Gasp!!

Vince Vaughn lives in my building.

I shit you not. After my Star Wars nerdfest last month I went back to my building to change, then waited for some friends to pick me up to head to a bar. As I stood in my building's lobby waiting for them, I heard a vaguely familiar voice behind me, but didn't give it too much thought. Three seconds later, a tall and VERY familiar-looking person walks right by me. My response is to stare at him, slack-jawed, as he walks down the hall and out of the lobby. I turned to my doorman and half-whispered "That was Vince Vaughn!!" The doorman gave a friendly nod, clearly unimpressed. "Oh my GOD!" I think the doorman thinks I'm crazy. Or else he is just way way cooler than me.

Obviously, this alone does not prove it. But the five hundred people I told this story to ventured a guess that the movie star-neighbor theory might explain my random celebrity sighting. I entertained it as a fun possibility, but not much more.

This afternoon I walked down to Fox & Obel, one of the yummiest places on earth and conveniently a mere block from my building, and on my way back, with bags in my hand, unkempt hair, and my glasses (albeit, they are sexy librarian glasses -- but when I'm trying to look good I tend to opt for contacts) -- and no makeup -- who do I spy walking in the opposite direction but, apparently, my newest neighbor?

And just so that I don't appear to be jumping to conclusions, there are, essentially, two things east of Fox & Obel on my street: my building, and Navy Pier. And my good buddy Vince wasn't dressed for Navy Pier.

Now I just need to find out his apartment number so I can stalk, er, deliver a welcome basket to him.

(Yeah, the lesbian thing didn't last long this time).