Instead of getting really really old, how about poison?
I'll dress up to the nines in a black cocktail dress, high heels and pearls and make my way to the swishy bar at the W Hotel. There, I'll camp out with tequila shots and flirt with all comers.
And when I reach the end of the night, I plop those strichnine capsules down into my last drink. The white billowy curtains in the front of the doors will flutter one last time as the revolving doors turn and then I'll be gone.
Saturday the Chron headline will tell it all.