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Friday, July 22, 2011

When I Die...OR Let's Have a PARTY!

I'm not sure why I was thinking about it.  Well, heck, death happens.  I hope not for awhile.  (HIM, the man to whom I'm married, doesn't like me to bring it up.  But, hon, let's face the facts, folks do die.)  Poopoo happens.  We pay taxes.  Death happens.  How can I not compare the twain?  (Do I need to look up the word, 'twain'?  But I'm not going to do it.)

So my sister wants the Viking funeral pyre on the longboat.  (She doesn't know it, but she's going to get it, if I have anything to do with it.  I may have to spend the rest of the funeral in jail, but I'm going to launch that boat with her on it and it's going to be weenie roasting time.)  (You do realize that I'm speaking of the point in time AFTER she dies, and hopefully a long, long time from now of natural causes or possibly in an exciting manner that will have her hailed in the annals of time as the woman who did...that, that thing that everyone will remember FOREVER.  Either way.)
Fat Woman at a Viking Funeral.  It's possible
that I should be throwing the torch from
OUTSIDE of the boat.  Oh, but hey, I might as well
have the Viking Funeral AND the death defying stunt
at the same time.  It'll be fun.  I think my health
insurance covers third degree burns.
Of course, thinking about Viking funerals made me google it.  And OMG, there seems to be a significant number of people who are engrossed in the idea.  Apparently, most states don't think fondly of having a Viking funeral in their arenas.  The squawk is that Minnesota will allow it but I'm thinking that's not really an official statement of fact.  It's my opinion that the land of 10,000 lakes doesn't really want 10,000 burning corpses floating atop 10,000 flaming viking longboats in their 10,000 lakes.  (Minnesota: the Land of Cremating Corpses in Viking Longboats.  If you've got to go, go big!  This is a little long for their license plate motto, but I say WTH?)  (And here I am, picking on poor Minnesota.  It's just something I read on the Internet and I'm finding a hard time documenting it.  Furthermore, I'm loathe to call up the government in Minnesota and ask them.  "Excuse me, but I'm an obscure writer who wants to know if you allow Viking funerals in your state?  Hey, why did they hang up?"  I'd end up with a visit from my local law enforcement official about my funky-ass phone calls to Minnesota.  Jesse Ventura, call me!  I have to know if Minnesota is pro or con on Viking funerals.)

However, I did find this link: Crestone End of Life Project.  I quote, "Crestone End of Life Project operates one of the only legal, open-air cremation sites in the state of Colorado."  There ya go.  It's not a Viking longboat, but it's open air.  And it looks like Stonehenge.  (Except for the white plastic chair on the side and I'm pretty sure I would be wearing a particulate safety mask with ventilator.  "Gee, I liked George a lot, but I don't want pieces of flaming, cremated George in my lungs."  But that's just me.)

These people don't seem to be crying and wailing much.
Is it just me or maybe they didn't really like
the person who's getting the torch treatment?  Possibly
they're unhappy that the cremation didn't
come with pre-sharpened sticks and marshmallows.
You see, even in this economy, someone had a light bulb appear above their head, and said brightly, "Folks want their corpses burned up.  We should start a business.  What state is loose enough with regulations to let us rip?"  (Hey, Minnesota missed the boat!  Bad pun!  Bad pun!  Bad pun!  This is what my family calls a groaner, and that's not in a good way.)

And look, even long-in-the-tooth actors want the Viking funeral.  Jeff Conaway, who costarred in Grease, way back when, did a little time on Taxi, and then meandered through godawful 'b' movies and half-rated television series until he died earlier this year.  Well, very recently and very creepily he had an interview and said he wanted a Viking funeral.  Jeff Conaway on the Viking Funeral.  This is really weird because he died shortly after that.  (Complications of pneumonia and stuff.  Not because he incinerated himself in a wooden vessel whilst floating on a local body of water.  Hey, who wants to start an urban legend?  Like Mikie from the television commercial eating Pop Rocks and drinking cola at the same time?  Or like Walt Disney being cryogenetically frozen?  I remember my 7th grade teacher was adamant about Walt.  And she had a college degree, allegedly.)  Reputedly Jeff was cremated but in a non-Viking funeral manner.  Too bad.  If a Hollywood star can't get it, then who can?

When I die...I want a party.

No, a party!

No, A PARTY!!!!

I want a wake, except I'm not, nor have I ever been, Irish.  I want people to come and get a shot of an alcoholic drink they've never had before.  I want people to try exotic drinks.  I want everyone to play a song with kazoos.  I want everyone to sing and dance and get rowdy.  I want the police to be called at least three times.  I want to reserve a cab driver for the night to drive people to their homes and hotels because they can't even find their keys much less drive anywhere.  I want exotic food served.  And possibly Chippendale's dancers to perform.  (Hmm.  I can see that I'm going to have to put a little money aside for this event.  Possibly I can use Cressy's college fund.  Nahhh.)

Let's be clear here.  1).  I shall be cremated.  No embalming.  No fancy casket.  Get the cheap one.  Then burn me up.  Don't burn up the good jewelry.  I want to wear full make-up.  I want purple sparkly nail polish on my toes.  I want platinum hair and all poofy.  I want a little beauty mark like Madonna has.  Make the mortician put a smile on my face even if he has to use toothpicks, super glue, and titanium staples.  Hell, put a bottle of Amaretto in there for the heck of it.  Then go ahead and cremate me.

2).  The cremains (I didn't make up that word.  It means cremated remains.  I think I heard it on Six Feet Under.) shall be interred in a large jar.  (Not a glass one.)  Oh, what the snoogybot, I included some examples:
I'm thinking the one that needs the least amount of maintenance.
I mean I want my cremains to look good, but I don't want a lot
of fuss.  Hey, I might know.
3.)  Party guests have to affect a new, silly name for the duration of the evening.  I have examples.  (Your gangsta name: Combine your favorite ice cream flavor with your favorite cookie.  I'm Minty Chocolate Chip Brownie Deluxe.  Word.  Your soap opera name: Combine your middle name with the city you were born in.  That would be Lee Baltimore.  Sounds completely soapy.  Your superhero name.  Combine "The" with your second favorite color and your favorite drink.  And OMG, it's The Purple Singapore Sling.  That's just wrongity wrong.  (I'm going to have to remember that one.)  Or finally, there's  your prostitute name.  Combine the name of your first pet with the name of the first street you remember living on.  Not a number.  That would be Popi Date.  Hahaha.  It's so twisted.)

4.)  Party guests must wear a pirate ensemble.  Also acceptable, viking ensembles, vampire ensembles, and steampunk ensembles.  No Richard Nixons or fluffy animals allowed unless it is clearly represented as a zombie Tricky Dick or a zombie animal.  All zombies welcome.
Well, they won't have Nixon to kick to speak.
5.)  Weird drinks will be served.  All guests are required to imbibe one drink that they have never drank before.  Gorilla snot is made from Baileys and cream sherry.  It's completely grossbuckets.  A TKO is tequila, Kahlua, and ouzo, which pretty much makes my stomach turn over right here and now.  A Freddy Fudpucker is tequila, orange juice and Galliano.  Goosebumps is vodka, blueberry schnapps, and peach schnapps.  I'm getting a hangover writing about this.  Plus I found some funky beers:
Fire in the Hole Chili Beer.  Gahh!
Does this taste better with pizza?
6.)  No crying will be allowed.  Just happy thoughts.  I'm generally a pretty happy person and I'd be much happier knowing that people would toast my memory and then giggle about that weird thing I did in the 80s.  (I always meant to take that VW Jetta hubcap back.  Sorry to the VW Jetta owner in Frankfurt, Germany!  We had way too much to drink and strange thoughts went through our brains.)

7.)  The police shall be called no less than three times by neighbors living three blocks away.  Otherwise, they would have been invited.  Then the police shall be invited to the party.  This shall be followed by the inviting of the fire department, the VFW, and the entire cast of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, if they're still alive and able to party.

8.) At the break of dawn, multicolored kazoos will be issued to the guests and AC/DC's 'Back in Black' shall be kazooed with gusto and flair.  (I really like AC/DC.  It's better than taps and who wants to hear 'Wind Beneath My Wings'...again?)

9.)  All those who are still conscious can be escorted home via taxi.  Everyone else will be recorded via Android and their drunken, unconscious, probably-posed-in-a-silly-fashion pictures posted on my website for posterity.

That's a party

In conclusion.  I want to die and then have a party.  Maybe I should have a party and then die.  That would work too. (Cressy may attend as a zombie but she can't drink unless she's twenty-one years old and every man there previously agrees not to hit on her.  I can be a mother from beyond the grave, or in my case, beyond the mantle.)

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