Adverb girls and Plural Identities (Geez-I sound like School House Rock..."Conjunction, Junction What's your Function?")

Just like I have an unobtainable, insatiable fascination and mystical rapport and with female goddesses whose first name ends in the letter 'a'; this has been a week laden with "ly"-adverb first name girls. Beautiful Ally, a very dear friend gave me her phone digits (i didn't have a pen/paper on me so she pulled me over on the side of the road and in a very observant Mrs. Woolson fashion watched as I memorized her digits and then forgot them later on during the day--d'oh!)...My friend Nelly just left, who, (geez-David) came up to my work desk and knew my name and knew all about me and I had to squint because she looked vaguely, somewhat a tad familiar but I honestly can't remember ever meeting her before and when I honestly confessed to her all this she smiled and said that that's what I always say to her....which means that (according to her) we've had the conversation about me-not-remembering-her-name-and-trying-to-be-all polite-and-professional-about-it a total of three times over a two year period....
 
Also uncanny and weird is that there are precisely three individuals slacking around the Peoria area who look EXACTLY like me. Think Conrad's Secret Sharer. Think Doppleganger. We all sport pony-tails, scurry around town in an awkward gait and have very angular and gaut facial features.  Uncle Mike was skirting around town this morning when he swore he saw me in a coffee shop only I was at home asleep. My sister thought she saw me downtown walking out of a strip club last week when I was in Chicago drooling over Julie Delpy's unblemished performance in Before Sunset. I've had (bona fide) girls that I Know I've never met come up and yell at me, addressing me as either Chris or Matt. When I was twenty-two I went to City Hall to pay a traffic violation and was (!) arrested and interrogated for over and hour because I looked just like a low key drug assalaint.  I was sequestered by P-town's finest in this little room in the basement and I made the very inopportune mistake of using the word "kafkaesque" to the police chief (new word of the day, next to "epiphanous") and then had to define the word Kakaesque which entailed a verbose synopsis of who Franz Kafka was as well as a book-report of Kafka's "The Trial" where the protagonist of the short story is arrested, tried, convicted in front of a jury and eventually executed (gulp) for a crime that he has no clue he commited; a crime whose exact nature therof is NEVER explained to him.
 
Needless to say, after I submitted my bookreport to the officer he sounded very much like my friend daniela when he declared that I was "too smooth" and cuffed me and pelted me with querries, barking invectives and vulgarities in my left earlobe until I was deaf. Finally, after an hour, they said I was clear and could go and they showed me a picture of the assailant and it turned out (?) I knew the lad--a hippie journalist by the name of Matt-- and turned him in.
 
The police Thanked me, offered me a donut, but refused to assuage my $75 speeding ticket. Bastard Pigs!!!
   
 Chris is also my in townie twin. He's almost exactly ten years older than me and he's the son of a well-known contemporary psychoanalyst. What's even more bizarre is that we've split a total of three girls between us (only one of them-- Vanessa--the love of my life who I've yet to blogg b/c the heart still measures her as a fairy tale butterfly-angel--name ends in 'a').  I've met Chris a total of three times. When I transfered schools four years ago Brook, my then girlfriend and a psych-prof, told me that she was "in love" with someone who looked just like me but was her age and I immediately had and inkling it was devious-toothed Chris, who used to salivate like a Pavlovian-chiuaua over Vanessa. While Brook was two-timing me with Chris, Chris also had a fiancee whom he was two-timing with Brook. About a year after this torrid tryst occured I met a girl named Cheryl at a RAVE who told me she was in town for a few days from Netherlands (she spoke what I thought was perfect dutch) and in the immortal words of Ben Affleck in CHASING AMY we "SHARED A MOMENT" plural and then a week later I saw Cheryl (who I thought was supposed to be back in Europe at this time) walking hand in hand with Chris at a swanky furniture outlet filling out a bridal registry and she pretended not to see me when Chris scowled and I'm like, "Shit!" at the whole situation and because I'm a blabbermouth the next time I saw crazy-Brook I boasted to  her about my terse encounter with Cheryl and Brook (the so--called professional) went out of her way to contact Chris--even though they hadn't spoken in a year; even though Chris had "shattered" Brook's heart (while I thought Brook was being "faithful" to me--whatever that means these days -I was faithful to Brook-)...and Chris was so infuriated with Cheryl that he called off the wedding and then Cheryl found out only then about Chris and Brook and once again, Peoria's finest were called in to mediate the situation. Which today I still find 'sick' b/c duplicitous Brook, Chris and Cheryl are REALLY brilliant, intelligent human beings who grade college kids on how to think and they were running around town then in their early-thirties acting like they just discerned that they have genitals, which, at the time, when I was in my early twenties and I desperately wanted to kick it and socialize with cool people who had passion and intellect--made me even more dubious about so--called 'adults' or even people bearing authoritative positions. 
 
Chris and Cheryl later got married. So did Brook, to someone who had cash and could afford not to pay attention while she continued to fall in love with various students. Which means David only has one more twin to blogg about, his name being Charlie.
 
Next to Vanessa (who I swear I'll blogg about one of these days because in terms of romantic stories and human loss--you ain't heard nothing yet) Charlie is one of the most talented writers I have ever met. He conducts prolific fairy-tale Dylanesque songs and he's (sadly) a perfect example of what hardcore...I mean hardcore, drugs can do to a brilliant mind in terms of paranoia and delusion. When we see each other it's like I'm looking in a mirror, only when I scratch my head with my right hand, it appears to be the polar opposite.  He quit his job yesterday and I had a dream about him last night.
 
That's my weird life in terms of twins. And you thought our blogging rapport was weird.