Funerals are for the living...NOT MINE!

Another old one that I found, but please add Patron shots to the list of "to dos" of the day!

I've got a folder on the desktop of my laptop that is labeled "Irish's Funeral." It used to simply be labeled "Funeral Music." If the music is the only thing I have control over, then count me out of this whole ever dying thing. 

I've got lists. Boy, do I have lists...  I'm to be cremated, so there's none of this 'viewing' nonsense. Besides, no one would be able to pick out something I'd want to wear in a casket. I've yet to find "Casket Wear" in the drop down menu for any of the stores where I shop. 

My rules of conduct, participation, and attendance are quite clear. The person executing the way I want things done will have to pay very close attention to the details of my 'directive.' Whatever god you pray to and whatever your beliefs in the after life may be...well, let's just say that I will probably be watching from my state of limbo. I think that's where people with unfinished business dwell. Much like Beatrix Kiddo (Kill Bill reference), I will definitely have unfinished business.

Considering my viewing will essentially be a party with a semi-open mic, the music has already been predetermined. If anyone doesn't like what's playing, I'll be dead and they can get the fuck out. The fun part for me will be watching the fake-ass jokers being turned away at the door. My doormen will be in "beer can pants" and shades. WHAT? Anyone who knows me knows why. I've yet to decide whether the doormen should be the ushers from my wedding of 24 years ago. They're the same age as me and one of them mayyyyyy outlive me, so I might have to have a nephew or two (perhaps...<gasp>...a grandson or two) tend to the door. The individuals will have to be firm about the list, no matter what kind of fake tears are shed. "Oh, I loved LTLIRISH so much and want to pay my respects because she gave me a cherry tomato out of her pathetic, side-house garden once." You're bounced. One of my nephew's knows what's required, that's for damn sure. There's time for grandchildren to learn. My girl children will understand why their sons (or bad ass daughters) are in beer-can pants and physically bouncing posers from a celebration of my life that is at the time of my death. 

There's a specific list of people who can enter and I'm preeeetttttttyyyyyy (yes, I'm pretty ::::blush::::) sure everyone knows where they stand. 

Kegs. Yes, kegs. Open bar. Yes, open bar. 

My 2¢ for you, so please pass the alcohol donation plate. My funeral plans will require WAY more than 2¢.

Interrupt me one more time...

Found an old one...I guess I was having a bad day (again).

 

Generally the comment is "Interrupt me one more time and I'll simply stop talking." Well, I've decided to interrupt myself. Yup, Irish-Interruptus. You can look it up in the medical chronicles. It's a very rare disease in which I've decided to just shut the fuck up and let it be. This is not an easy thing for me, as anyone who really knows me can attest. The taste of blood in my mouth is becoming common, almost vampire-like, from me biting my lips and tongue.

No money required...save your pennies.

 

I want to go back...

I want to go back.

I want to go back to where a fight with a sibling was over and done with by the time cartoons started on Saturday morning.

I want to go back to summers of riding my bike for hours and not for exercise.

I want to go back to throwing mud at wood doors of barns like snowballs at garage doors.

I want to go back to when I wanted glasses because I thought they were cool and not because I need them to actually see.

I want to go back to when boys were just plain gross and didn’t ruin people’s lives.

I want to go back to when I wasn’t allowed to drink pop.

I want to go back to when it was funny to belch.

I want to go back to spelling tests every Friday.

I want to go back to when I thought I shouldn’t have to wear a shirt because the boys didn’t have to.

I want to go back to worrying about my SAT’s.

I want to go back to being able to see shapes of things in the clouds.

I want to go back to being afraid of thunder and not lightning.

I want to go back to when cussing was fun to do if you didn’t get caught.

I want to go back to saving a seat for a friend on the bus even if he or she was a complete bitch and didn’t sit with me.

I want to go back to riding the bus.

I want to go back and learn how to play the piano or guitar with passion - not the flute with NO passion.

I want to go back to crayons.

I want to go back to writing in a diary.

I want to go back to laughing and not being able to stop.

I want to go back to being a latchkey kid.

I want to go back to being too young to drive and it not mattering because there was/is no place to go.

I want to go back to where I forgot what really happened.

I want to go back to when a boyfriend meant simply saying he was my boyfriend and nothing else.

I want to go back and apologize to people who really deserved an apology.

I want to go back and play board games all day during the summer.

I want to go back and have my first kiss again…with someone different.

I want to go back to when tears were there after a cut knee and not always at the verge of falling down my face.

I want to go back to believing in love.

I want to go back to picking flowers.

I want to go back to where it doesn’t hurt to think about certain things.

I want to go back and wear a hat more often in the winter.

I want to go back…

Wait a cotton picking second...

You think this all comes out so fast and naturally because I oftentimes have the quick wit of my nephew, but to be quite honest...this stuff comes to me while trying to fall asleep, during insomnia moments, and mostly in the shower. Note to self: Buy a marker I can use in the shower to remember the good bits and pieces.

I like to bitch about stuff because I certainly can't say what I want. I especially can't say it to who I want. My boyfriend and yard/pool boy told me to do what I do best...vent in a blog. It's taken a while, but I think I have my words back.

That's not even 2¢ worth, so I'll be distributing change. For those of you who know me and the garage door code, simply get your penny from the "elephant" full of folding money consisting of large denominations. Take pennies only, please. I'm putting two kids through college and LTLIRISH likes to pick up an Apple item here and there.