Stuck: Day 1

Where the fuck do I even start?

All I ever wanted was to live in San Francisco and become this hot shot reporter. I was half way to my dream. 

Something my parents claimed was a giant waste of time and money. My dad always said, “You need a stable job, something with a salary!”

Welp, guess all those hopes and dreams are gone.

I’m dead.

Like dead, dead.

The thing is… I don’t know how this happened. I woke up yesterday and I was floating over my lifeless body. 

Shit was intense.

I always thought when you die, there’s like some beam of light that comes down from heaven and takes you. Or maybe it's like that milk commercial, where the cow is lifted into that beam of light from a spaceship.

But, nope. Haven’t seen any signs of aliens or God. 

It wasn’t my time. I wasn’t supposed to go out like this, for goodness sake, I just turned 22!

I haven’t even had the best sex of my life yet! I mean, I hope I haven't. What a bummer. I was really looking forward to that! 

Is this it? Is this what happens after you die? I’m stuck on earth as casper the fucking bitchy ghost?

I guess its not that bad, you know?  I'll be remembered as this young, beautiful, sassy soul forever. 

I overheard my dad talking on the phone with the funeral home, “Mahalia loved roses. We have to have white roses everywhere.”

I guess my funeral is tomorrow. I have mixed emotions. First off, I don’t like the dress they chose and if my makeup isn’t on point I’m literally going to freak the fuck out!

My mom always has- 

or I mean, had, an opinion about the way I did my makeup. Its like drag, meets goth girl, but it works ya know? Lashes are a must honey. I swear if they don’t put my fave lashes on, I will haunt someone!

Anyways, this whole dead thing is getting old pretty fast. What I would give for a shot of patron reposado and a blunt. Yes, I have good taste in tequila. Surprised?

The night before I kicked the bucket, was like any other Saturday night. I went out with my gay best friend Ferdy and we hit the Castro. 

He was like the Stanford Blanch to my Carrie Bradshaw.

I had been getting drunk almost every weekend because this stupid guy broke my heart. Maybe that’s how I died? A broken heart? Wow, pathetic.

I’m literally trapped in a fucking 80’s cliché movie or something.

Okay, I know what you’re probably thinking…why is this dead girl so bitchy?

I’m pissed off, okay? That stupid guy that broke my heart gets to keep on living. He gets to grow older and fall in love, start a family, everything I won't be able to do. 

How is this fair? I get my heart broken by an evil man and then poof, IM THE ONE WHO DIES?! 

My ideal scenario would have been him running into me, while I’m looking my best and flirting with some hot guy at Coin-Op. Meanwhile, he walks in with some mediocre blonde chick with fucked up eyeliner.

Being dead isn’t like the movies, let me tell you. 

I’m just floating around, stuck. Why am I still here? 

I thought there was supposed to be like a party somewhere and all my dead relatives greet me at the entrance of God’s nightclub.

So, like, I'm wondering what fake bitches will show up to my funeral tomorrow. Or will anyone show up at all? I'm not on speaking terms with most of my family. 

This will be interesting or possibly the most depressing funeral ever. Maybe I’m stuck here for a reason. I’m trying to figure out what I did to deserve this? I’m literally an angel, except for that one time…

Sincerely,

Dead girl talking