I overcommitted this week. Looking at my calendar legit made me anxious Monday because it was just going to be non-stop for six days straight. I had penciled in an Escape Room, a business trip, and five different comedy shows. All stuff I was excited about, but which I would normally require some down time to recover from.
I’m talking a hardcore introversion reboot – or as they say in Spanish, recargar las pilas. This ideally would look something like Lorde’s “Perfect Places” music video, where I would get to drink scotch alone under a waterfall, but just probably involves me reading alone in my candlelit apartment, getting food delivered, drinking wine, and then finding a sad movie to watch multiple times in a row. To really get in touch with my sensitive-moody-lady side, I would do this all in the comfort of my favorite giant baggy Irish fisherman sweater and a beanie.
But, alas, having no time left in my schedule for brooding in woolen knitwear, I resigned myself to the fact that this back-to-back marathon of extroversion would suck every drop of energy out of me until I wasted away like a consumptive, finally succumbing to my death by coughing into a handkerchief like Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge. TL;DR? This week was literally going to kill me.
When I got tired of worrying about how tired I was going to be, and telling everyone I was going to die, I decided to plan my funeral. Detailed instructions below for my best friends. I’m holding you personally responsible for executing my final wishes:
1. Calling it a funeral is morbid, so make sure everyone refers to my send off as a FUN-eral. The fun is mandatory, and you are all required to make sure all attendees are having it.
2. My remains should arrive at least one hour after everyone else has, by helicopter, because I’ve always wanted to make a dramatic Bollywood entrance, and I’m going to make you losers wait for my ass one more time. You need to play the right music for it to really have the intended effect.
3. Speaking of music, you have some options as to who you can book as my FUN-eral headliner. My top choices are Lorde, HAIM, and MUNA in that order. Ideally, they will all agree to perform, and will do a one time only cover of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” for the occasion.
4. If Lorde is being difficult about scheduling, you can guilt trip her by mentioning the fact that I never received the signed lithograph I ordered from her back in JUNE before I DIED, then promise to cater her an unlimited supply of onion rings from Portillo’s.
5. Under no circumstances is anyone allowed to make a playlist about how much they miss me.
6. You will make a list of people who miss me, specifically those who cry, and rank them in order of attractiveness. Save it for later.
7. While everyone is crying, one of you will be responsible for sneaking off to locate and burn my diaries. You don’t need to read them, I’ve been treating you all as personal human verbal diaries for years now. They are mostly wine-induced nonsense, and repetitive as fuck.
8. If you are going to tell embarrassing stories about me, you need to take a tequila shot before each one. Throw down for the good stuff. Use my credit card.
9. If you are going to tell the story about the time I bruised some guy’s tailbone in college and you all started calling me “Bruiser”, you need to take three tequila shots. Again, if it’s not Don Julio I’m gonna be pissed. USE my credit card.
10. The only debt collector I’m worried about post-mortem is my hometown public library. I don’t know how you rack up the $20 maximum five cents at a time, but I ALWAYS did. I hope they don’t charge interest. If they absolutely demand payment, you can donate my books to the people of suburban Illinois.
11. Speaking of philanthropy, I checked the box at the DMV to be an organ donor, but just make sure they don’t try to take anything goofy for weird shit that I always read about in the news, like my head, or my boobs.
12. You can all have my plaid collection though. It takes up the entire left half of one of my closets. Wear it on days you roll out of bed hungover to go to brunch in my honor.
13. That reminds me, instead of putting pressure on any of you to do my eulogy, please book Kristen Stewart as a guest speaker. Let her talk about whatever she wants. Feed her Totino’s pizza rolls. Tell her my dying wish as her biggest fan was for her to grow her hair out again.
14. Figure out how to commit voter fraud in my dead name, I guess Trump can be right for once, and vote against him, in 2020.
15. Last but not least, I need you to get a Ouija board, and send me the list you made earlier. I need to know where you ranked everyone on a scale from 1 – 10. I know that wasn’t explicitly outlined, but you do that without being asked.
Okay, this is all just a really long joke now, but I really will be dead to the world after this week is over, so if you could just all come over and sit on my couch with me, I have a new Netflix show we need to watch. It’s called Dark, and it’s in German, so I just need you to go along with it for my sake because it’s going to be better than Stranger Things, and you guys are the only people I can be around when I don’t want to be around anyone. K thanks.