15 minutes, a la Megarita

I drove back from the gym today (that's right, Judgy McRighteous, I drive to the gym!) and found a TV news van parked in front of my place. My first thought? "Am I famous? About damn time!" quickly followed by, "I wish I'd worn the 'look at me i'm hot' gym clothes rather than the typical, ratty 'why look good here?' gym clothes." This train of thought was interrupted by the realization that I live directly next to a courthouse.

People in Georgia, sadly, often get shot at courthouses, so this was not a good revelation. I immediately became aware of the tenuousness of life and how I really shouldn't leave my door wide open "for fresh air" anymore, because when the bad, bad people come out shooting from the courthouse, they're headed straight for my cozy loft.

Imagined criminal dialogue:
"You know who I wanna kill, Bobby?" "Who's that, Wilbur?" "Someone with a lot of exposed brick." "Roger that, Wilbur."

Needless to say, I've taken a long shower and will be leaving in my best "interview ME" outfit. All my aptitude tests as a child said I should be a television news anchor or a foreign correspondent. I even worked with media when I was a part of America's Attic. Stay tuned, America. Katie Couric can't last that long. And I promise not to do that "sit on my desk in a short skirt" business. I'm a professional, dammit.