Will My Official Guide To Bizzaro World Please Stand Up?
Because I'd like a refund. Or that is, I think I know why God doesn't shower us with constant miracles--because the repetition of something amazing becomes suspect. We, the Cynical, (and you know who you are), begin to wag our heads and roll our eyes and we say, "Oh, give me a break. It's getting ridiculous now."

I say this because I don't want to dive headfirst into the last 12-15 hours of my life as a Sign From Above. I used Signs for my last relationship and it didn't last. I'm not ready to discount Signs as just fancy, dressed up coincidences, because I love the idea that (sing it Bette) "God Is Watching Us". I just don't know what to make of this.

Okay, now I'll tell you what happened today. I parked my car in NJ yesterday afternoon because the weather would transform all drivers into drooling morons, including me. So I took the train in from work yesterday and this morning accordingly, I was destined for the subway to get back to NJ. Well, given that I'm fully infected with Short-Timers Syndrome, I left this morning when I was Dang Good And Ready, and in doing so I met this girl from the second floor also leaving at the same time. I didn't really meet her, I just wound up going down the last flight of stairs behind her. Then we came upon a suspicious looking brown lump on the next to last stair. She addressed it aloud, thereby making conversation. Okay, now, here's the deal--she's another of these cool, brave, or oblivious white girls in this neighborhood. The total rises to three, now, I think. There's the one in the neighboring building, whom I thought at one time might have been a lesbian, but I now know to be a wackjob with two uncontrollable dogs and a temper scraped from under the left testicle of Satan. Her I hate. Then there's Cool Jazz Girl, of whom I love. And now there's Exotic Name Girl. Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, we speak a little more on the way out to the front door--I am bringing the bag of the old tenant's mail down that I've collected since I moved in because it keeps arriving along with mine, and I'm soliciting tips from her on how to flag the mailman's attention, knowing full well how to do it having once been a Postal Employee, and also having done so for my blind client after his downstairs neighbors packed up and went to parts unknown. But I wanted to talk to the girl, so I 'faked' conversation. Now, tell me, is every girl bright, energetic, with good senses of humor these days? Well, I think Cool Jazz Girl was kind of shy. But not this new one. Her hair is curly and about the color of ginger ale. She has a full, sparkling set of teeth. She looks you right in the eye when speaking to you. She went toward the A-train stop, and I went toward the #3 train (where I met the leprechaun on the way to Penn Station, see previous post).

Right. Now. I left work early today because, of the ST Syndrome coursing in the veins, and I usually meet with my buddies on Wednesday nights for gaming, but it was called off. So I have nothing specific to do. So I went, bought me some comics (the new ones came out today), then decided to gravitate back toward my favorite neighborhoods, giving no credence to my racial guilt. I got off at 96th St and Broadway. I peeked into the Lemongrass Grill restaurant and decided to be adventurous. I went in, sat down, and ordered Duck Salad. It was like "WHOA!" I'm reading my comicbook (They killed Phoenix again. Yawn.) I look up. I tell my eyes to stop lying to me. Then I look again. I'm not believing it. Now I have a choice. Do I say nothing, as usual, and let life slide quietly by me? Or do I speak?

I spoke.

I said, "Um, excuse me?"

Waiting for her take-out food is the girl I met in my hallway this morning.

Now, you want to tell me what the heck is THAT all about????????????????

How is THAT girl--the ONE neighbor I decided to make conversation with this morning--how is SHE in the same restaurant at the same time as me, 12 hours, three avenues, and fifty blocks away?!?!?!

Who's hands am I in???? And what are they doing??????

Well, who knows what she was thinking?? But she looked as amazed to see me. She recited our address as confirmation that I was the same guy she saw this morning, and I was all staggers and stammers, and she tells me what floor she lives on, and she tells me her name, and so I now can refer to her as Exotic Name Girl, and I tell her mine and what floor I'm on, and we shake hands and she mentions how much noise is up here where I live (music and the like) and I complain about Psycho Girl Whom I Hate who throws her trash directly out of her window into the airspace, instead of trashbagging anything (with her one dog that barks all all all all night long). Then her food comes, and she leaves and I hope she's shaking her head like I'm shaking mine because this is a city with eight million people in it, okay--and that's on the island on Manhattan alone. This is the kind of stuff you see on Friends (R.I.P.), or That Girl, or Caroline in The City. It can't really happen! The odds alone would tilt the planet.

But it did.

So what should I do?

Me at 3/17/2004 10:53:00 PM

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