Cats, Diapers, Sperm, Infertile, etc. etc. etc.

Moot points. Let the debate begin. I have all day.

RESPONSES TO THE QUESTION, “WHY DIDN’T YOU EVER HAVE KIDS?”

“Diapers are an environmental disaster (and also, yuck).”

“I enjoy my carefree lifestyle of two jobs, an elderly mother whose crises necessitate expensive bi-weekly trips out of state and a diabetic cat that needs insulin shots twice a day.”

“It was so great to catch up with you after all these years, really, but would you look at the time?”

“According to their profiles, all the sperm donors available were Rhodes Scholar finalists for both the Fields Medal and the Man Booker Prize who’d at least bronzed in the Olympics, and I really just wanted a regular kid.”

“That’s kind of a personal question, isn’t it?”

“I hate getting up before 9 am (mainly because I am sometimes up until then finishing freelance work).”

“I considered it, but I couldn’t afford a nanny, a dangerously ill-trained au pair or even a teenager who might work for $5 an hour and access to my unlocked liquor cabinet.” (That mid-shelf bourbon is fucking expensive.)

“My mother had it rough with my grandmother. I had it rough with my mother. My cat seems to think I’m pretty fucking awesome.”

“Do you ask childless middle-aged men this question?”

“As a matter of principle, I’m opposed to minivans.”

“Yes, I realize I’ve missed out on an integral part of the female experience. But the one week a month I spend writhing on the bathroom floor and bleeding through every goddamn overpriced tampon in the box helps remind me that I am, and always shall be, one with the sisterhood.”

“Why didn’t you ever have a cat?”

“Watch an episode of Better Things and then let me know if you still have any questions.”

“That’s really none of your business, is it?”

“Maybe I’m infertile! Maybe I had a miscarriage! Maybe I never met the right partner! Maybe I thought the prospect of having a child alone only made sense for women with a trust fund and the patience of Gandhi!”

“Maybe I wanted to break a dysfunctional family pattern and the only way I could figure out how to do it was to not have kids.”

“Maybe it’s none of your fucking business.”

“You’re right, I will have regrets when I’m in menopause! I regret staying in my dorm to study that night in 1984 when R.E.M. played The Rat. Beyond that, I’m good.”

“Yes, I realize there will be no one to take care of me in my old age. No one I can demand to hop on a plane to change my burned out lightbulbs and clip my toenails, no one who will spend hours scrubbing my kitchen — cleaning out the moldy cheeses and rancid mystery meats from the fridge, handwashing all the dishes because the dishwasher is broken and I’m too cheap to get it fixed — and who I will then berate because I would have preferred said adult child (almost certainly a daughter) use a different kind of cleaning solution, one that I refuse to believe has not been on the market since 1992. I’m good with paying strangers to put up with this kind of shit, thanks.”

“MAYBE IT’S NONE OF YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS.”

“Yeah, probably I’m just selfish.”

Source: McSweeney written by Lisa Borders

Aloha and Mahalo

Hello Peeps!

Hawaii (2)

No, I didn’t forget to get a spray tan, it’s me, I’m dead. Let’s not get into the details, but I’m embracing the weightlessness of afterlife. I’m not usually one for surprises but get ready for the adventure of a — well your — lifetime.

Instead of gathering you all down the road at a church, park, or something totally average and un-me, I’m inviting my besties and a few people who owe me from my living days to my destination funeral in Tulum (please use #Tulumeral).

Hawaii Diamond Head

This isn’t your Grandma’s funeral. I flew around the world, took weekends off, and maybe went into credit card debt for your birthdays, bachelorettes, weddings, second weddings, children’s birthday parties, mixers, whatever, so I’ll be cashing in this last favor. Get your Pilates bodies and designer wallets ready to fiesta in the name of your girl.

As described in my will (written via Notes App), the schedule is STACKED. Please review the itinerary below and RSVP to my mom. See you on the beach.

DAY 1: Set Your Intention (To Party)

Hawaii Hanahuma Bay

Please coordinate to stay at the eco-lodge. It’s $400 (American) a night. A steal. While I won’t have to deal with the impending apocalypse, I took the liberty of ensuring we stay somewhere that is preserving your home, Earth. You’re welcome. A yoga class will be held on the roof while an art piece projecting collages of images of me mashed with audio from my voicemail greeting plays. If you have photos to contribute, please contact Jordan, that artsy guy I dated last summer.

DAY 2: Open Casket & Open Bar!

Hawaii Rest

I’ve arranged for a little bit of the funds from my Save The Goldendoodles Foundation to cover flying our fave hair and makeup girls from Glam Squad to do my open casket makeup1 and get you ready to mourn all morning and spend the night partying on behalf of the departed! The dress code is hot widow. There will be an open bar that my cashed out 401k is covering following the ceremony. A cash bar is getting very tacky post-30. Please take note of that for your future gatherings. Remember, now I’ll always be watching you.

Lauren, you are in charge of overseeing this to ensure my makeup is smoky, sultry, don’t you wish you had made a move while I was alive, etc.

DAY 3: A Weekend to Die For

Hawaii Sunset

Before you head back home, swing by the lobby to nurse your hangover and grab some brunch. The menu is limbo-themed, so enjoy eggs in purgatory and our signature cocktail, the Diablo Michelada. Vegan options will not be available. There’s nothing like creating an awkward vibe in the office when you’re asked about your weekend and extra day off and explain it was for a funeral. Revel in that. Use it to elicit empathy from your office crush, make an IG post dedicated to our times together using photos where you look hotter than me. Death has changed me. I’ll allow it.

See you there or see you in hell!

— Me

Source: