Why crazy crap?

Because crazy crap happens to me all the time -- and this despite the fact that I work at home, and so seldom travel out into the wide world. It's oft and anon been suggested that I start a blog to record this crazy crap, but until now, I have resisted.

So why this change of heart?, you ask. Simple efficiency. I feel compelled to tell all my friends about crazy crap in my life, via email, phone and IM. I'm tired of telling all this crazy crap over and over. So here, I'll just say it once and be done with it.

So, to begin:

Crazy Crap Item #1: The part where I'm being stalked
As I mentioned, I work from home. One day last week, I receive an email message from someone I've never met. It goes thusly:

How are you today..?? I hope all is well....I think you and I spoke on the phone a couple of times..You are actually my former sister in law..Richard Bryan Jones..was my husband..We had a daughter Heather..
She and I had a life..that was usually hell on earth..

The email goes on for some length, railing bitterly against the world, and thanking God for working in mysterious ways -- ie. that she has found me after all these years.

All well and good ... except I have no idea who this person is. But I move on to other emails, and forget the mistaken missive -- until I receive another:

Dear Kay,
I hoped you or Rick would want to get to know your beautiful relative.. Heather [last name deleted] ..Maybe it would be a great blessing for all concerned..I know the Lord moves in mysterious ways.

Please write back,
Thanks,
Heather's Mom
Patty

OK, so now I figure I must set her straight, so I respond briefly:

I believe you have the wrong Kay Daly. I don't know any Rick.

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to do. Now I receive what verges on a tirade, listing all our relatives in common, asking how I could say I don't know them. How sad for all of you to have such an attitude.. she bemoans.

So I clarify:

You have the wrong person. I've never lived in San Diego. I don't know any of the people you are describing. Kay Daly is a very common name. Daly is my married name.

Simple. Clear. To the point. But insufficient:

Dear Kay,
Thanks for your reply..this is very strange..the Kay Daly.. I read about is Kay Ryon Daly..mother Joy..(Heather's grandmother)... and so forth

So I reassure her that I am indeed NOT the person she seeks. Three emails later (to which I do not respond), she teases out the truth, and agrees to leave me alone.

That is, until today -- 5 days after her last email, she re-emerges:

Will you please ask Rick to call us..(phone number deleted)..It's very important.

And so, we are back to square one it seems.

Crazy Crap Item #2: The part where I'm picked up by a priest
Well, actually, he didn't really pick me up. But anyhoo, I was out reviewing a play, and as the intermission started, I got the sense the man sitting a few seats to my right was going to try to get my attention and engage me in conversation. This is not something I want.

So I take out my phone, and pretend to be checking messages and such, hoping against hope that I can keep up this charade for the full 15 minutes of intermission. I can't. And the second I look up, he pounces.

"You're reviewing the show, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"For what publication?"

"TimeOut Chicago"

"I was so glad TimeOut came here. I'm from New York originally. It was like my Bible there for going out. So I'm really glad it's here ... [more talk of the magazine and his time in NY. i nod and smile.]"

"So," he stops, conspiratorially, "What do you think of the show?"

Dear reader, this criticial discussion of a show while it's still underway -- this is not something I like to do. It's rude. The director might be right behind you. The lead actor's mother may be on your left. You never know. But he'll not be put off, so I share some insights. He agrees, and wants to dish the show more. Awkward.

He asks what I do for a living. I tell him I freelance full-time, and he notes that it seems like a hard way to earn a living. I take this as an opportunity to mention my husband, so as discourage any interest -- he works full-time, so a full income is not required of me, etc.

Then my new friend reveals that he used to be a reporter as well. "Oh? Where?" I ask, feigning interest. East Coast. Six years. Ago. "And what do you do now?" A priest.

Hmmm. See, crazy crap.

Crazy Crap Item #3: The part where I write a mean review
Being a theater critic isn't all going to shows and fending off the advances of priests. It also requires the actual writing of the review. Which is what I did this morning.

Eamon (beloved husband) has been schooling me in not pulling my punches in my reviews. I tend to come home saying "That was awful" and end up writing "That was not half-bad." Learning to be honest is a good lesson, so I'm taking it to heart.

So this time, I pull no punches. I review a revue of big band music featuring a rather callow young man who has as much charisma as day-old macaroni. I say as much in my review. Proudly, I inform Eamon of my feat. As we're discussing our plans for the day, he happens to glance at my review, still on screen.

"Whelan?" he asks. "Mike Whelan?"

"Yes," I say. The singer I have savaged.

"I went to high school with him."

Hm. Crazy.