Someone Shut Those Damn Lambs Up

It's super lame to say that much of my life's ambition (up to my early 20s) was inspired by a movie, but...well...I'm just that lame. I don't remember how old I was when I first saw Silence of the Lambs, but I do recall that once I saw those credits roll, I knew my mission in life had been revealed to me: I would be the next Clarice Starling. (Yes, I realize she's a character, but nevertheless...)

Teacher? Nah. Doctor? Probably not. Ballerina? Too much pink. Y'all can keep all those other lofty, admirable careers. When I grow up, I want to be a Profiler for the Serial Crimes Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. (Aaaaand curtsy.)

I started reading every True Crime book I could get my hands on, which only exacerbated the speed at which I was going through my allotted books per month. (Seriously, I was out of control. At that rate, books can become quite costly.) When my well-worn copy of Signature Killers fell into Mom's hands, she was a wee bit concerned, but traipsing around in my dance costumes and listening to Boy George like he was going out of style (well....), I was deemed simply an interesting child.

And then came Forensic Files. Oh, I heart you Forensic Files. (I am not going to post a link here because if you don't know about this show, remind me to smack you in the mouth.) I regularly brushed up on the requirements for employment with the FBI and did everything I could to stay out of trouble, thus assuring no juvie record would keep this little lady out of the bureau. (See, I wasn't just an apple polisher for kicks, peeps.) And tho I initially chose to major in a non-related subject in college (Writing for Publication, Performance and Media), I always maintained at least one touchstone to get me closer to my badge, be it a minor in Cultural Studies (Pratt Institute), brief major declaration of Psychology (Cuesta College), or flirtation with a Cognitive Science program (Occidental).

I finally decided to get my BA in Sociology with a minor in Criminal Justice. And to further bolster my chances at making run-ins with total psychopaths my full-time job, I sought out an internship at a private investigation firm to better prepare myself and establish some connections within the industry. Networking, they call it. Little did I know that "networking" in such a field meant sleepless nights, binge drinking, carrying a weapon (knife, gun, paperclips, whateves), running up bills by internet stalking and posing as a myriad of characters in an attempt to get information via phone, and more binge drinking.

(By the way, I'm totally watching Zodiac as I type this. And not just because of Jake. Oh, Jake Gyllie, you are a sexy man.)

I will not go into too much further detail, mostly because I'm saving the goods for my book (and, less so, because of confidentiality issues...blah, blah, blah), but let's just say that it took yet-another sleepless, drunken night in which my mom assumed I had been murdered by the Aryan Nation folks who put a hit out on our team to decide that wasn't the life for me. Well, that, and I almost flunked Spanish.

I don't flunk. Murder? Meh. Getting anything less than a B+? Not on your life.

I still relish in opportunities to profile odd ducks who cross my path and speculate their behaviors. Mom gets creeped out when I correctly guess the appearance and social pattern of a highly-publicized UNSUB. But at the end of the day, I am just fascinated by people. Human behavior is amazing and insane. Serial killers and the like are exaggerated sociological case studies. Hard not to be fascinated. (This is the same girl who can read page after page about the Nazis, specifically the Nazi medical doctors and their gruesome practices. But I am not completely dead on the inside. I would give anything for these accounts to be fiction.)

But interesting field or not, my mama didn't raise no fool. My grades don't drop for nuthin'!