Smarter Not Harder: Prime Suspect

What I am obsessed with now...

Garmin Forerunner 610

It tells you how fast you are running, how far you have run, and it has a virtual racer that you can, you know, race against. Do I hate myself a little bit for wanting such a geeky training accessory? Yes. It's just that I need it to stop being slow. Oh, also! Let me just quote you something from the advertisement for this little gem of a watch, "It's time for a sport watch that can help you train smarter, not harder, and the 610 can do just that." How am I just finding out about this now?! So obvi the watch for me.

Okay, now that's out of the way, I have to tell you guys something. I think there is a killer living three doors down from me. Granted, he doesn't exactly look like a killer, but that's precisely what my neighbors will say once the news crew shows up to film the chalk outline of a dead body on our hallway floor.

Killer?! But he was such a nice guy....

How do I know he's a killer if he doesn't look like a killer, you ask? Duh. Well first of all, he started talking to me in front of the elevator. I know, right? What. a. pyscho. Second of all, I was carrying Kittles in her little cat carrier to the groomer, and he asked me her name. Cree-py. Am I the only one who saw Dexter: Season 4? This is almost exactly how the Trinity Killer interacts with a suburban house wife right before he forces her to jump out the upper deck of an abandoned warehouse so it looks like a suicide! He was just trying to make friendly small talk so I wouldn't see the murder coming. Well, I see the murder coming all right.

Granted, he kind of looks like a killer

Also, he lives in a studio apartment, alone. (Reference any Dexter episode to know that a middle aged man living alone is a sure fire way to spot a killer.) Fine, maybe my neighbor looks more like a 23 year old college kid studying engineering, than a forty seven year old living in a plastic lined apartment to keep blood from seeping into the hallway. However, that doesn't necessarily prove anything, except that this fool has an excellent disguise.

Finally, a few days after our initial meeting at the elevator, I was unlocking my apartment door, when out of nowhere, I heard, "How's Lola?" It was the scary killer who appeared down the hall (feigning a simple entrance into his own studio of terror, no doubt.) "Hehehe" I nervously laughed, "she's good... welp, see ya!" SLAM. LOCK. Phew, I barely made it into my apartment before I was sleeping with the fishes. Forget a Persian cat, I need some kind of an attack dog.