Tonight, I attended my first non-white funeral. I’m 51, folks, and used to chase dead people for a living. I’ve never attended a funeral for someone from another race.

In my life.

I almost did once, but I decided not to attend. Strange story: Me and my buddy Mike went to go see the 90’s TMNT film on opening weekend (can I get a nerd wut-wut). I stopped on the way home to get gas and a pack of smokes. Total: $6,66. No bullshit.

Five bucks would’ve lasted me a week in my 1979 Monte Carlo and a pack of Marlboro’s were a buck-sixty-six. Dammit, y’all. Take me back. Please take me back.

While I was filling up, Mike said he would walk two blocks over to a friend’s house. I left it at that and went home.

The next morning, I awoke to news that he’d been murdered while on his way to meet those friends.

He was the first school friend I ever lost.

I’m purposely leaving a lot of blanks in that story. Perhaps another time.

Back to today; I attended a Filipino funeral. A Dallas artist friend and old travel partner of mine’s father passed away suddenly while working on his car. Texas summers are dangerous, and I’m not sure how many more I can stomach. I’m running out of summer’s.

Also, I’ve had summers everywhere in the continental United States and hated them all. Tough tit; it’s only getting hotter.

Where can I go? Europe? Apparently, I’m Irish so why not?

Wow. I had every intention of pinpointing how narcicistic Caucasian funerals were compared to what I’d witnessed today, and instead took an inadvertent stroll down horrible memory lane…with a touch of mortality.

The mind is a terrible place to live, folks, yet I insist. Literary sadist at your service. The “dig a little deeper” through a mind that endured the  Gen X massacre known as the end of the nineteen eighties. What an adventure it was.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. My lovely wife is sleeping peacefully beside me as I peck away in the darkness. Why do we (writers) do this?

Answer: we have no choice. Not only did I need to get this experience out of my head and “on paper”, but there’s a small possibility someone out there needs to see this subject matter being discussed at this very moment in time. I could be the one to fulfill that need. That is why I started, and that is how I’ll finish.

Anyway; funerals.

When it’s my time, I want it to be a reason for others to celebrate. Don’t mourn my death; toast my life. Fill one of those incense things the religious dudes be swingin’ in movies full of weed and lock the doors. Blast Guns N Roses Appetite For Destruction from start to finish, devour a ton of finger foods, snort Mountain Dew, laugh about all the stupid shit I did and how many divorces I caused, and get on with it.

Let’s be honest. According to the survivor of the Roswell crash, we get mind-wiped and stuffed into a baby body immediately. I think I want to be a lesbian next time.

That’s totally not a joke; I think it would be a beautiful way to live. I have my reasons.