Whine Flu

I’ve never been one to buy into the hysteria of the myriad of farm-animal bred diseases that traverse their way around the globe and back again. I’ve never feared e.coli, bird flu, mad cow disease or any of those things you read about on CNN.com under the headline "FARMAGEDDON" in the morning when you’re drinking your coffee at work and have the internet open, shielded by an excel spreadsheet that you can quickly click on to pretend you’re actually working should the boss walk by. (Holy run on sentence!) I have better things to worry about: Making rent on time, for example. Hoping Shaw's doesn't cash my grocery check before my direct deposit takes effect. How far I can get once the red "low fuel indicator" light appears. (Anyone else sense a common theme here?) Anyway, to be honest the only thing that’s ever truly frightened me is the Ebola Virus, and that just because it is some SCARY SHIT. But odds are that since I’m not living in a tent in sub-Saharan Africa, beating on drums and hunting down warthogs for protein, I’m pretty confident I'm not going to start hemorrhaging out of my orifices any time soon. With the more localized illnesses – Swine Flu specifically, I just figure that it’s going to strike down some old guy living in a trailer in Rural Alabama before it gets to me. I’m a Young Urban Professional for chrissakes. I have health insurance, a flexible spending account, and I take a One-A-Day like every other day. I'm a vision of health and vitality.

This weekend I had my sister visiting for the weekend as a house guest. We did all those sisterly type things you rarely see outside of a Candace Cameron Lifetime Movie: I donned my "I'm the big sister shirt", and she wore her matching "I'm the little sister" one while we baked brownies in the kitchen, both sampling the batter from the same spoon. We shared a rootbeer float or two, and when she got chilly she borrowed a sweatshirt from me. We made a makeshift tent in my living room and huddled together while we told ghost stories and made smores in the fireplace. Then, when it was time to retire for the night, we both climbed into my bed with our matching pj's and snuggled up against one another as we drifted off to sleep. We braided each others hair, shared make up, borrowed each others clothes, and prank called boys we liked. We hugged and kissed one another goodbye when it was time for her to leave, etc. You know, all those things you do when there’s no fear of impending doom of passing on disease ridden germs to one another. She’s my sister for chrissakes. We share the same DNA. (Although mine's better.)

Sunday night, Sam complained of a bit of fatigue but I just figured it was because she was worn out from all the sisterly love and bonding we shared over the weekend. The next morning, she was well enough to go to school. By 10:00 she was in the nurse’s office complaining of feeling ill. By 10:02 she had a temperature of 101, by 10:03 she was quarantined with a face mask. By 10:05 she was dismissed. A couple hours later her temperature had skyrocketed to 103, and her primary care doctor officially diagnosed her with the Swine Flu.

That's a little too close to home for my liking.

So needless to say, I’m taking a brief respite from drawing up my will to compose this last blog entry. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but per my WebMD self-diagnosis, it seems I’m one of the unfortunate souls who are destined to contract a brand new, never seen before, incurable strain of the disease. Granted I have yet to get it, but I assure you when I do, the brain tumor I’ve also self-diagnosed myself with will counteract with the virus and it will manifest itself to cause a near-immediate and violent death. I am SO not looking forward to it. If there’s anything of mine that you’d like to have for your own when I pass, please have your people call my people to make arrangements. Furthermore, I have a few loose ends I'd like to tie up, and would also like to outline a few things I've been thinking about in regards to how I'd like to be remembered after I'm gone.

Since it's Fall here in New England, I think it's seasonally appropriate that I be waked in my Hudson Jeans and new suede boots. I’ve decided Ill leave the sweater choice to mom’s discretion, but I would like something cashmere that brings out my eyes. Just promise me it won’t come from the Macy’s clearance rack. Please? I know you just love a bargain, but for the love of god, I only get to die once, and I think I have a right to look ravishing when I do it.

And I've been thinking... I think the color palette of the event should be comprised mainly of black, grays and muted peach tones. I don’t know, it just seems very “H1N1-y” to me, don’t you think? Guests should work their funeral ensembles around this color scheme. If I may make a suggestion, I know Alexander McQueen has some wicked funeral wear out this season. One of his black, silk, tuxedo-style pantsuits paired with a pair of peach toned, patent leather Jimmy Choo's would be devine. I'd be applauding you from my cloud above.

Also, please be advised that it's expected of you to bring a little something to leave in my casket that reminds you of me. A token of your affection, so to speak. Something from the heart would be ideal, though be forewarned all items will need to be screened for appropriateness and cleared through me prior to my death. I want to make sure they send the right kind of message to the big guy about the sort of person he's got standing before him applying for residency up there in H-town. I imagine it'll be intimidating as it is, so please no cigarettes or bottles of Jagermeister, or anything of the sort. It's just not the impression I'm trying to make as I’m being atoned for my sins. Not to mention it’s simply too caucasian debris, and I plan to develop a taste for dirty martinis in the afterlife since I’ll be hanging out primarily with the Rat Pack on their cloud. I’d also like to make a special request that Sam bring my favorite North Face hoodie to leave in my casket for me to wear as I make my big post mortem debut. I imagine it might get chilly as I stand behind the velvet rope awaiting clearance from the big guy with the clipboard to stamp my hand and let me pass through the pearly gates. And I'd be remiss if i did not add that since one can never really be too prepared for this sort of thing, I might want to be ready for the alternative? While I'm pretty sure I'll be heading north upon my departure from earth, I still haven't gotten the Travelocity confirmation email. To be on the safe side, you may want to throw in a bikini and some sunscreen just in case my last confession didn't cover all the bases. I really freaking hope I'm not headed to an eternity of woe and anguish in fire and brimstone. **Crosses fingers**

So where were we?

Oh yes, the soundtrack. Ideally, my preference would be to have that dead Hawaiian guy' version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" playing as guests arrive for mourning. For some reason I can just see the doors opening as the camera pans out and the flock of mourners ascend the stairs to where I lie in eternal wait.  Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” should be playing faintly in the background as my guests are gingerly placing their flowers (rare orchids only, please) atop my bedazzled casket. I guess in theory any song that brings to mind the headstrong, enigmatic, independent woman I once was will do fine. If there is a church service, any of the requisite Jesus Jams will do just fine - Taste & See, Hosanna, and Hallelujah. My one special request... No Sarah McLachlan angel music crap is to be played at anytime during the event. Too cliché.

As for the menu selections, I think it would very tongue in cheek if we served scallops wrapped in bacon at the afterparty? Maybe some pork rinds, teeny ham salad canapes, and other swine type entrees? I think it would be deliciously ironic and people would just Eat. It. Up. Make sure to give me credit for the idea though so people can remark about how wickedly dark my sense of humor is. It would be best if when they said this, they choked back an anguished sob into the tiny peach napkin used to hold the hors d'oeuvres, as though just realizing the weight of my absence from their existence.

Perfection.

And last but not least... My dearest Matthew. Nobody is going to expect too much from you during the event, as you're going to be too enraptured by your own anguish and crippling grief over the loss of your beloved soulmate. Therefore, it should be a pretty easy ride for you the next couple of days. You're welcome. With that said, I don't think it's too much to ask the following of you. I think it would speak volumes about the "once in a lifetime" love we shared and your devastating loss if while overcome with emotion and a fit of wracking sobs you had to be pulled away from the casket? Or maybe as I’m being lowered into the ground you can hurl yourself over the edge, crying out“I want to go with you!” or something to that effect? (Don't worry about falling six feet down, someone is bound to grab you and pull you back). It’s totally your call whichever you decide to do. Just take solace in knowing I’ll be smiling down at you, pleased with either choice you think would be more of a tearjerker for my fans guests. You're such a good sport. It's almost a shame to leave you behind. Maybe I'll cough all over your face later so you can come with me.

Anywho, I should probably get a move on with dying and all that. So without further adieu, I bid you farewell my dearest eight regular blog readers (and the gaggle of others who sometimes click on here looking for a meatball recipe). I leave you with this Irish blessing to remember me by: May the wind always be at your back and the sun not in your eyes or some shit like that. I'd google the real saying, but I'm pressed for time as I clearly have a lot to plan for the big event. Based on the way my throat is feeling **insert dry, hacking cough here** it looks like I may need to move the date up a couple of days! Things can never go according to schedule. Story of my (soon to be over) life.