I accidentally astral projected into Caroline Rhea’s house
It was just a week ago. I was snug in my bed in my Brooklyn apartment with my air conditioning and train noises buzzing around my head. What are we calling this part of our lives now? Quarantine? Does that make sense? When all we do is quarantine, each day of our lives, are we still, quarantining? Whatever we call it, I was in bed doing nothing. There’s this paralysis I feel when choosing how to pass the time in quarantine. There are too many options, I could read, I could learn how to properly quilt, or make chilaquiles, or learn to meditate. Too many decisions, which leads me to make the easiest decision, and that is, to do nothing.
Horizontal in my twin bed, I decided the best pairing with doing nothing, is to mindless scroll TikTok. See, to my brain this pairing is on par with a beautiful cabernet and a rack of lamb.
“TikTok and lay in bed”, the futuristic Bonnie and Clyde pairing of nihilism.
I scroll past the vegan recipes, and the athletic dance moves, I haven’t done any exercise during quarantine beyond walking. I’m afraid if I kick my leg or “hit the woah”, my body will in essence, collapse, like some potatoes trying to escape their own sack.
Inhaling my diet coke that is stationed handily near my bed, I land on a gold mine in TikTok. Astral projecting TikTok. I don’t know what the intended use for TikTok was — I know for Vine, there was a lot of yodeling and comedy videos. However, I feel like this is the point of TikTok — leaving my body.
The TikTok I watched is of a girl in her early twenties, where she talks about how a Youtube video is circulating of a man who can hypnotize you and help you to astral project, or to see a previous life you have. The girl goes on to explain that she was transported back in the 19th century, where she had fair skin, pointy shoes, children, and a husband. She felt the love of her previous life husband, and her children, and as she goes on to tell her story, she is crying. She is shaken up from her experience.
As someone who is a mother to a plant, and a yeast infection, I couldn’t imagine my life without them, and I understand how this girl must have felt to be thrown back into the reality of our Trumpian dystopic 2020 fuckfest. Thank god she was taken back to a time where she felt safe and loved. Maybe what she didn’t see is that she was hopping onto the Santa Maria, and then whoops, later died of dysentery. That wouldn’t have been a fun flash back.
The TikTok artist (I am sure that’s what they are referred to) gave a link to the Youtube where the man who hypnotizes you to astral project can be located. I gave it some pause, and thought, hell, why not try this out. If you can remember, just from a couple paragraphs above, we are in a hellscape and there is nothing to do. So, I plug in my phone and find the Youtube video.
The Youtube video is shown of a man, who looks similar to Joel Osteen, bit a but older and maybe if he were on Zoloft. The video appears to be recent, but not that recent since there are a lot of people in attendance in this lecture this man is giving. He is seated with a microphone, and he explains the process that he will take to hypnotize us. I lay in bed and put my headphones on and get comfy. He explains he will take us through the process and first we have to imagine ourselves as an egg. He starts to slow down his way of talking, he starts to count backwards, I am picturing myself as an egg, which is great because I love eggs.
I forget what happens directly after that, but I assume it’s because the hypnosis was working,and I am in an egg, and then abruptly after, the egg cracks, and I am in my body, lighter, but in a bathroom.
From there I decided to relieve myself. Why not. Truthfully, I don’t know when the next time I’ll be allowed to use the astral bathroom. I went number one and two — it was actually a bit of diarrhea. I assume that the astral plane that took me from my bed to this bathroom had some turbulence. I then freshen up, brush my teeth with the toothbrush and wash my hands.
I scrambled to find a “Poopouri” which is a staple in my household, and I am surprised to not find one in this household. While there is shuffling in the bathroom, I heard a woman’s voice go “Hello?” then “Who’s there?” I decided to be truthful and I said “it’s Andy.” I was then met with a “Andy Dick? What are you doing he-” and that was the moment I bumped into Caroline Rhea.
She screamed at the top of her lungs “Who are you?” Then I shouted “I said I was Andy!” She was confused, upset, and startled. I was mostly startled because at first I thought she was Victoria Jackson, of esteemed SNL and republican fame. She was so angry that she grabbed a broom, and started to say “get out of my house!” Then at that point I said “Victoria I am so sorry, I’ll try and leave.” She was so upset then she curled her fist and attempted to punch me, but, I was merely an astral projection, just a ghost. “Don’t you ever call me Victoria Jackson, EVER again — or I’ll send you to hell you little ghost bitch.” I was stunned. This woman definitely wasn’t Victoria Jackson, and I made a glimpse over to her Roomba which was on the floor, which had a small witch hat on it, as a gag. Then all of the puzzle pieces came together, she was the aunt from Sabrina.
“I’m so sorry, you’re the aunt from Sabrina” I said. She then replied “Caroline Rhea, and who are you?” I responded “Andy” again, and this time I made sure it was audible. I assumed she probably didn’t hear me the last two times because those Hollywood sets must be loud and she probably has lost her hearing in the past decades. “So you’re Andy the ghost?” Caroline asked. “Well, kind of, I am more or less astral projecting, I learned it from a TikTok.”
She then pointed at a chair in her kitchen and said “come, sit down and talk to me awhile.” She let me know that I am not the first spooky appearance that has been made in her house. “Actually, I am having an on-again-off-again thing with Michael Jackson and Elvis.” What a beautiful thing love is, I thought. “Wow” I replied. “Elvis is a great lover, he actually likes to do it doggy style, and then I make us peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.” My mouth dropped. I couldn’t believe it — “I thought his favorite was peanut butter, bacon, and, banana.” I said. She smirked and poured us some tea. “That’s what everyone thinks, but, only I know the truth. And, yes Michael is in the picture too. I don’t tell him too much about Elvis and I, he gets jealous you understand.” “Certainly” I responded.
She then puckered her nose and said “Is that stench from your astral projecting?” I looked back at the bathroom in embarrassment and without a beat I said “I guess, I’m sorry, I haven’t done this before.” She drank her tea, and then drank mine without asking if I was going to attempt to drink it. She then motioned to the next room. “Let me show you around buttercup.” I thought why the hell not, this was better than watching TikToks. She led me to her living room slash trophy shrine. She said “Here’s all of my Hollywood Square trophies, from all of the times I won.” My heart shined, I felt so happy. “I would have fifteen of these, but I only have fourteen, because my last one was stolen from me. That piece of garbage Whoopi Goldberg and Gilbert Godfried teamed up on me and didn’t let me win my last trophy before the show got shut down.” A tear swelled up in her face. “But,” she shrugged “I guess life goes on.” I went over to touch one of the trophies and I said “I guess I didn’t know they gave you trophies?” “Sure they do,” she responded “that’s what the H is for in EGHOT, Emmy, Grammy, Hollywood Square, Oscar, Tony.” “Huh” I said “I guess I never thought of it that way, that’s so amazing!”
Time went on and she told me about all of her celebrity encounters and interactions. I learned that Melissa Joan Hart has IBS, Beth Broderick (the other Sabrina aunt) was actually a witch, and poly before it was cool, and that one time Caroline got t-boned in a car by Melissa Mccarthy trying to get into a Starbucks.
“What a life you’ve lived” I said in wonderment. I hope my life gets to be as fun as yours. “Well” I took a deep breath and looked at my wrist “I might have to head back to my normal body.” She then started to try and caress my astral hair, and said “why don’t you stay a bit.” She leaned in and tried to kiss me, but fell on her face because I didn’t have a body. “I am so sorry Caroline,” I said “I have to let you know I’m gay.” She pulled up her bra, because she was at the time trying to take it down, and I assume show me the goods. “I should have known, you have a kind heart.” I told her that maybe it would be fun if we could meet in real life, since all I did was astral project from my body in New York. She agreed and said that would be a great idea, and to find her after quarantine.
I gave her an astral kiss on the cheek goodbye, and clicked my two feet together. It was instinctual, but also just because I thought it was funny. I was transported back to my actual body. There I laid in amazement, both surprised but happy. I then sniffed, and was taken aback, as I reached down my pants, and realized I didn’t just shit in the astral plane, but I shit my actual pants.
All in all, there were some drawbacks, but — to meet Caroline Rhea, it was all worth it.
