Sisterhood

Bee and I had a phone conversation last weekend that went a little something like this:

Bee: "I keep checking the blog to see if you've posted anything."

Me: "I know. I keep checking the blog to see if you've posted anything."

In the background you could hear Señor Marine's pleas for a popsicle (he was recovering from knee surgery)

Bee: "One of us should post."

Me: "Yeah. Did you hear that Jessica Simpson finally had her baby?"

Long pause while Bee lets me know she couldn't possibly care less.

Me: "I think if we were celebrity sisters, we would be the Simpson sisters."

Bee: "The twins?"

Me: "Ashlee and Jessica aren't twins. They're just like us. An edgy younger sister and a ditzy older sister."

Bee: "I thought you meant Marge's sisters. The twins."

Me: "Because we don't shave our legs and are chainsmokers?"
Bee: "Because they don't really do anything besides stand around and heckle people."

And this is why you get such quality posts from me and Bee. You're welcome as always.

PS- For those of you who were concerned, Señor Marine got his strawberry popsicle.

Use caution while eating in the shower

If any of you watch 30 Rock, you will see the similarities between me and Liz Lemon. When I told Señor Marine that I made my dream list of languages to learn based on which culture's food I liked best, that definitely sealed the connection for him.

There is a certain part in season one where Liz has a nagging fear of dying alone in her apartment and no one finding her until her body smells so much the neighbors complain. I admit, I have had this fear my whole adult life. Even in the military, I feel like my absence could go uninvestigated for a while.

This explains why the other day, when I was in the shower eating chocolate (yes, IN the shower), and I started to choke, I probably panicked more than the average person. That's because all I could think about was that the neighbors were going to complain about the smell and then the cops would find me, naked and dead, in the shower. I did NOT want to be found naked! Or dead, for that matter.

As my panic grew, I continued my feeble attempts to cough out the chocolate and thankfully, up it came. That's when Señor Marine, who apparently had been yelling, "Are you okay?" from the living room, came rushing in to make sure I really was okay. He, unlike me, was being reasonable in his attempts to make sure I wasn't dying, and when I didn't answer, decided it was time to be concerned.

And that's when I realized, at least one person will track me down before I become a bloated corpse in the shower. Ah, love.