Yep, I’m a morbid goth kid 4 life. But I think about this a lot: how I want to spend the end of my life. Frankly, it’s a lot easier (for me) to idealize the end of my life, than to imagine or plan for the next five years, fifteen years, FIFTY years. No, I have this morbid fantasy where an angel descends from on high and gives me an egg timer and says, “This is how long you have left to live. Go forth and LIVE, bitch!” So I think about how I’d spend my last moments alive. I also think it’s a fun ice-breaker question: “What would you do if you only had 48 hours to live?” Two days. One weekend. And it reveals a lot about who you are and what your priorities in life are. Depending on whether you say, like, “I would spend time with my family and friends!” or if you come up with a fully-fleshed out scheme like this:
The first thing I would do is book the first plane ticket to Paris, then empty my savings account. Put all that cash into Euros. Jet to JFK and buy myself an airplane cocktail. Heck, have another one on the plane– make it CHAMPAGNE! Then sleep on the flight over there, because when I land, I’m going to be busy…
…propositioning every hot French person I see. “Voulez-vous…?” Luckily, I know enough French to attempt to get raw-dogged by a sexy Parisian. Hey, by now I’ve only got like 35 hours, if I’m lucky, I can get railed for at least…. seventeen of my remaining minutes. The whole point is, I want to go out with a bang. Or two. Or as many as I can get in. The clock is ticking, people!!!
Then, it is very important that I get my use out of all the money I worked so hard for in my lifetime. And so, I’m gonna start taking those hard-earned Euro-dollars and throw them at cheese. Cheese and macarons. Cheese, macarons, and WINE. I’ll order a round for EVERYONE in this bar! Hey, I’m dying! This will also, I feel, increase my odds of accomplishing my previously stated goal. Liquor is nature’s lubricant. “Champagne, on me! No, who will ‘voulez-vous couchez avec moi c’est soir’?”
Meanwhile, I’m on a mission. I have to take as many selfies all over Paris as I can between stuffing myself with fromage and pènis. This is a gift for my loved ones. That way, when I’m dead, they can go to my Instagram and see my living my damn best life – IN PARIS.
As the clock winds down, I start doling out money to strangers. “Cherchez la femme,” I stuff bill’s into their arms with a benevolent smile. Literally the only French I know is from 70’s disco hits. And this: c’est la vie, right? And you’re supposed to live every day like you’re dying? So let’s raise a glass of this $6 rosé and toast it with a cheese stick. I’m part of the way to living the dream. Hand me the wine and the dice.
the Eiffel Tower at sunset, via Wikimedia Commons
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Lots and lots of cheese. What’s your favorite type of cheese? I like gouda. This post reminded me of that Dexter’s Lab episode where he gets stuck saying “Omelette du Fromage.” Maybe it’s because I’m thinking of one of your last posts about an omelette in the microwave. EITHER WAY.