Have you ever had someone touch you whom you’ve never met in person? No, not the time you called 1-900-HOT-LOVE, the only touching then was you touching yourself. It happened today, I was moved by someone I’ve never met. Which got me thinking…

Would they come to my funeral? More thinking…

How would I plan my funeral? A lot of people say they just want a big party where everyone laughs, tells stories, drinks, dances and celebrates the life of the deceased. If you attend, you’ll probably get a free t-shirt…

Not me. I want everyone to attend, even those of you who I haven’t met. I also want you to cry hard. Sob uncontrollably, actually. All of you. Because I mean that much to you and you’ll miss me, damn it! Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. And if you’re now crying right now because I’m not planning to die soon, then you aren’t really a good friend and should get off my blog right now!

Between the crying I want you to tell stories. But only the ones that I’d be proud of, not the embarrassing shit. No mentioning the time I threw up after drinking too much. (Notice how I made it seem like there was only one time?) Definitely don’t mention the time I had my skirt blown up over my shoulders while crossing the a downtown street on a windy day during the busy lunch hour and just that day I forgot to wear panties. (See how that sounds like it happened only once, too?) Probably shouldn’t mention the time I got a speeding ticket on the way to traffic school to take care of a speeding violation. To be fair, that really only happened once. And totally off limits is the time a lover’s male part was sprained in the act. Come to think of it, though, that is probably more his issue, so you can actually talk about that one. Ladies, if you hear a pop, know he is in pain!

I don’t want flowers sent to my funeral. I want them sent now. Can’t enjoy them when I’m dead. I prefer tulips and Gerbera daisies. Huge bouquets. Thanks.

I want my funeral in a park on a sunny day. But don’t worry about the weather, I’ll be taking care of that, being a little closer to the guy in charge than any of you on that particular day.

Also, I DON’T want drinking at the funeral. This may surprise some of you. There will be plenty of bar bills my family will already be left with after my passing plus I’m not there to enjoy it. You guys can get your own drink, on your own time. In fact, you should probably just buy me a drink now so you won’t miss it the day I’m dead.

And please make sure I’m cremated. There is no way you’re getting me in a little box in a cute outfit for nobody to see. Save the outfit. Also, save the boobs. Really…have them removed. (Then donate them to a flat chested woman who wants a great rack.) Save the plot space. I want my ashes spread at the top level of Horton Plaza. It’s an outdoor mall in downtown San Diego and I’ve always loved it there. If you happen to be shopping there on that day, don’t question the muck falling from the sky. It’s me.

If you don’t follow these rules I’ll haunt you. Even those who I haven’t met in person because I’ll know who you are with my special death powers.

Tags: boobs, flowers, party

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 11th, 2009 at 8:30 am and is filed under Drinks, Family, Friends, Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.