It's spring and it's Fleet Week and a crazy pent-up energy is roiling in from the piers. You are in the middle of it, in a stranger's apartment on 42nd Street, hard up against the docks. You are ironing and you have taken off your skirt. You have prepared for this occasion by wearing both underwear and rollerblades. It strikes you that your life might be odd, that to say you embrace the unusual might be an understatement.