Nukes and Ninjas

Hi. My name is Sarah, and I'm a weirdo magnet. *Whew* It feels good to get that off my chest. Remember the laundry room lady who told me all about her bra preferences and her methods for protecting her undies from petty theft? Or the guy on the bus in Cleveland who told me all about why the impending end of the world is intrinsically connected to the sagging economy, Egyptian nuclear technology, and the gay olympics? The one on the inner city subway train who politely offered to pee on me? The all-camouflage-clad dude with the all-chrome teeth who wanted to know where I lived, apparently so he could help take my trash to the curb every Thursday? (I never told you about him? Well, take my word for it: weird.) The very disheveled woman who walks her dog past my house every afternoon? The one who inexplicably knows my name, and says she should give me one of her numerous BMW's because I should be her daughter? These people find me. Single me out and talk to me. Tell me their intimate business. Offer advice, cautionary predictions, urine, and cars. In the latest episode of this, I was walking toward the gym downtown a few days ago. As I passed the public library, I heard a voice way off in the distance along a row of park benches. At first it just said, "Eaaaaaah. EAAAaaAh!" like a larynx that had grown rusty from years of disuse. Then it said, "Wweeeaaaayt. WAYyT!" like a tongue just learning to form words for the first time. "WAIT!" it repeated, with all the joy and urgency of someone who has finally cracked the code and figured out how to communicate with the human race around him. "WAIT! I love you! Wait! LOVE!" So...um...either I have a soul mate and he sleeps outside the public library, or... I am a weirdo magnet. With years of consideration, I've concluded it's a genetically heritable condition because my Dad totally has it, too. Except he's more like a supermagnet. After all, he found the lady who thought she was a Native American medicine woman, demanded that everyone call her GrayFox, swore that ninjas were attacking the roof of her trailer at night, and insisted that she had given birth to hundreds of children in her sleep but they all grew up and scampered away before she awoke in the morning. Compared to that, my magnetism is (thankfully) weak sauce at best.