When I die, I don't want people to sit around a church and read Bible verses I didn't care about. I don't want some strange fat lady to put a black fleece vest on over her secretary outfit and sing religious songs that I've never heard. I don't want a preacher reading off a card, pretending like he knew me. I don't want everyone to stand around in a parlor in ugly and uncomfortable shoes, making awkward conversation and not eating scones. And I definitely don't want people to pretend I was any better than I was.
So here's what I want: I want a funeral that's fun.
Go somewhere I loved, a park or a backyard or a pretty field. Wear whatever makes you most comfortable, even if it's jeans and boots. Especially if it's jeans and boots. Have a bonfire. Hook up my iPod and pump my favorite playlists. Bring my books and art and tell funny stories from 11th grade history class. Get drunk and dance around like fools. Bring your guitars and play music, or hell, just play a few rounds of Rock Band and celebrate my world-famous lack of any musical skill. Eat cake. Make each other laugh. Give away all my stuff to people who will actually treasure it.
If you want to celebrate my life, celebrate it like I lived it: with humor, with joy, with snarky comments, with pranks and movie quotes. With wacky.
And if you really feel like crying, turn on the Airborne Toxic Event's cover of The Book of Love, right at the end. Watch a slide show of photos of me laughing and pass out printed copies of my blog. Hold hands around the bonfire and get out one good cry.
And then go buy more of my books so I'll become a posthumous success.
But most importantly, have fun. Let that be my legacy.
Took down the pretty song as it was causing blogprobs.
Go here if you want to be F'ING HAUNTED BY MELANCHOLIA.