A Good Night Prayer

I'm back from the BlogHer conference in Chicago and I'm going to blog about someone behind her back. I am feeling very brave because she lives on the other coast and there's like a whole ocean between us and I'm pretty sure she's too tired to swim across it to kill me.

It's about my BlogHer roommate Stacey. You know, beautiful Stacey of the lyrical posts?

So,the first night we're going to sleep in our way-too-soft bed and of course I'm all "what if she falls asleep first and then I still awake and I'll be up all night," except I don't say that because I decided that I want my persona for this trip to be more "hip" and less "kookoo".

So I say, "Goodnight! I hope we don't die in our sleep!" which is a totally cool improvement of the "Now I lay me down to sleep" thing, because it shows that I am thinking of other people as well. If I were self-centered, I'd have just said "I hope I don't die in my sleep". I'm practically an atheist Mother Theresa. With freckles.

So I wish us life, and instead of saying "thank you," like a normal person would, Stacey says, "yeah, that would really suck because if you died in your sleep, your blood would pool to your ass and who wants to find that in the morning?"

And scene!

I am sharing a room with someone whose biggest concern in finding me dead in the morning is that my ass is filled with blood, because, she seems to believe that it is the center of gravity of my body or the lowest point or whatever and she doesn't want to get all skieved out on the way to getting her morning chai latte. You can certainly see how my death would be an inconvenient distraction.

So all sorts of questions go through my mind. Like. Why does the BlogHer '09 brochure have this fake Q&A that, honest to God, has questions like "what is the weather like in Chicago?" and "Should I bring my laptop? What if I don't have one?" but is totally silent on the whole, "Roommate is all CSI-y and I'm not feeling yawny."

And what kind of a person would upon finding me dead check on my ass instead of pounding on the bed and keening, "no, God, take me, not Marinka!"

Stacey claims that there is medical support for this, but no way in hell am I googling "ass" "blood" and "poop". Or ever sleeping again.