Today: Sherlock Homey reports for duty.

When I was younger I wanted to be a detective.  In  middle school, a friend and I ran an imaginary detective agency.  Our breakout case involved the (imaginary) kidnapping of Joey McIntyre.  Yes, the New Kid.  We had notebooks, laminated ID cards and referred to each other by our backwards names.  Htebazile is a pretty amazing detective name.  Amazing and suspicious, which is good, because suspicion is a very important component of detective work.

We stopped playing detective agency after a brown kidnapper van started lurking in the cul-de-sac between our neighborhoods.  I don’t mean to, quite literally, give box vans a bad name, but they’re extremely creepy.  Especially when you’re ten.

My fascination with true crime dramas and an overactive imagination are not the healthiest combination, but old habits die hard.  Speaking of dying, the serial killer marathon Meg and I watched on the Cape, the summer after graduating college, illustrates perfectly what a dingbat I am… and why I’d be the worst real detective in the history of the universe.

After watching hours and hours of History Channel and Court TV documentaries on John Wayne Gacy and Ted Bundy and assorted others, I drove a half mile down the road to the cottage, which was empty, as my parents were driving down early the next morning.  I propped chairs under every single doorknob, placed a wiffleball bat (bam! lethal!) next to my bed and lay awake until I heard my parents pull down the driveway eight hours later.

I then had to spring from my bed and unbooby trap the cottage, greet my mom and dad and pretend that I wasn’t psychologically profiling our neighbor, who happened to be unloading groceries next door.

When my brother’s car was stolen earlier this year (Jimmy, if you’re reading this… I think it’s time for an exclusive on the story), I began building a dossier and considered myself The Source for information on the case.  Not surprisingly, the FBI also considered themselves The Source, and I didn’t want the federal agents maaad ’cause I’m flagrant so I took a backseat in the investigation.

My experience also includes being on scene (technically, driving by slowly) for two accident recreations (both involved a cyclist being hit by a vehicle),  I’ve called 911 for a person needing assistance in the dog park, and I’ve watched 312 episodes of The First 48 on A & E.  Also, I know how to swear, and I have a lot of little notebooks.

Let me be clear, I do not in any way relish in other’s misfortune.  I definitely do not want anyone to get hurt, or worse.  I just can’t help but be fascinated.  I love when justice is served.  And I love facts.  Maybe when I’m older and less imaginative I could have a career shift and be like, the oldest (but cutest?) enrollee at Police Academy.  And maybe, juuuust maybe, my years of practice detective work as Det. Htebazile will propel me to the rank of actual detective.

Also On Tap for Today:

• Boston Marathon Expo 🙂
• Eenie, meanie, I need to cleanie.
• Experiment with my new blender.

What do you want to be when you grow up?