Summer of 2042

Writing helps.

Advil and ice cream help.

Humor helps.

Memes help, even the morbid, doomsday ones.

ESPECIALLY the morbid doomsday ones, and if you're not a fan of raw, black humor, scroll on, because I'm about to unleash some Category Five Karenoia.

This is how it was supposed to go:

Or how I, Karen,  was supposed to GO:

In the summer, of 2042.  I'd be eighty-two, and I picked that year as a tribute to "Summer of '42" so I could tell you a story about that movie.

When I was the assistant editor of my high school newspaper(which means I had no power, say, or talent) the editor-in-chief and I were invited to a screening of the wonderful wartime film.

We were supposed to have a Q&A session with the stars, Gary Grimes and Jerry Hauser in the semi darkened theater afterward.

Mine turned into  more of a T&A--well..the "T" during a make-out session with Jerry Hauser.  (And no, for those who recall the movie, there was no trick with the popcorn bucket. )

So there was my idiot-16-year-old self, going to second base with Oscy..was that his character's name?  I think so, and I'm on too much of a roll to  stop and google..Jerry was Oscy..Gary was Hermie, who lost his V-card to Jennifer O'Neill.

All I could think of was "your friends will be impressed but don't tell your Mom about this over-the-bra action!"..and..I'm glad the editor in chief and I went to a PUBLIC high school, because the private school girls locked themselves in a room with these two goons. And everyone left unzipped.

Anyway, let me leave my confessional and get back to my morbid reality:

It was supposed to be  2042, and my memorial service would be a small, intimate gathering in a venue maybe the equivalent of Windsor Castle.

People would speak, people would laugh, people would share memories like "remember Crazy Karen and  that one time she penned a semi-obituary during the pandemic of 2020?"

Another would say, "remember that time in Woodloch?"

Still another would say, "remember, that one time, at band camp..?"

My flattering photos would be displayed(make that photo-not plural---my HS graduation picture, taken before or after I was felt up by Oscy--I can't recall) 

"You Are Karen" would be on a constant loop with the entire score from "Out of Africa."

Although I'd probably have it in writing that I didn't want anything too religious in the ceremony(since my ashes were going to be scattered in Lake Teedyuskung anyway, which meant I was going to hell) I would allow the Mourner's Kaddish, because it would comfort my surviving loved ones..

I was suppose to go on MY TERMS...whoever spoke first would say, "Karen Amster sure liked her marbled rib eyes..and bless her heart, it took them  eighty two effin' years to do her in!"

It was supposed to be a party for me..a party of irreverent memories shared by loved ones..and maybe  some trivia games afterwards, like identifying TV theme songs.

There'd be great food served on mini trays brought by waiters who looked like Ethan Hawke from the "Before" trilogy or Jimmy Kimmel.

It would NOT be sad or tragic or unfair.

It would NOT be before my time!

But it WILL be if they don't put a stop to this shit..and SOON!

None of us want the world to end..not like this..