Instructions for my funeral when I die in eighty seven years

• At some point during the ceremony, please begin a surprise mannequin challenge. And film it.

• Lie to everyone about how I died so no one can get the story straight.

• Please have an Eminem impersonator perform the ceremony. If none are available I expect one of the guests to step up to the role.

• Everyone who’s ever had a crush on me has to admit it, in great detail.

• You must read a list of all my accomplishments including this one:

• At a point of your choosing, I expect a dramatic reading of my best blog posts.

• I also would like a magic show, involving doves and card tricks.

• Please place all of my best items at the funeral with price tags to guilt people into buying them. You’re welcome to my current and future immediate family! Funeral X Stoop Sale

• I would love for you to showcase my retainer in a museum-standard lit-up glass case. Give her the respect she deserves.

• If people are being fake call them out. On the mic.

• Mia said she would like Bill Clinton to speak at her’s to recreate the Brooklyn Tech graduation and to remind people she never forgot her roots. I agree.

• The dress code should be 80s prom themed. I expect strict adherence.

• Post-funeral stargazing. If anyone mentions they can see the Big Dipper, they’re out. We can all see the Big Dipper.

Let’s touch base.

As you get older, the more you realize the things you avoid talking about, the things you think would ostracize you from society, are often the most common.

Whether or not other people can relate to these ‘things,’ I’ve decided to be more honest. This started with opening up to my close friends and family about my distaste with lemon yogurt.

It went over well, most people seemed to agree or ignore me. For those who agreed, while they didn’t say as much, I could read between the lines. I posted it on my story, so I didn’t actually see this take place, but I can only assume the reactions.

For the few who related to my troubles, I imagine upon reading my opinion, a weight of sorts lifted off of their shoulders. It’s kind of like after a haircut when the hairdresser asks you, “do you feel lighter?” You never do, at least in my experience, but you always say, “totally!” In this case, they actually did feel lighter, so I guess the analogy doesn’t work.

Maybe a tear even fell down their cheek, as this was the first time they’d felt truly seen.

The opinion that prompted this blog post was something that a reader and I have previously discussed. Their identity will remain protected incase of any adverse reactions to the following statement.

I never read introductions to books. Or songs in books. Or letters in books. Or poems in books. Or attached articles that relate to the main characters storyline. While this may be skipping over important parts of the story and stripping me of potential valuable insight, I say skip and strip away.

By changing the font, the text size, the italics, the words that follow become optional. It’s why I never include my poems in these blog posts. I save those for my LinkedIn.

I’m writing this, actually, just as I opened my book to an introduction and debated whether or not I should read it.

Maybe it’s just my American Eagle Freedom Genes. Introductions are often another persons opinion of the book, and I’m predisposed to form my own opinions. Maybe it’s because I’ve never read them so I don’t know what I’m missing. Maybe it’s because I’m too lazy to read the three extra pages. Maybe I do read the introduction and I just want you to underestimate me.

I guess we’ll never know.

Day in the life of an unemployed woman

This is an old post that I forgot to put up. So. Take this as Violet in May, not June.

It's also not finished. #BTS!!!

It’s been a while since I’ve graced you all with another blog post, which I’m sorry for. What can I say? I would tell you I’ve been busy, but that just isn’t true. Well - depends what you mean by busy. I’ve practically moved into pier 3.

today, I was feeling contemplative as per usual. Maybe it’s because I’m reading a patti smith book, or maybe it’s the music I’ve been listening to, but I had my thinking cap on.

I sat there, averting my eyes from the millenials lurking in every corner (don’t you have a job to be getting to?), and wondered when they cut the grass. I’ve been at the piers at almost all hours of the day and night, and I’ve never seen them mow the lawn.

I stopped myself though - I felt too similar to how I imagine the greasy guys in my freshman year english class felt in the warm embrace of Holden Caulfield’s arms. Where do the ducks go?

Celeste and I debated this for some while, but never landed on a solid conclusion.

Returning home, I shielded myself from my family, regressing into my shell like a turtle. I had a sunburn. How embarrassing.

I decided to continue my day of knowledge and enrichment and spent the next hour or so switching between watching XO, Kitty and playing Pokémon go.

I read the headlines of Snapchat “articles,” I’ve learned not to click on them - what’s behind the curtain usually fails to impress. Salt bae had a bad burger, vice has some horror story about drugs (as usual).

I felt tempted to click on vice, not because the clickbait was working on me, but instead a tear welled up in my eye as I thought of their bankruptcy. It almost hit me as hard as the Silicon Valley bank crash.