2good 2B 4gotN

I went to a dinner party on Saturday and by dinner party I mean a feast worthy of the gods – my Italian girlfriend cooks like a 5star chef.  At the dinner party, Hunter S. Thompson came up as a topic of conversation.  Now coincidentally, Sam and I had just been speaking of the legendary writer that very morning.  Sam has a friend, a fellow reporter I believe, who became amigos with Señor Hunter through work.  The two men had a quite a few late night phone conversations with Hunter often conferencing in other well-known figures so the group could talk about who knows what and football.  Yes, Hunter loved football.

 

Which brings me back to my dinner party…another guest asked us all if we knew how Hunter died.  Many nodded with funny smiles on their faces, but I shook my head no.  (I think by now we can all agree that I’m not the most informed gal when it comes to news and current events.)  Hunter, he told us, had terminal cancer so he arranged a huge party with all of his friends on the top of a mountain.  Everyone ate and drank and told stories about the man who had brought them there.  When the laughter and the walks down memory lane came to an end, Hunter walked off into the distance alone.  That was the end.  He shot himself.

 

When I was 14, I wrote up neat, concise instructions of what I wanted my funeral to be like.  I would be in a pale pink casket, happy rock and roll music would play, and all of the boys who never looked twice at me would suddenly realize that I was the love of their lives.  It was to be the best party of my 14-year old life…except that I was dead.  As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to realize that what I really want is a party before I die.  Just like Hunter, I want to hear my friends laugh, I want to remember that I was loved, and I want to know how I’ll be remembered.  Like my senior year yearbook, I want everyone to write indelible messages that I can carry with me into the night.  Sara Morris – 2good 2B 4gotN.

I don’t know if the story of Hunter S. Thompson’s death is accurate, but I like it.  We should all take the time to hear that we are loved and to know that we make a difference…and that all those boys who broke our hearts at 16 still dream about us every night.  Insert pink casket.  Insert AC/DC…She was a fast machine, She kept her motor clean, She was the best damn woman I had ever seen!

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