I’ve had a talent for willing bizarre things in my life. That includes both good and bad.
- Getting my favorite comedians to retweet me or mention me on a podcast.
- Getting caught in the middle of a shootout.
- Dancing around as a Van Halen girl on a movie set for 5 hours.
- Having a homeless guy chase me through a parking lot and jangle his junk around while pointing at me.
All instances that I followed coincidences to get to.
I like the idea of synchronicity and every time I’ve followed it, I’ve come out the other end with some sort of story to tell about it.
Greg Giraldo, an awesome comedian, keeps popping up. In conversations, books, and on TV. More than I’ve ever seen before, especially considering he died three years ago. I can’t turn a corner without someone mentioning him or some outlet referencing his stand-up.
It’s great, but it’s becoming unavoidable.
So I pulled up some video from his tribute special on Comedy Central. There’s a small segment of him describing his stand-up as “puckish.” I instantly thought of Puck from the Real World circa 1994. That and a Midsummer’s Night Dream poster with Michelle Pfeiffer on it, that hung in my 8th grade English class.
My ability to retain information has gone down since a six month stint in college, so I looked up “puckish.”
Essentially: “playful, in mischievous way.”
An adorable way to describe his comedy.
Then I thought to myself, I wish Greg Giraldo would haunt me and be my spirit guide in the world of comedy.
I thought on it for a while and thought of all the fun adventures we’d have.
Then I went and packed my crap up to go gym.
About ten minutes later, I went outside and opened the driver side door of my car and leaned across it. I threw my gym back to the passenger side, my ass is hanging out the door.
I turned around and looked at my house, thinking maybe my mom was trying to get my attention. Nothing was there.I turned back and started to climb into the car, ass still hanging out, I heard it again.
I turned around again, embarrassed, thinking someone was making fun of my ass and I hadn’t been sharp enough to catch them the first time. I turned back to the car.
I looked around again, at the door of the house, the windows, the neighbors houses, behind the cars. I felt like an asshole. Was someone playing a joke on me and my ass?
It wasn’t an animal, there was no one around, and I haven’t smelt burning feathers recently. It sounded like someone was trying to get my attention.
Awfully, PUCKISH, amiright?
I scrambled into the car, locked the doors, and drove on the lawn.
Could this be another stepping stone on the synchronicity trail?
I’m going to meditate more on this and I’ll let you know if I conjure up anything else.
Until next time, fart-ners.