I cannot wait until reports of my death are greatly exaggerated, because apparently, that is when I will get the sex. And the suitors.

Carol Channing's high-school sweetheart thought she was dead. When he found out she wasn't, he called her, and they got their respective geriatric grooves on, at which time he decided to make an honest woman out of her 82-year old skeleton.

This is both romantic and odd. Can you imagine?

HEATHER:
"Oh my God, I SWEAR it, you were worm food. But it seems you're not, so let's get married."

JESSICA:
I hope that's how I'm proposed to: "I thought you were dead! Marry me!"

HEATHER:
Seriously. "You are so withered, we all just assumed you'd passed on, but since you didn't, let's get naked."

JESSICA:
That's so touching.

HEATHER:
"Well, if you're not dead, are you at least single?"

JESSICA:
*** This user has signed off and is no longer online ***

JESSICA:
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JESSICA:
My IM couldn't handle the thought of Carol Channing on her honeymoon, apparently. It just died on me.

HEATHER:
Unlike Carol Channing. She is very much alive.

JESSICA:
Shocking all of us. Especially her new husband.

HEATHER:
"I grieved for you so! Take off your pants."

JESSICA:
In a way, it's romantic. Someone was so upset that she was dead, that he realized he had to nail her when he found out she was alive.

HEATHER:
Clearly, I need to fake my own death. People might come out of the woodwork.

JESSICA:
Seriously. You would be coveted.

HEATHER:
Goran Visnjic would say, "I didn't know how much you meant to me until you were dead, but then you weren't, and so here I am with my trousers around my ankles."

JESSICA:
That is a beautiful story. You are so lucky.

Last night, Lauren and I finally finished watching Iron Chef: The King of Iron Chefs. This was a profoundly tense experience for us, as we're fond of all of them, with the possible exception of that poncey Iron Chef Italian, with his too-tall toque and his string quartet. But the other three are beloved, because we are sad, sad ladies, and so we were tense the entire time, wondering who would win.

Now, here's where you might suggest that, as Iron Chef: The King of Iron Chefs: Who Is The Best Iron Chef? was filmed in 1999, we could have looked up the answer and saved my thumbnail from its eventual, tragic demise. But you would be wrong, because that sucks all the joy out of watching them chop up live lobsters.

I'm not kidding about that last part. In the grand finale of Iron Chef: The King of Iron Chefs: Who Is The Best Iron Chef?: The Battle For Iron-Chef Supremacy, Chen Kenichi -- the one in the yellow silk pajamas… er, I mean, "cooking costume" -- grabbed the writhing lobster and hacked off its legs and claws with a giant cleaver. This left a torso, which hopped around the cutting board like a malodorous jumping bean.

Lauren and I are nerds for our Iron Chefs. We love Chen Kenichi, who always makes me happy because I have a secret theory that if my father were Japanese and an Iron Chef, he might look something like Chen Kenichi. We might quietly admit that the Iron Chef Japanese, Morimoto, is kind of sexy, in a slightly puffy silver-satin-wearing kind of way. So when he lost in the Iron Chef: The King of Iron Chefs: Who Rocks the Iron Chef Hizzy?: The Battle For Supremacy: Two Chefs, One Ingredient, No Second Chances semifinal to the French specialist, Sakai -- who wears red and carries a yellow pepper when he's raised into Kitchen Stadium and wears kind of pimped-out glasses -- we were kind of upset. But we love Sakai, too. I mean, hello? The mustache and the Pimp Specs? We're only human.

The Iron Chef: The Last Dance of the Iron Chefs: Who Is The Best Iron Chef?: Two Men, One Honor, No More Episodes: The Mortal Struggle To Find Out Who Makes Lobster Taste Better: The King of Iron Chefs: Rockin' The Kitchen Sta-dizzy final was a pretty great cook-off. Sakai won, and when he did, he burst into tears and hugged Chen Kenichi and slobbered all over Chen's snazzy yellow robes. It was really sweet.

And now Lauren and I can rest in peace.

Jessica and I have had a productive week. In addition to the breakthrough realization that faking our own deaths will lead to sexual gymnastics, we also decided that we're going to make our screenplay millions writing a movie about what happened in Austin yesterday -- namely, that fifty-one Democrats "coincidentally" called in sick on the same day so that the state House didn't have a quorum. They all anticipated being sick until at least Friday, which coincides with a deadline that, if it comes and goes, would stop a bunch of bills. The Republican speaker shut down the Capitol so that no one could leave, and sent the Texas Rangers after the rogue opposition members.

There is something so ingenious about mass hooky. And I can't decide which is funnier -- the image of the state rangers going after the Democrats, or the image of the Texas Rangers baseball team hunting them down.

So Jess and I figure we'll write the screenplay of how the Texas Rangers baseball team saves the day.

JESSICA:
In the final analysis, the grizzled veteran pitcher and his new, green catcher not only save the day… but cement their working relationship.

HEATHER:
And reach a special new understanding.

JESSICA:
And respect for one another.

HEATHER:
And respect for teamwork. Clearly, one of them was a hotshot who didn't think he needed the other. But, lo! He does. There is needing. Powerful needing.

JESSICA:
Oh, is there. Is there ever.

HEATHER:
And also some making out.

JESSICA:
Well, clearly.

HEATHER:
It might limit our market, but we'll be bravely putting forth the image of healthy men living and loving and playing baseball.

JESSICA:
And taking showers together.

HEATHER:
Oh yeah, totally.

JESSICA:
"There's no 'I' in 'Team,' boys. If you know what I mean."

HEATHER:
Title: There Is No 'I' In 'Anal Sex'

JESSICA:
Our fortunes are made.

HEATHER:
Unless we need to sell out in order to make it more commercial, in which case we're going to call it Ball Boys or something and revolve it entirely around steaming subtext.

JESSICA:
Lots of longing glances. And long, loving shots of guys patting their teammates' asses…

HEATHER:
"I don't like the way your balls fly at my face, Billy," says the rookie catcher. "My balls have been around since afore you was nursin' on yer momma's teet," growls Billy, who is apparently really stupid. "I'll heave my balls at you as fast and hard as I want, and if you take 'em on the chin, that ain't my doin'."

JESSICA:
… And guys caressing their bats…

HEATHER:
The pitch: The Texas Rangers baseball team saves the day, while learning important lessons about teamwork, thrust -- er, trust -- and homoerotic subtext.

JESSICA:
It's for the children. Truly.

Someone got here by searching for: jiggling lumps on my chest - first bra embarrassed Watching: Last week's 24, and old EastEnders omnibus episodes that we missed. Reading: About to start A Walk In The Woods. I hope. If I don't get swallowed by the three months of New Yorker issues stacking up under the coffee table.

This entry as a poem:
Dancing First bra embarrassed,
them with his toque and the answer and so take off as Iron Chefs.
Who cannot wait until at least single? JESSICA. HEATHER.
And I want to call, it just died on me. And
guys caressing their respective geriatric grooves on,
the possible exception of Iron Chef, The King of sexy, in a way
your balls fly, at least Friday, which coincides with
the sex. And playing
baseball.

Obligatory link to the site host.