Improbable

Remember that overactive imagination I mentioned before?  That overactive imagination is an unavoidable side-effect of being me.  And because of it, my life is about ten times more complicated than it needs to be.  Because when you have an overactive imagination, no event gets a simple explanation.

In some cases, this can actually be helpful.  I'm like a mental Boy Scout -- always prepared.  For instance, no serial killer will ever fool me by hiding in the backseat of my car.  Before I even open my driver's side door, I check through the windows for backseat lurkers.  Sometimes, I even check my trunk, just in case a passing serial killer needed a place to stash a potential victim, and my trunk was handy.

But most of the time, the complex situations I invent are more a vague entertainment than a helpful preparation.  Please allow me to give you some example situations, taking place in and around my apartment complex.

Situation #1: Every week when I take my trash down to the pick-up bins, I notice an empty, gallon-sized glass bottle of Merlot.  Since the trash is emptied every Tuesday, this means that every week, someone in my apartment building is drinking an entire gallon of Merlot.  Therefore, this person drinks Merlot like I drink milk.

Simple Explanation: The woman in Apt. #2 likes Merlot, and is kind of an alcoholic.

My Explanation: The woman in Apt. #2 met her first husband on her travels in France.  He was a young US soldier, she a naive university student.  With each passing day, the two of them fell deeper and deeper in love.  But cruel circumstances sought to part them; she had to return home to finish her studies, and he would transfer to a new European military base.  On the eve of their separation, they stole away from their respective obligations and met at a tiny little café, where they drank a bottle of Merlot beneath the sparkling moonlight.

Although they were parted in the coming months, they always had Merlot and moonlight.  In the years that followed, after they had been married, they celebrated each anniversary with a bottle of Merlot.  But now that he has passed, and she has found love again in a new man, she still can't forget their old love, and toasts him every evening, in the moonlight, with a glass of Merlot.

Situation #2: All the dogs in the neighborhood spontaneously erupt into raucous, long-lasting fits of barking.  They do this once every two weeks or so, creating a very eerie soundtrack for my bedtime preparations.

Simple explanation: One of them started barking, and the others thought it was a really good idea.

-OR-

There was a coyote, and they were afraid.

-OR-

Someone walked by.

My Explanation: There is a ghost in the neighborhood, which appears every two weeks.  This ghost is the ghost of a Confederate soldier, who, during the Battle of Nashville, was waiting in a very good hiding place to ambush any Union soldiers that happened by.  That was before the dogs found him, and started to bark and howl, betraying his position to the Union Troops.  Needless to say, his hiding place wasn't very good anymore.

Now, he returns every two weeks to punish the species that caused his demise.  He rattles their cage doors, pulls their tails, and stands just beyond leash range, torturing all the dogs in the neighborhood.  I call this ghost the Confederate Canine Poltergeist (or CCP), and am almost positive that he really exists.

~On a completely unrelated note, I think I am going to start saying "saving numbers" instead of "saving money."  I don't really feel like I save money, since I use my debit card waaaaaaaaay too often.  I'm really just saving numbers on my computer screen.  And now, back to the regularly scheduled program.~

Situation #3: Sometimes, after the gates to the complex have closed, my friends come over for some kind of get-together or shindig I happen to be hosting.  My apartment is literally right in front of the gates, so how this usually goes down is: 1.) They drive up to the gates. 2.) They call me.  3.) I pick up my remote for the gates, pull back my balcony curtains, and open the gate from my living room.

But sometimes, especially when PinkFriend is involved, something magical happens.  The gates mysteriously open without any prompting from me, without any impatient residents waiting behind her, and without any pedestrians visible.

Simple Explanation: The gate got confused and opened due to a proximity sensor of some kind.

My Explanation: One of the residents in Building B sits at his window, remote in the ready position, watching for anyone getting stuck at the gate.  When he sees this happening, he uses the powers given him by a higher being, and allows them entrance to the apartment complex.  This gives him a strange feeling of benevolent omnipotence, an emotion to which he is now addicted.

(*Note: This is a really bad idea, Building B Power-Trip Man.  What if you admit a serial killer to the complex?!  But perhaps he's thought of that, since he usually only lets PinkFriend in.  Even I can't imagine a serial killer driving a little white PT Cruiser).

-OR-

PinkFriend uses her Disney magic to send a signal to the gate.  Since all technology can be trumped by Disney magic, the gate opens magically for her, and her alone.

I should get me some of that Disney magic.  But it'd probably cost too many numbers...

There is actually another explanation for the gate thing having to do with a hobgoblin, what lives in the signal box.  He likes PinkFriend a lot.  He is also a cousin to the monster in the ice-maker of my parents' refrigerator, and his brother is the whatsit that lives in the lint trap of the dryer and steals socks.

But those will be stories for a different blog post, because I'm tired of writing and I can't think of a good conclusion for this desultory collection of anecdotes.  Yet, do not fear, good readers!  For every good writer knows, when in doubt about a conclusion, just use the old stand-by:

-THE END.-