tomorrow the death

Having not been ice skating in a quarter-century, I figured it was about damned time. Also, I have never had stitches and it’s on my “forty things to do before I’m forty” list.

So tomorrow night, I have agreed to participate in an ice-skating double-date. Duties have been assigned as follows:    + Halsted: Twisting, spraining, and/or breaking some part of my body. Anything, really. I’m taking this one for the team!    + Halsted’s date, the MSG: Hot toddy patrol and subsequent monitoring. If we are too hot-toddied to walk to the rink, chances are we’re too hot-toddied to strap thin metal blades to our feet and perambulate across frozen water.    + Brina: Distracting us all with sparkly things. (As per usual.) This task becomes quite easy when used in conjunction with the MSG’s task.    + Brina’s date, BritButt: Properly casting each of us in “Disney on Ice” roles. He’s already cast himself as Sleeping Beauty, as he has the cheekbones for it. I will be auditioning for Lumiere from “Beauty and the Beast”.

Since today is potentially my last day pre-mortal-coil-shuffling-off, I would like to formally state some last wishes. First of all, no funeral. Party yes, funeral no. TMBG’s “Dead” must play at some point during this party. No flowers or frou-frou, but monetary donations to my library will be encouraged. My black biker jacket will be passed around and worn, if it fits, or just draped jauntily if it doesn’t. Mad Libs will be filled out; Fluxx will be played. Much alcohol will be imbibed and many photos will be taken. Stories will be told, retold, and then told again with fantastical endings involving Henry Rollins. A proper nickname must be given to the MSG, since he really dislikes this one. And he has to don a halo. The halo is important.

Secondly, all of my possessions will be piled in a large field. All partygoers will be plied with liquor, and then blindfolded, and set upon the pile. Anything they can carry, they can have. Zen is not included in this pile. Instead, Zen will be set in a room full of people playing “Werewolf” (this is also part of the party) and whoever she bites the most will be her new parent.

And last, but definitely not least, my ashes will be placed in an empty Nutella jar and, in small increments, given to the ocean whenever the mood suits. Possession of the jar will rotate between anyone who wins both Fluxx and Werewolf. Or, really, anyone who wants it.

Today the happy hour – tomorrow the death. All’s as it should be.

Current mood: Current music:

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.