As previously mentioned, while I was in New York for the weekend, two friends and I went to a comedy show featuring two correspondents from The Daily Show. The show was hosted by Adam Lowitt**, a producer on the show, who also did some stand-up of his own and was quite funny. The next day, one of the aforementioned friends texted me to say that she had a dream about the host of the comedy show. A sexy dream.
Cut to this afternoon- I left work early for a doctor's appointment and stopped by the Brookline Booksmith to pick up the book I supposedly read for Book Club, which I was hosting. (let's not discuss the fact that I was buying the book mere hours before the meeting.***) Anyways, so my slacker self just paid for my purchase when I noticed a guy who looked so familiar to me. It took me a few seconds to place him, when suddenly I realized he was the host of the comedy show I had seen in Manhattan on Saturday night. Internally, I debated going up to him and saying hello. Hey, he was funny, and I felt that the coincidence of me seeing him in New York then in Brookline two days later warranted mention. But would that be really creepy? And should I tell him my friend had a sex dream about him? That would probably be creepy. In the end, I went over and said hello and told him that I had just seen him on stage in NYC. He was nice and was with his sister, whom he was visiting. I opted not to tell him about my friend's dream.
* Oooh, a racy title. I like it.
** Hey Adam, in case you Google yourself, welcome to my creepy blog.
*** The book was Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston, whose apartment in Harlem I coincidentally walked by this weekend. The first two chapters were really good, and I tried to make up for the fact that I didn't finish it with this delicious nicoise salad: