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.

Over the weekend I attended a big fancy party. It was an engagement party hosted by the rich and not famous. It was in a huge & beautiful home. It was catered. It was crowded. There was even a bartender who kept finding me and topping off my wine glass. Naturally I didn’t want to be rude and say “no thanks” so I kept allowing him to do it.

Back to the party. I do them well. I mingle. I chat. It’s where I thrive. Plus I wore a hot little dress that makes me smile. Towards the end of the evening (translates to consumption of lots of alcohol) I was pulled aside to meet another group of people. This group happened to be a small group of men. Not small in size, they were regular sized men. We were all making idle chit chat about the weather, the party, the cute engaged couple, living in other cities, traveling, whatever. Then out of the blue one man blurted out (directly to me) “I’m married.”  This comment was so out of place and odd that it felt like time stopped and the room got super quiet.  I responded with, “I’m single.” I could have added, “dumbass” but it didn’t go with my dress. 

So my question is this..

Why did he say it?

The only explanation I can come up with is this.  He heard me say, “Can you unzip my dress?” when I really said something like “Canoe near Madras?”. Although I’m certain that canoeing never came up in conversation or it would have been my cue to excuse myself to grab another glass of wine.