I am en route to the airport to pick up bff. Bff texts me that she has landed and asks where we should meet. I, driving to the airport, text back, this is important after all. Later, she scolded me for texting while driving although conveniently forgets she texted me first knowing good and well I was driving...
As you all know I'm not much of a phone talker, unless you’re a super cute dude trying to sweep me off my feet, so I live and breathe by text and email. Bff always feels the need to add at the end of her texts, "Not driving are you?" Bossy pants. Well there is only so much a girl can take before she cracks to the relentless mothering of her dear, sweet friend, and quits. Cold turkey, baby. I might also add, this explains my decline in brilliant tweeting during the 5 o'clock hour. Thus, my tweeting entirely. Sorry friends.
I'd like to say that is the only stupid thing I could do to end up six feet under, but alas, there are more dumb ways I could die:
I get lost: To those who know me, they know I am directionally challenged. And when I say challenged, I mean don't even speak to me in fancy North, South, East, West talk. I need landmarks, mileage and minutes. In my defense I have a little driving anxiety which leads to panic attacks every so often, so to say that one day I might be trying to navigate to the gas station on the west-side and end up in the Bermuda Triangle is not far off. If I get lost in downtowu, uptown or the outskirts of town, I will curl up and die, especially if it's at night. Thank sweet baby Jesus for my iPhone with Google maps, MapQuest, iMap, maps 'r us, and let me map it out for you dummy apps.
Fall into a well: Like little Jessica? No. I'm not that teensy. My well would involve damp dark sewer water and bats, I know it would. I am pretty much a klutz, so if there is a well that needs tripping over, I'm your gal. Remember that well in Silence of the Lambs? That's my pit of doom right there.
Cut off my own finger while cooking and bleed to death: My kid's get total blame for this one. I am usually conscious of what I am doing whilst slicing and dicing in the kitchen, but every so often, I need to scream something along these lines:
Stop hitting your brother!
What did you say? /Knock it off? /Now what?
Glue does not go in hair.
How bad is it bleeding?
I get really famous: Never say never, this blog could blow up one day, and I mean that figuratively not literally; although I have almost blown up this blog a time or two, literally. Savvy? Everyone knows when there is an extremely interesting famous person, like no one else; they die a tragic and sudden death. So I, being unique and interesting would be doomed if I were famous like the other icons: Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Michael Jackson, Princess Dianna, and RIP.
Let's you and I keep this blog on the down-low so I can live out a long-ass life. This reminds me I need to give Christina my password to the blog so she can write a really moving post on my behalf when I die. However, if she and I go out Thelma and Louise style, you'll be out of luck, yet more than likely see it on the six o'clock news.
On a more serious note, a heartfelt thanks to all of our veterans who have served our country that allow me the freedom to post stupid crap like this. Happy Veteran's Day!