Things I Would Do If I Were Dying

Things I Would Do If I Were Dying

“You’ve got about a year to live. Go do all the things you want to do, and don’t do them later, do them now.”

A friend told me about someone he knew who got that very news, and it occurred to me that that might not be a bad way to go. You gotta die sometime, so why not opt for preparing for it, rather than BOOM — a javelin just skewered you?

I have no idea why my first dying-suddenly scenario was someone getting skewered by a javelin. How often does that come up, really? However, should that be my cause of death, I want you all to serve shish kabob at my funeral.

My point is this: If I am ever told I have a year to live, I have a full list of activities at the ready. Here’s the crap I want to do before I (as Woody Allen would say) 'thin out.'

1. Get waist-length, platinum-blond hair extensions that make me look like a stripper. Then a month later, get my hair chemically straightened so I can have jet-black, straight hair. With bangs. Then move on to siren-red waves. Look. This is your big chance to make hair mistakes. Why not make this the year to do all the things you want to do to your head? Who’s going to make fun of you? You’re dying. This also means you can spend your money like it’s going out of style, which it will be, for you. So spend $400 on a Keratin treatment! I’ll make a pact with my best friend that if I expire during a hair mistake, that she will get me back to pretty for my eternal rest. I don’t want dumb hair for the rest of time.

2. Write Barry Gibb a letter telling him I’m dying and could he please just meet me for one simple drink. I’ve loved and dreamed about Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees since I was 13. Hey, I’m loyal. I feel like pulling the dying card might finally garner me a meeting with my idol. And maybe he’ll be really into women with siren-red waves and we’ll Do It, a thing I may or may not have also been dreaming about since age 13.

3. Try the same thing with Jon Hamm. OK, I’ve only loved him since I was 45. But still.

4. Kiss a leopard. I understand this may be detrimental to my well-being, but I am on my way out, anyway. I did hold a baby lion once, at a pet rescue fundraiser, and I can honestly tell you it was the best minute of my life. She was vibrating with life and wildness, and oh, it was great. And how I want to kiss a leopard. Who needs lips? I can get by for those last few months lipless. The Sleestaks did, but maybe that’s why they were so crabby.

5. Be a go-go dancer in a cage somewhere. I realize this might have been more of a goal if I had a year to live in, say, 1966, but somewhere in this world there is a club that still has go-go dancers in cages. I just know it. And I want to pull on some white boots and go (go).


Image: Miguel Virkkunen

6. Find a beach with pink sand and get terrifically drunk on it. I once read about a photo shoot at some beach with pink sand, and it has always sounded just lovely to me. I want to find the pink sand place, sit on a comfy chair, and drink something stupid out of a coconut. I’d love to have my best friends there, and we could tell stories and make coconut bras and laugh ourselves sick, until the rum got the better of us and we all wake up with pink-sand-encrusted nut bras. Which, by the way, would be an excellent band name.

7. Write a book. Maybe it’d be stupendous, and I’d be one of those people who wasn’t famous in her time, but who after her death got famous as shit. I feel like a lot of really excellent writers say things like “famous as shit.” Everyone would drone on about my fabulous book and sexy platinum hair. And my late-in-life marriage to Barry Gibb, who by the way is already married, so my cause of death will likely involve being beaten to death by the spouse of a Bee Gee.

Related Posts

Welcome to My Life: I Didn't See That Coming

When I was little, I imagined ringing in the year 2000, which seemed so far off. With my fine math skillz, I figured out I’d be 34 going on 35 then, and I saw flying cars and me being very mature and all-knowing, holding several of my well-behaved children as we rang in the new millennium. Do you know how I rang in the year 2000? I got drunk with a bunch of my friends and we all stayed tuned to the TV, hoping for exciting Y2K mishaps. If I’m not mistaken, I wore some glitter on my temples that night. No children in sight. And the cars stayed firmly on the ground.   Read more >

My Obsession with BDSM: I Wanted It To Be Dangerous

As a teenager, I hadn’t given much thought to power games, though I played them all the time. I was the one who taped the proverbial “kick me” sign on the back of the cheerleader who snubbed me, and hid the clothes of a guy who groped me in a hot tub. If someone got the better of me, I stewed about it for days, dreaming up paybacks.   Read more >

I Thought My Sister's Death Was a Lie

This spring I dreamt that my sister Bobbie wasn't dead. She hadn't committed suicide after all. She was coming home. It was 1966 again and I was 10 years old. She was 21, just like before, and I sobbed for joy when she came to the door, in her familiar beatnik style, looking somewhat detached and cold, but there. After all, I never saw her body — they said it was too far gone for me to see — so her death really may have been a lie, camouflaged amidst my parents' many other deceits.   Read more >

Comments

In order to comment on BlogHer.com, you'll need to be logged in. You'll be given the option to log in or create an account when you publish your comment. If you do not log in or create an account, your comment will not be displayed.