death

Camp Nano Challenge Day 2: Shelfie

I don’t think I’m sure what this even means. Am I supposed to take a picture of my books on a shelf? A selfie with my books on a shelf? Listen, two things prevent this from happening. First of all, I moved over the summer and Marie Kondoed my all my books. Also Kondoed my bookshelf. I do have a few books left but my phone is at CAPACITY and will not even let me check my mail much less take a picture so we’re stuck. Trust me, I see the irony.

I can tell you what I’ve recently read, though.

I just finished He Said She Said by Erin Kelly. That was a fun book and a pretty quick read. I have Tosh by Tosh Berman and In a Time Never Known by Kat Michels on deck and I’m very excited to read them both.

I don’t have a whole lot to talk about today but I made a promise to myself I would blog every day this month. I’m mostly just upset that someone had the NERVE to unfollow me on facebook of all places after I blogged yesterday about how great I am. I must have intimidated them but they could’ve at least had the nerve to fight me in the streets like a proper nemesis. Unfollowing is fool’s business. I will find them and I will fight them.

This whole post is boring and I blame the challenge. What is a “shelfie”???? And in the event of a showdown with the above new nemesis, I’m going to need a posse. Do I have anyone’s support? This is a very serious matter, I have been provoked! My name has been soiled.

Now that I think about it, the unfollow may or may not have just been that girl I knew from college that might have died. There was a weird facebook post in first person around Christmas insinuating she was in the afterlife and we don’t have any mutual friends I can get the scoop out of. So, if it was her account being deactivated, lowering my friend count, well then I stand down. RIP Benilda. If not, challenge accepted.

Ghost Eye for the Alive Guy

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I sat down to pee last night and I got hit in the head by my son’s plastic, Halloween sickle that was propped up behind the bathroom door. That’s how Death is going to take me. Not slicin’ and dicin’ like some garden variety Freddy Krueger, the Grim Reaper is too sophisticated for such dramatics. He’s just going to jump scare me into a heart-attack on the toilet. Like Elvis.

Now, if I would have met my eternal demise then and there, we would be in quite a pickle. The obvious, number one reason being no pants. I probably want to be wearing pants when I die. Secondly, my bathroom is a disaster. Like biohazard zone disaster. I should probably take some Scrubbing Bubbles to the sink soon and like, a flame torch to the rest of it. I can’t be found naked and slumped over in a truck-stop resembling bathroom. It’s embarrassing. Not only for me, but future generations that have to relive the humiliation in stories told and retold ’round the campfire in vivid detail.

I’m going to need a cleaner. Like a personal assistant but like super loyal that will take care of all of my indiscretions before the news teams and nosy neighbors arrive to find all my photoshops of Prince as a ghost in purple undies. This might be hard to coordinate though because, as my super loyal personal assistant life restorer, you’d have to be on call for like, ever because I don’t plan on ever dying. I’m going to be like one of those Twilight vampires with the glittery skin that live well into their 1,000s. The easy thing to do would be to just keep my life together while I’m alive, yes, but let’s be honest, this is not a skill I currently have on my resume.

Now that I think about the logistics of this, someone call up TLC, this is a show idea! I need either Theresa Caputo or Zak Bagans to team up with like, Oprah and the What Not to Wear team to come in with a camera crew and sort me out. They can help me throw away my underwear with the holes in them, sort through my emails, vacuum, make friends with current ghosts already in the building, etc.

I base a lot of my knowledge of the afterlife on what I’ve seen in the movies, mostly Ghost and Beetlejuice and here’s the thing, once you’re a ghost, you’re stuck in the clothes you died in. I don’t make the rules. So do we want comfort or haute couture? Like, do I have to walk around in Gucci the rest of my life? Is this why you see so many ghosts in ballgowns? Or am I okay haunting the halls in my sweatpants? Dying on the toilet will still be a problem, but that’s what you hope your family is for. Emily Dickinson’s family published her poems after she died, I’m just trying to get mine to agree to pull up my pants.

This could be my new life path. Live in a way that won’t embarrass me when I die. Although, what kind of life is that boring nonsense? Maybe I would have a better shot if I live my life preparing those around me for my embarrassing ghost phase. Like openly weeping in the hallway at various times throughout the day and adding photoshopped pictures of Prince to my email signatures.

Just please, someone’s gotta pull up my pants if I’m on the toilet.

 

 

 

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