I didn’t start the fire.

A couple months ago, a guy near near my home shocked himself at the wrong time at the gas station and caught on fire and got all crispy. To clarify, he shocked himself like with electricity, not shocked himself as in surprised himself. If that makes people catch on fire then we’re all in trouble.

I don’t even like pumping gas to begin with, but toss in the potential to burn to a fiery death? NO THANKS. Fire scares me. On the list of things that freak me the freak out, fire is #1.

You’d think I might like fire due to the fact that I am constantly cold. In the summer I wear hoodies, and in the winter, my hands forget what it’s like to be warm. I wear many layers of clothing. I occasionally have blue lips. It’s a fact.

I hate being cold though. It’s uncomfortable. So, I bought a space heater. I love it. I want to marry it. I want it to be by my side everywhere I go. It has a remote. It oscillates. It’s amazing.

Mostly.

The unfortunate part? It makes me more static-y. I shock everything. The doorknob, the cat, myself. Mostly I think it’s a trade off that I can live with; it keeps me on my toes. Except, I’m afraid of fire.

I’m really super duper freaked out like whoa by fire. I can’t light matches. I maintain a safe distance from bonfires. I’m fairly certain sparklers are just sticks of death. I’m a little irrational about it.

And 75% of the time I’ve been to the gas station since buying my space heater? I SHOCK THINGS. The pump, the car, myself – it’s like a ticking time bomb. I am so prepared to stop, drop, and roll, it’s not even funny.

Each and every time I shock myself, I get excited that I’m not on fire. Crispiness averted. But now I live in fear – more than usual.

But, isn’t this the weirdest punishment ever? All I’m asking is for a little warmth? The consequence? The supreme force of warmth will ignite me. A little excessive.

I guess it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. A life in fear. But, if I were you, I would never go to the gas station or be near flammable substances with me. It’s just a super power waiting to be unleashed. You’ve been warned.

– Sarah #2

I like to plan ahead sometimes

Sometimes I am a hypochondriac and think that I’m dying. Like when I thought maybe I was having a heart attack because I had weird heart pain for three days. So, I emailed my dad and told him so he would be prepared when someone found me dead on the floor.

He didn’t take me seriously. Probably because I also said I was upset that my death would mean missing the return of Jonathan Jackson to General Hospital.

Dad: It’s probably some muscle thing. And, I do not want you to die. Ever.

I guess I will live eternally like Jonathan Jackson in Tuck Everlasting.

My dad hates when I talk about dying because he says he needs to die first, but I just want him to be prepared and to know what to do, just in case.

I have big plans about how I want my funeral and such to play out, and I will totally haunt people if these plans don’t come to fruition. Believe you me, I will make for one scary ghost. I will totally change your channel to soap operas in the middle of your regular programming!

Anyway, back to my important plans, everyone knows I hate fire, but I totally want to be cremated and then just dumped out somewhere. Anywhere. A trash can. I don’t want a headstone or a plot in a graveyard because I think it’s waste of earth and money. I want a tree planted in my honor. I have told my family this at least 100 times and they probably aren’t listening: TREEEEEEEE.

My funeral is going to be more awesome than a party at P. Diddy’s hiz-ouse (that’s house, but cooler). This is why:

1. I want everyone to come to my funeral dressed in either an 80’s theme, a Harry Potter theme, or a gangster theme – Get Rich or Die Tryin’ (I suppose I died trying). (My mom can decide which theme. In the event that she is no longer living, I relegate this job to Shlee).

2. My sister, Heidi, must read an excerpt from Harry Potter about how Dumbledore’s not afraid to die. I’ll be chillin’ with Dumbledore in heaven. I’m pretty sure fictional characters go to heaven. ("To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.")

3. I would like my peeps to each tell one hilarious story about one of the other peeps (but not about me) so that i can laugh really hard from heaven.

4. By then, Sarah #1 will probably be ordained and she can read some reassuring quote, of her choosing, from the Bible. Alternatively, she can read some Bible verses about Christmas because I love that stuff.

5. Then, like in Love Actually, I want someone to blast “Bye Bye Baby (Baby, Goodbye).” I think that’s so funny for a funeral. I’d like that to be followed by a rousing rendition of “Precious Lord” and then I would like Jennifer, my cousin, to sing “Oh Happy Day” from Sister Act 2, including the high note.

6. And then have Jared, my cousin, lead everyone of age in taking shots of Jack while the kids eat pixie sticks.

7. Then I want there to be a reception where only foods I like are served, such as: hummus, vegetable platters, pizza, chips, quesadillas, and ice cream cake. Have it catered by Mi Rancho and J&P.

8. At this reception, please only play songs from Britney Spears, rappers, or musicals. Please have my dad and Uncle Tim lead everyone in dancing.

9. If I’m famous when I die (or really rich), please invite (or pay to have attend): Jonathan Jackson, Kristen Chenoweth, Britney Spears, Ellen, and the entire cast of both Harry Potter and FRIENDS.

10. Feel free to imagine me doing the final dance from Dirty Dancing with Patrick Swayze in heaven. Because that’s probably the first thing I’ll try to cross off the list upon arrival.

I feel like my funeral is my last chance to get people to do all the things I like doing that they would never normally do with me. So, HA! Sweet, heavenly revenge.

Now that this is on the internet, it has to happen. Otherwise, I’ll be sad. Dead and sad. Because of you.

– Sarah #2

My Heart Hurts.

I have had weird heart pains for about 3 weeks. It’s all weird and full of pain and DEADLY. That’s right, I’m dying of some sort of acute heart-attack-stroke-embolism-crazy disease and NO ONE BELIEVES ME.

People keep telling me it’s stress (maybe). Or heartache (maybe). Or other freaking lame responses that I refuse to accept because I’m in tune with my body and I know that this is the BEGINNING OF THE END. DEATH!

The creepy, bony, robed hand of death is upon me. It’s probably why I’m cold all the time. And why I’m so pale.

This is really just to say that if I die, I’m coming back to haunt all of you. That’s how I’ve reconciled myself with my death. It’s going to be so awesome.

Also, I told you so.