is Chris Robinson?” I say, “The singer.” He looks at me blankly. I say, “You know, the one who looks like Shaggy from Scooby Doo? Tell him that Raffaele from the Cycle Sluts wants to say a quick hi.”

“Ooooh! Okay, be right back!” This truly must be the nicest man working security in Northern America.

After a few minutes he exits again and says, “Sorry, couldn’t find him and they’re being very tight back there.” I said, “Absolutely no worries, thank you so much. I feel like a jerk standing here anyway. Have a great night.”

I find my ladies and we make our way back to the parking garage, which turns out to be quite the scene. We are immediately spotted and followed by a rapist in a grey hoodie who keeps saying things like, “Hey. Where ya goin’? You girls wanna party. Hey, where ya goin’? Let’s hang out.” Fortunately he was too fucked up to formulate an effective plan of attack, and when we ran aground of a tailgate party featuring a loud sound system and about 6 or 7 guys who looked like they had grandchildren waiting for them at home, he wandered sad and alone back to his kidnap van. 
One of the grandpas, said, “Hey, ladies! Want some beer!” We sat in the car debating this opportunity for a few minutes. I was sort of pro. What could be more entertaining that drinking cheap beer in a parking garage with a bunch of really old Black Crowes fans? I mean, we’d already come this far. Alison is way more sensible than me and hadn’t had anything to drink, so she took the con position. Alex mentioned that she already had a pumpkin ale in the car and Kim couldn’t make up her mind.

Alex didn’t have an opener, and before we could say anything about bottle opening options, she ran to the curb and smashed the top of the bottle, creating the most jagged opening possible.

I screamed and said, “There is no way in hell that you are allowed to drink out of that bottle! Throw it away, immediately!!” 

Alex, who is a practicing lawyer and all around super smart and classy chick, said, “It’s cool. I’ve got experience, spent a lot of time with fire-eaters. I can handle a little glass.” This is the look I gave Alison over the back of the seat:

We freaked, Alex insisted, and she did indeed drink out of the bottle. Then she realized she’d lost her flask. We drove around to the venue and Alex went in to search. After 10 minutes she  returned, sad and flaskless. 
I said, “We can get you another one.”

She said, “Not this one.” 
Kim asked, “Where did you get it, Chrome Hearts? Somewhere expensive, right?”

Alex whispered sheepishly, “Erm…It was Gram Parsons’.”

We all start screaming yet again, and I shout: “GRAM PARSONS?? We just lost GRAM PARSON’S FLASK?? Are you fucking kidding? You have to go back in there and get it.”

Alex assured us that she had done a thorough search and it was gone, and we all mourned the fact that it was not only gone, but picked up by someone who will never know its true value. I pray it wasn’t stoned beer jerk. Alex took another sip of her extremely dangerous beer, and we clucked sadly. What a loss.

Next up, a late night dinner with a bottle of red wine, and a waiter who was so impressed with Alex’s determination to drink that glassed up ale that he strained it for her into 4 glasses. Yes, I drank it. I’m not proud at 1 am, puffy with PMS, coated in some asshole’s cup of Budweiser and refused at a backstage door. Who am I to say no to a little glass infused pumpkin ale? This is the bottle, sitting on our table prior to being carted off by a very indulgent waiter:

Kim and Ali:

Alex and me. My tongue is yellow from drinking shitty beer for three hours:

And lastly, back to Kim’s kitchen, where I ingest half a painkiller that had been hanging around in my bag since my birthday, and within minutes am floating on a mild opiate haze, which no doubt is the reason for the focus on this photo:
We spend the rest of the morning drinking French wine and dancing to songs of Kim’s choosing. We danced and danced and danced until 7 am. Each time shouting, “Last song and then we’re going to bed!” But the songs sounded so good, we just couldn’t stop.

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