Shake Your Love

My upstairs neighbor subscribes to Playboy. I know this because I sometimes see the conspicuous black-bagged magazine, which probably stands out more than a naked chick would.

Anyway, I just found out that one of my childhood idols posed for this month's Playboy. (That link is not work-safe. Unless Playboy is safe at your work.)

How weird is that? I used to dance on my bed to "Electric Youth," singing into my hairbrush. And right now my upstairs neighbor might be... ugh, I can't even say it... you know... getting lost in her eyes.

In other news of who-gets-what-mail-in-my-building, I have done enough research to declare that the woman living on the bottom floor definitely has a QVC addiction.

And I never see her husband around anymore, so I have a theory that maybe she killed him. And she lives on the bottom floor, so she could've easily buried him in a crawlspace or something. And now she's spending all of his life insurance money on QVC crap. Then, finally, today, she came over to me while I was picking up my mail, and asked if there was any mail for her husband.

Yes, that would have been my perfect opportunity to catch her. I could've at least asked, "Oh, how's your husband doing? Haven't seen him around!" and then stared at her suspiciously. But I didn't.

(Besides, you know that if I did find any proof, it'd be followed by a "Would you report this to the police?" post on this blog.)

Ok, no more detective books for me for a while.


  1. Your theory of the case is flawed, counselor. How could she collect the life insurance if she hid the body?

    You know, if she's a criminal with money to spend...I think you call them "customers."

  2. I know, I thought of that too. But there's definitely something up. And, if your husband goes missing, you get the insurance money eventually, right? I can't think of the last time I saw him, but I'd say that maybe it was around the holidays.

    And, unfortunately, most of my clients are accused criminals without money to spend. Maybe someday though.

  3. Wait! I know!

    Maybe she has him tied up Misery-style or something. And that's why she can't leave the apartment to go shopping, and has to do all of her shopping through QVC.

  4. I wanted to post this on the one below where you answer questions but the link to the posts just on that one is not working - so here's my comment:

    Sister, you sell stuff everyday. To judges, to jurors, to your client, to your friends and family. You have chosen a career in sales. Everything you sell has been processed, sometimes processed until no one but someone trained in your type of sales can recognize it or understand it, so you have to translate it so that you can sell that processed good to whomever is your audience.

    Believe it.

  5. P.S. Mark. They are not customers.

    We prefer the kindler, gentler term "Clients".

  6. Well then I stand corrected on the customer/client issue.

    I was just trying to encourage Ms. Justice to look on the bright side of having a murder in the building. Sure it's terrible that a life has been cruelly snuffed out within the very building where Blonde sleeps, but as she's seen, the soon-to-be-accused clearly has some money. As Not Guilty says in another context, get in there and sell!

    I imagine there's some sort of "ethics" issue in all this (especially if Ms. Justice is the one who calls the cops in the first place), but I figure anyone daring to name her practice "Pretty Pleas" isn't going to be all rigid about the details.

  7. I managed to fix the comments on the last post.

    Anyway, I've definitely thought of my job as sales. But I had never thought of my case as "processed." I guess it is though. An interesting take on it. I guess I'll never be Lloyd Dobler. Maybe I can just be Diane then.

  8. Don't be Diane. She is so not good enough for Lloyd. She's wishy-washy.

    Debbie Gibson? I sort of want to see the pictures and really don't at the same time. I think Tiffany posed a year or so ago.