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.
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