After this week's slightly jolting event I realized that I would probably be one of those schmucks who dies first in a disaster movie. Shortly before lunchtime on Tuesday, while trying to manage my inbox which had been flooded with Hot in Hollywood emails and blog requests, my chair started to move on its rollers, and then it was my desk. Last time I checked, I hadn't had a shot of tequila since breakfast, so either I was still drunk or...ah yes, I live in California. My coworker, a SoCal native, immediately dropped her phone and ducked under her desk. Our bosses ran to the doorways of their respective offices as if they were being choreographed in some unsettling musical number. Our cement floors were frickin' moving . Major whoa. And me? I stayed in my seat watching it all unfold, a huge bullseye painted on my skull for any falling slab of concrete or splintery wooden beam. For a few seconds I was unintentionally playing with fate. My mom would have been proud.