Today, Nov. 21, I witnessed a set of events that were so bizarre that I had to write them down. Some time around 2:20 a. m., I peered through very sleepy eyes at a female figure standing in my living room as she removed her shoes and gently nuzzled herself between the two bodies of my son and granddaughter on our sofa and went into dreamland. Upon awaking, none of us knew who she was — or she us! She asked, “Why am I here? Who are you? Where am I?” My son and I answered, almost in unison, “We don’t know why you’re here or who you are — and you’re in Point Loma.” We all just stared at each other in amazement. I asked her if she knew my grandson, and she said, “no.” This was confirmed with a call to him on his cell phone. I asked her where she lived and it turned out that she lived at least 20 miles north of our location. She had lost her purse with all of her precious possessions — identification, debit cards, car keys, apartment keys, cell phone and jewelry. She was with friends in Mission Beach before heading into Ocean Beach to Newport Avenue. Her car stayed parked on the Belmont Park parking lot. They went to The Sandbar before driving to Ocean Beach to Gallagher’s and to Pacific Shores. She remembered that the bar had booths against the wall. Her purse was nowhere to be found. Our guest put her hands up to her face and realized that they smelled like Mexican food. She and her friend had stopped at “Rodrigo’s”— or was it “Ocean Beach Burrito?” It turned out to be Roberto’s on Voltaire Street, which had a special called “Ocean Beach Burrito!” Our guest had apparently been “ruffied” [sometime before this with a date-rape drug]. We drove to her car only to discover that Western Towing had it and quoted $330 [to get it out of impound]. We decided it was time to make a police report. [It turns out] female “sensitivity” training would be a great idea for our San Diego police force and a reminder to treat each assault victim as one’s own daughter, sister, aunt, grandmother or mother (because one day it could be). This woman calls her own cell phone and another woman announces our guest’s purse has been found. She bursts into tears and lays her head over in relief. Her purse was found earlier across the street from my apartment leaning against the telephone pole! We decide that our guest was followed and that she ran down the hill, dropped her purse, was grabbed, forced to the upper parking lot between two cars, had her shirt pulled over her head — knocking off her beanie — and the attacker, hearing my grandson’s footsteps and the sound of our door closing, took off. Our guest, disoriented, wandered down the walkway toward my apartment, stopped to steady herself on the mailboxes, returned to the walkway, felt her way along the wall, opened the screen door, opened the front door, walked inside, took off her shoes and fell asleep on our sofa. I drove her to Western Towing. She thanked my 4-year-old granddaughter for helping her get through the worst day of her young life and walked over to her friend who met us there. I handed her the beloved beanie and watched them walk up to the window to retrieve her car. It’s 2 a. m. (again) and I’m finishing this whirling turn of events for your reading pleasure! I hope you enjoyed it without getting too dizzy! By the way, this is all true!