Ask For Me Tomorrow and I Shall Be a Grave (Wo)Man

Well, here we are. In 24 hours, I will either be home, or just about home. What, Amy? I can hear you thinking. (Yes, I can totally hear you thinking, I know, I might be psychic, I should find a way to make money from this, right? If I could find a way to make money from all of the awesome things I’m able to do I’d be the richest lady in Bedford Falls.) How will you already be almost home at 10am Friday morning since you’re writing this at 10am even though it probably won’t be posted until like noon or one or something because you know you’re probably going to write for two hours and also people in your office keep giving you work as if they don’t know you are a very famous blogger, let’s be frank? Well, reader whose thoughts I can totally read because I’m like the Miss Cleo of blogging, the answer is this: I am a chronic insomniac and the day before a trip, it gets oh so much worse, because my head is as stuffed full of thoughts as a Christmas turkey is stuffed full of – well, stuffing, I suppose, and, oh, I don’t know, giblets? Gross slimy things like that, anyway – so the odds I WON’T be up at 4am tomorrow ready to go are slim-to-none. I’m betting I’ll be on the road by 6. Which is nice, because no one’s on the road but me and exhausted long-haul truckers who meander out of their lanes because they’re sleeping behind the wheel. That’s not at all nervous-making.

Now it has come to my attention that at least two of you will miss me. I would have thought it would be more, but I guess when you’re going away for three and a half days, you learn who your REAL FRIENDS ARE. And mine are Ken and Andreas. So apparently only people in Europe love me enough to miss me when I’m away? Suck it, the rest of you who won’t miss me at all. (Oh, hush, I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m sure at least one other person will miss me, maybe two, it’s Christmas, after all, people are predisposed to be kinder.)

I’m going to attempt to blog while I’m home. Now, this is going to take some doing, because, as I mentioned, dialup. I think – I’m not sure, but I *think* – I can type up an entry in Word, dial into the internet, wait half an hour for it to connect, upload it to WordPress, wait another half an hour for it to post, and then kind of cross my fingers and toes and see what happens. So maybe you’ll see something from me tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday, or all three. If not, I’m back on Monday, minions and minionettes, and all will be well. And I’ll have STORIES. Oh, will I have stories. What will I get for Christmas? What shenanigans will my family get up to? What adorable things will The Nephew say or do? (Listen, I can answer that right now, the answer is ALL THE THINGS. Everything the kiddo DOES is adorable. Including punching me in the FACE. Also, when he does that, he gets timeout, and I asked my mom if I could sit with him in timeout, and she said I couldn’t, and I said, “What if I did something naughty, could I sit with him in timeout then? So I could spend more time with him?” and she said no, I’d have to sit in my own timeout in a different part of the house. This plan isn’t working out at all.) How brainless yet lovable will my brother’s dog be? THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS I TELL YOU.

Also, I have a whole plan for a thing I want to do? But my father says it’s morbid and when I told him I’m totally going to do it he said “I AM HANGING UP NOW YOU ARE A WEIRDO HERE TALK TO YOUR EQUALLY WEIRD MOTHER.”

Tomorrow I’m going to the cemetery to say hi to my grandparents? Because I love them and I miss them and it’s Christmas and I like to visit them sometimes and let them know I haven’t forgotten them, because even when people have a heart of coal they sometimes love people. Now, in that SAME CEMETERY, my parents have bought a plot for themselves. And they had a stone installed. With their names carved into it with their dates of birth and everything but blank for their date of death because they’re not dead yet like that guy in Monty Python. Do you find this overly morbid? I do. I know this is something people do, but I find it distressing. So there’s this plot and this stone with “AMY’S MOM DATE OF BIRTH – BLANK” and “AMY’S DAD DATE OF BIRTH – BLANK” just sitting there, waiting. So that’s worrisome. (Yes, yes, it says their real names. How funny and self-centered would it be if it really said Amy’s Mom and Amy’s Dad? Hee.)

But oh, it gets better.

So at the same time they bought those plots, there were plots available on either side of them. And my brother and I were, at the time, FOREVER ALONE. Now, my brother may or may not be when he dies, but let’s be honest, I’m going to be. So they were all, “Hey, Amy and Amy’s brother, do you want us to snap up these plots on either side of us so we can all sleep together in eternal slumber because plots are GOING FAST?” Like telemarketers or used-car-salesmen, my parents. And I don’t know what my brother said, probably “Grummphmrph” (he grunts a lot) but I was all “Sure, whatever, FOREVER ALONE” because who the hell cares and honestly, I kind of thought it was a hypothetical and so the next day my mother was all “So we got you a plot!”

Um, I didn’t really think this was going to happen.

Yes, I’m in my mid-thirties and now know where I’m going to spend all of time once I am a dead person. In a plot in upstate New York. Oh, sure, it’s very NICE, there are TREES and shit, one time I saw a SQUIRREL FROLICKING, whatever, but I find this off-putting.

I explained to my mother that under no circumstances was I to be buried there without being cremated first because that would mean at my wake people would look at my dead body and possibly touch me without my say-so and the idea of that creeps me out and also, what if I hated that person in life and would never, never have let them touch me? and she was all “whatever, I’ll be dead by then.” I’m totally serious, though. If I die and no one cremates me I’m going to be furious and come back and haunt whoever decided that letting people touch my dead body was a good idea. I hate that. I hate that we go to wakes and there’s a dead damn body sitting there. It makes me so nervous. No dead person would want that. You can’t tell me that the dead person would have wanted to look like a bad wax statuette of themselves and have people walk by them like they’re a display in a cut-rate museum. It is WEIRD. I want an URN. And just throw it in a HOLE. I’m DEAD. Who CARES. STOP TOUCHING MY DEAD BODY. Ugh.

So ANYWAY, when I go visit my grandparents tomorrow, I’m going to go check out my real estate. It’s the first land I’ve ever owned, I’m totally excited about it.

This conversation then happened with my father.

Me: So Dad, we’re going to the cemetery to see your mom and dad tomorrow.

Dad: That’s nice.

Me: Also my GRAVE.

Dad: You’re a weirdo.

Me: I want to lay on it.

Dad: What the hell is wrong with you.

Me: No, I mean, not like because I’m tired, that’d be stupid, who’d do that, that’s not even funny. Like I’m dead. With my eyes closed and my hands crossed on my chest. Like a dead person.

Dad: It is WINTER. There is SNOW on the ground. And it is COLD.

Me: Mom said the snow all melted so it’s just wet but she’ll bring a shower curtain for me to lie on.

Dad: Your mother is OK with this? You’re both insane.

Me: I think it would be HILARIOUS.

Dad: You’re going to put the photo on your blog, aren’t you?

Me: Why the hell else would I take it?

Dad: No one wants to see that.

Me: You don’t know my people. They would LOVE to see it.

Dad: They’ll find out where your grave is if you post that photo and then stalk you.

Me: I guess if they went to all that trouble that’s totally flattering. Also, I don’t live at my grave. So they wouldn’t find me there. I guess the joke would be on them, wouldn’t it?

Dad: I also think it’s illegal.

Me: It’s not illegal. You bought that grave. We OWN it. We could plant a damn GARDEN there if we wanted.

Dad: We’re not planting a garden in the cemetery.

Me: We could totally plant carrots there.

Dad: We’re not doing that.

Me: Probably also turnips. But I wouldn’t plant anything too tall, like sunflowers. That would be really obvious and point out we had planted a death garden. We really need to plant low-lying plants. And I was also thinking, since I own it, I kind of want to put a Monopoly hotel on it, so if anyone lands there they owe me money. We should make money from this property we own now.

Dad: You’ve lost your mind.

So yeah, tomorrow, I’m going to the cemetery, and first I’m going to be reverent and say hi to my people and tell them I miss them and some stories and maybe bring them some flowers, then I’m going to spread a shower curtain on my future resting place and make my mother take pictures of me pretending to be dead. You know. As you do on Christmas Eve Eve. Also, it’s not sacrilegious, because the side of the family that’s buried up there would find it HILARIOUS. They have the best senses of humor, those people. They would totally get it. They’d LOVE it. And also, you’ll get a photo of me pretending to be dead in a cemetery, which will be the funniest, right? RIGHT. It’s a win-win, really.

Alright, well that was fun! OK. Let’s see. I should probably wish you all the greetings, in case the computer at home is so slow I die of BOREDOM while using it, therefore necessitating a second, and much less humorous, trip to my shiny gravesite.

Merry Christmas, to those of you celebrating that holiday! May Santa and his elves and reindeer bring you all the goodies, may the newborn Christ bring you peace, may the little drummer boy not give you a headache with all that repetitive pounding, and may you happily veg out while watching Ralphie shoot his eye out on Christmas day on TNT, as all good people should!

Happy Hanukkah, to those of you currently celebrating THAT holiday! May your lamp oil last 8 crazy nights!

Happy Solstice, to those of you celebrating that holiday (which is TODAY, actually, so happy happy Solstice, which is the holiday nearest and dearest to my own heart!) and Happy Yule! May the reborn great horned hunter god bring you joyous tidings in the new year!

Happy Kwanzaa to those of you celebrating that week! May the seven principles live on in your heart throughout the year!

Happy Festivus to those of you celebrating that tomorrow! May your Airing of Grievances be soul-cleansing and may you triumph in your Feats of Strength!

There, have I covered everyone? Probably not. If I missed you, HAPPY WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE! Unless you celebrate something like “hatred of all cultures day” or “punch companion animals in the face day.” I’m not wishing you joyous tidings on something like that. You’re on your own there, Slappy.

I will miss you all, minions! Have all the fun doing whatever it is you do over the holidays. Hopefully I’ll be here, but if not, I’LL BE BACK MONDAY. I promise. Well, unless I die of the grippe whilst laying on my gravesite. It could happen. Wish me luck.