Last night we watched the Two and a Half Men. The episode was about a person’s morality and Charlie fantasized about his funeral and how he would like James Earl Jones to eulogize at the service. Of course, this led to Andrea and me discussing our own funerals. She would like an open bar at hers and for people to be as drunk as possible. No one gets away sober. I should’ve asked if the limo would be taxiing drunk party guests to their residences, but I was multitasking and thinking of my own funeral.
So during the multitasking of listening to my sister and watching TV, I was IMing my friend Henry and lamenting on my desire for a life as mystic, a life that would be lived in a yurt (I am still nursing my middle school crush on Ghengis Khan) in Wyoming under the name of Soleil Borealis. I would live off the grid, and Erin would be a lost number in a sea of social (in)security.
Henry’s comment was to tell me I was insane and to stay away from the peyote.
Anyway, Andrea asked me about my funeral and that’s when I told her about my plans, or what I now come to think of as Plan A, or the rough draft.
Plan A: It will be in a yurt. She will “eugoogalize,” then grab my urn and say “Oh my god, it’s empty!” Of course, people will start whispering then and turning and looking, wonder what in the hell is going on. Andrea will say, “Pysche! (And yes, she will say “psyche’) I scattered the bitch’s ashes this morning,” a pause as she gets mysterious and then says, “Or did I?” More whispering and curious looks from those in attendance and then she says, “I’m just kidding, she’s still in here. We’re nowhere to close to the ocean and I can’t have her estate until I dump her over the Dry Tortugas .”
But then came another glorious idea…an idea that is known as Plan B.
Plan B: We’re still in the yurt. My remains are encased in an unknown urn underneath a red fabric. Andrea starts talking and refers to me only once as Erin. I will from then on be referred to as Soleil Borealis, my inner mystic. She says all the necessary words said during a eulogy, she just calls me Soleil. So, picks up the urn. Now this is where it gets trick, so I’m going to script it.
Andrea: (Pulls the red fabric off revealing a hideously ugly Patriots urn). Oh my god! My sister…in a…Patriots urn! (Andrea in a fit of rage picks up the urn to smash it into piece on the floor of the yurt. She lifts it over her head, then gets a curious look on her face). Oh my god, I don’t think she’s in here. (She shakes it around) She is not in here. Oh my god, where is my sister.
(The crowd begins to murmur).
Andrea calls for the undertaker. A person emerges. This person will be Person A.
Person A: There seems to be a mix-up with your sister’s remains.
Andrea: A mix-up?
Person A: She is at another funeral. The urns…there was a problem.
Andrea: Where is my sister?! (The people in the crowd are quiet, pretending not to hear while secretly trying to hear all)
Person A: We’re not sure.
Andrea: (Pissed off) What!
Person A: We’re looking.
Andrea: Find my sister!
Another person emerges into the yurt. They are holding a different urn, a very tasteful urn, an urn that is looks like it could’ve been designed by Karl Lagerfield himself. People are admiring the pretty urn. Andrea grabs it and clutches the crimson and cream colored urn to her chest.
Person A: (Handing her the urn and laughing) PSYCHE! It was the ‘ole switcheroo, the what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.
Person B: (A random person in the audience) What is a gander?
Person A: A goose that’s had the ‘ole switcheroo pulled on them.
Andrea: (More upset over the current exchange and the fact that she had the “switcheroo” pull on her, her face is flaming and she stomps her foot). PSYCHE! PSYCHE? Seriously? PSYCHE!
Person A: It was all a joke.
Andrea: A joke! This is a joke (Andrea then a pulls a beer bottle out from somewhere and bashes it over the person’s head. Now she can finally die in piece having bashed someone over the head with a beer bottle. With that done, she proceeds to dance a “jig.”)
The funeral then proceeds and at the end, everyone adjourns and goes to the bar which is only serving Stoli’s vodka and extremely strong Long Islands . Everyone will do at least one shot of red-headed slut before heading home and contemplating life as a mystic.
Of course, this is still a work in progress, but it’s the start of a plan, nonetheless! And I really like this theme of “my body not there but it is there because its all a joke.” I mean seriously! THAT is funny! If I was at that funeral, I would LAUGH, laugh, laugh! And then tell all my friends about it! Which is kind of what I’m going for. I mean, if I’m leaving this world, I want people to talk! I want people to see each other in the streets and say “Man, that was some funeral. When can we do that again!”
P.S. I know funerals are not laughing matters, that death is a serious thing, but I would like my final moment on earth to be done as I have lived my life – a very random act that is worthy of retelling.
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