Hail Cari, Full of Grace...

Did you know that I'm the Mother of God? Apparently, I am. I was informed of this interesting fact this morning at about 7:47a.m. by a man I shall now refer to as: Medical Mike.

Here we go:

About a month ago, while sitting on my balcony (by the way, my balcony has come to represent the porthole to all things "f-ing weird"), I noticed a strange man lurking about my apartment building. He was "strange" because of the following attributes:

1. He talks to himself...a lot.
2. He never changes his clothes.
3. He "lurks," as in, he paces back and forth in front of entrances.
4. He sometimes decides to sing his version of some sort of Gregorian Chant.
5. He pokes the air with his fingers.
6. He talks to himself...a lot.

Being that I am out on my balcony quite often, I noticed a pattern. The pattern went like this:

1. Lurk.
2. Poke things in the air.
3. Lurk some more.

I decided to tell Beau that we had a visitor among us. Beau reiterated that he had also seen him poking and lurking. At my vantage point on the balcony, I could easily watch him without him seeing me. And, from my bedroom window, I could watch him whenever I felt the need because of the direct view of the alley, or "lane" as my southern husband likes to call it. ("Lane" sounds more civilized than "alley," I am told.)

Many days of poking and lurking went by, and I finally had an epiphany.

"Beau! That crazy guy is trying to figure out the code on the door. That's what he's doing. He's a freakin' GENIUS! He's sitting there, poking the air over and over in as many sequences as he can think of. He's going to figure it out."

The next day, "That Crazy Guy" (his nickname wasn't "Medical Mike," yet) was in our building. I saw him get off the elevator. Since I am a Scorpio, and I love to investigate, I kept an eye on this guy. He sometimes gets in the side door. He sometimes props the back, basement door open with a tiny piece of wood. He waits outside of the front "secure" door, as well. He waits in the vestibule until someone comes out, and then he goes in. He leaves cigarette butts standing on their ends on counters. He smokes inside the building. He drinks beer occasionally. He drinks "Vault" every so often and leaves the cans in a nice, little row.

Now, I am not one to be upset by crazy people. I actually worked with mentally unstable children and teens that threw chairs at me. I know how to handle these situations. But, my dis-ease came with the fact that he is actually crazy and he's in my supposedly "secure" building, and I don't feel safe here, and I can't go to the basement to do my laundry, and what is he doing here and how did he get in and I'd like for him to not be wandering in my halls, talking to himself and smoking.

Then, I went through a thorough range of guilt feelings. "This man is mentally unstable. This man needs help. Do I call the police? Do I call the building manager? Ahhh! I'll call the building manager."

My building manager never answers his phone and never returns my calls. Ever. So, of course, being the nice tenant that I am, I promptly left a message that said, "Hey, John. I live in your apartment building. There is a mentally unstable man that has somehow gotten into the building. I just wanted to let you know because I saw that some children recently moved in. Also, the building isn't secure, and I don't really feel safe going to the basement to do laundry, since he sometimes gets in through there."

Nice message, right? Extremely polite, caring, "I don't want to cause any problems" type message, right? Yes.

Did John call me back? No. Does John EVER call me back? Even when there's a fire next door? No. No, John, building manager at the Blair Apartments does NOT call me back. EVER.

BUT, something did happen. "That Crazy Guy" was no where to be found for about two weeks. It was wonderful. Laundry was laundered, dogs were walked...life was simply grand. That is...until last night.

Gus is a wonderful, special dog, but sometimes he cries and cries and cries, and you have to take him out one more time or else he'll drive you crazy with crying. Well, last night was one of those nights. He had gone out just 3 hours before, and then came the crying. So, being a good mother and wife, I told Beau that I would take him out again. Beau was relieved and went to bed.

Everything was going along just swimmingly. I took Gus outside, he peed for 2 minutes straight (guess he really had to go), and then I noticed a cop pulling over a woman for running a red light. I continued to let Gus roam and sniff in the grass for a bit, while I watched the cop and the woman.

And, then...

"That Crazy Guy" comes running out of our building (he got in, of course) at full speed, towards me screaming, "MEDICAL! MEDICAL!" Now, you know from where the nickname comes.

In a state of disbelief and shock, I have no idea how to respond. This is where Gus comes in. Medical Mike, having not seen that I was trying to walk my dog, continues running towards me screaming "Medical! I'm a medical officer!"

Gus freaked the eff out on him. He barked his LOUDEST. He snarled and hated. It was the best thing I've ever seen in my entire life. Well, needless to say, Medical Mike did not like this. It scared the shit out of him, actually, and he proceeded to trip and fall (while running towards me). I had to hold back Gus and all of his 75 pounds with all of my might. Medical Mike then screamed, "Sorry! Sorry. I'm a medical officer."

Uh, riiiiigggghhhht. I'm sure you are, Medical Mike.

Then, Medical Mike decides to get the hell out of there because he sees the police. The police only say, "Are you okay?" to Medical Mike. Medical Mike says, "Yeah, I'm sorry, I was trying to help that woman. I'm a medical officer." The police say, "Okay." I'm all like, "Thanks, police. Thanks a lot. Medical Mike was running at me at full speed, and all you do is ask him if he's okay?" Wonderful.

Of course, I was in a complete state of shock at this point, and all I could think about was getting the hell back inside. Gus was still barking and growling as we walked back into the wonderfully secure apartment building, and Medical Mike was long gone.

When I got back to my apartment, I told Beau all about my little journey. I was laughing the entire time...I think it was one of those "laughing out of shock" moments. The famous last words of the night were, "I think Gus scared the shit out of Medical Mike. I don't think we'll see him again anytime soon."

Uh...riiiiiiiggghhhttt.

Now, our story comes to this lovely morning. Once again, I have to take Gus out. Beau came with me this time because he had to go to work. It goes like this every morning. I take Gus out and walk with Beau to his car. Gus does his business, and we happily trot back up to the apartment to start our morning with coffee that Beau has prepared as I sleep.

On this particular morning, everything went as planned. No Medical Mike in sight. No problems. Sunny, chipper morning. As I am going back into the building, I turn to go up the stairs to the 2nd floor, as usual. Who do I see waiting for me at the top of the 2nd floor?

That's right, everyone...Medical Mike. Medical Mike is now staring at me from the exact place I need to go. I think, "Just go. Just go up the stairs and walk past him." So, that's what I do. Gus, at this point, is not barking. He doesn't bark as much when we're inside. He kind of tried to bark, but it was early in the morning, and I didn't want him to wake anyone up. Anywhoo...back to the story:

So, Medical Mike says, "Hi."
I say, "Hi."
Medical Mike says, "Uh, pardon me," as I pass him.
I don't say anything, hoping that he'll leave me alone and not do something insane. As, I make my way down the long, long emerald green, carpeted hallway, I hear him say something. Want to know what Medical Mike says?

"You are not above God...and, you're going to hell." I keep thinking, "Just get to the apartment. Just go inside. Just get in. He now knows where you live, but just get the fuck inside." As I open my door to my apartment, I take one look back at Medical Mike. He's standing at the end of the hallway, staring at me. The light from the windows upstairs are pouring in all over him. He looks like an evil angel, and he repeats, "You're going to hell."

Thanks, Mike. That was a nice way to start my morning. Hey, Mike? Did you know that I absolutely hate any movie that has to do with scary, psychological events? Did you know that I hate long hallways in movies or anything that has to do with religious/scariness/stalkers? So, basically, Mike, you've hit the nail on the head with this last installment of your craziness. Way to freak me out for the rest of my life, Mike. Great job on that one.

But, wait! It doesn't end there!

I get inside and instantly lock my door. I try to call Beau 8 million times, but something is wrong with his phone. I literally have no idea what to do. Do I call the police? What if they get here, and he's gone? Do I call the building manager? He NEVER calls me back or fixes anything. Well, no need to worry about what to do next, people, because Medical Mike was not done fucking with me, today.

Medical Mike then proceeds to come directly in front of my door and says these things to me:

"You are the Mother of God. And, I have an eye as well as you. We all see the light of God, and you are Mary. OOOOHHHHH....AHHHHHHHH (that's the Gregorian Chant part)."

Are you kidding me, Medical Mike? Seriously? This is what I get to deal with now?

Look, I love Mary and collect candles, post cards, necklaces...pretty much anything that has little Mary "icons" on them. But, I really don't need you standing at my door and telling me that I'm her. That kind of fucks with my brain, Mike. Because, unlike others, things like that start getting in my head, and I can't stop thinking thoughts like, "What if crazy people really see things? What if crazy people know more than we think they know? What if they see 'real life,' and we don't?"

I have a very open-minded brain (redundant, I know), Medical Mike. You have now filled it with thoughts that I am Mary, the Mother of God. I do not appreciate this as I eat my Weight Watchers breakfast quesadilla. Now, all I can think is, "What would Mary do? Would Mary be on Weight Watchers? Would Mary use her allowance points for two beers, or would she splurge on a piece of cake? Mary probably wouldn't even USE her allowance points! That bitch! God, Mary would probably lose, like, 20 pounds in the first week."

Also, does this mean that Gus is God...I mean, since I'm Mary?

Also, why do "crazy" people always tell you that you're going to hell/spout off scripture? This makes me think that religion is for crazy people.

Ah, thank you for that realization Medical Mike. You're fucking crazy, and so is organized religion. Got it.

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Don't forget to go to mass tonight!