Chips, dip and glimpse of your future

First there were Tupperware parties. Then came Mary Kay, candles and jewelry made from recycled material in Africa.

I've admittedly been to my fair share (because hey, there's always food, usually alcohol and a slim chance that you might walk away with some free stuff).

There's also a good chance that you won't be able to afford anything there.

Myself, I'm a resale and clearance rack shopper. I'm broke and used to being broke and don't usually succumb to "this is a must-have item" pitches. But that doesn't make the purchasing period of the evening any easier.

Typically, when my cohorts begin pulling out their checkbooks and filling out order forms, I'll make myself busy with the chips and dip - or become suddenly intrigued by a hanging plant or ceramic animal in another room.

But I'm not a total cheap skate. I've purchased an essential item or two - take the beer bread mix from last year. The sales pitch, "just add one 12-ounce beer, stir and bake" was all I needed to hear.

Unfortunately I failed to take into consideration that even simplistic directions like "just add one beer and stir" would still produce an inedible, rectangular disaster in my kitchen. Who screws up a two-ingredient recipe? I do.

But this weekend was the the most blasphemous of all get-togethers: the psychic party. The set-up is similar to its party cousins, only instead of walking out with a knock-off purse or a $150 tourmaline ring, you go home with your future…theoretically.

It's okay to laugh. Despite the efforts of Montel Williams and prime time TV dramas, psychics haven't been able to kick their "for entertainment purposes only" status in the mainstream. But I like entertainment. And who am I to say this psychic doesn't have the power of foresight? Open mind, open mind, open mind.

So I enter the room and take a seat at the table with madam psychic. Greetings are exchanged and, somehow, we begin discussing how I dyed my hair jet black and used to iron it (yes, with an iron iron) back in high school. Then she begins.

Psychic: "You don't say much. But what you say has meaning."

[Um, was she not just listening?]

Me: "Actually, I talk a great deal."

Psychic: "Well, what you say is important. You don't just talk."

Me: "Actually, that's not true at all. I can spend an hour critiquing a Dunkin' Donuts commercial and that's not very important."

Psychic: "Yes, but you're not prone to babbeling."

This is right about the time my open mind completely closed up. She really couldn't have been any more off the mark. Thus, everything after that was met with a smile, a nod and a mental "riiiiiiight."

But hey, if I DO change careers, become a flight attendant, meet a freakishly tall guy on a plane, marry him and move to Michigan, well, I guess I'll just have to live with that.