One for Whitney

Sorry I have been MIA this week, my people. I've been in a depressive slump ever since Brian Ganey said that he didn't read my blog I realized that I can't eat pancakes and sausage for breakfast anymore. The funny thing is that I never ate pancakes and sausage for breakfast, but now that my medicine restricts me from calcium/iron intake in the mornings, I have a fierce hankering for all things breakfast. In other news, I am a weird, confusing freak.

But that'll have to be for another day. Today, I am here about my girl.

To be clear, there are two Whitneys in my life.

The first (and best) is my sweetest, littlest, fastest and preciousest sister, Whitney. Here she is:

Hi Whit! Isn't she a beauty—isn't she just divine?!

Anywho, there will be many many posts devoted to my Whit-Nosh at a later date. So I'll just get to it: my other Whitney is this wonderful, wild thing:

Hello lovely!

Ever since I was a little girl, (read: ever since I was in, like, elementary school and someone said "Is your sister named after Whitney Houston?" And I was like "No, she is the original Whitney." (Just kidding, I wasn't that sassy at age 9). But I was probably really like "Who's that?" And this super sassy 9-year-old, channeling Lindsey Johnson, was like "That's my GIRL, she is my favorite singer. I can't believe you haven't heard of her. Especially since your sister was named after her." This girl probably flipped her hair at me right then and there—just a guess.) I have loved Whitney Houston. I have loved her soulful ballads, her sparkling white smile, her laugh, her TO-DIE-FOR ringlets, her eyebrows, her high notes, THE BODYGUARD—omfg, her powerful bring-the-house downs, her fashion, her general glow. It was Whitney that I sang and swung my hips to, and whose voice I failed to emulate time and time again in my bedroom.

Given that I always idolized her, it has been difficult in recent years to watch her steady decline. There have been high points—see the FAB pic above—amidst all of the low ones, but they always seem to come back down.

(0:13) This is in my file of quotes that I will say forever and ever with the same tone/inflection that she uses that in turn causes people much alarm and confusion. Also fear.

And while she always manages to make me laugh, no matter the situation, I feel for her. I can't imagine what it must be like for amazingly talented people to rise so high, to reach out and touch the face of greatness, to only end up falling and losing it all. It's heartbreaking, especially because Whitney wasn't about the gimmicks. She didn't need to bare all, or hatch from an egg or have the highest Twitter following. She was an inspiration, a role-model, a voice for those without one.

I will always love her—pun intended—and I've found in recent days that my musical taste continues to stand beside her as well. FOR SURE, the following songs would be included on my playlist for a.) my last day on earth (Oct. 21, 2011?) or b.) the one CD I could bring along to a remote dessert island where I would be stranded until the end of my days.

You're still #1 on the charts o' my heart, Whit. Stay strong, my girl.

A few things: LOVE this movie, Kevin Costner is a heartthrob and this ballad will stand the test of time.

There isn't much else to say other than, my girl is right: I DO.

I try to hold it together every time I listen to this song but I just cannot.control.myself. I lose it. I twirl around, I unabashedly belt out the high-notes and even the squeals. I don't pay attention while driving. I bang on the steering wheel. I make coy smiles at invisible passengers in the car. I croon into the rearview mirror. It's a sight to match what is surely the most epic song of my existence. If any of you are reading this, pay close attention, because I mean this with every fiber of my being: I WANT THIS JAM PLAYED AT MY FUNERAL. At every single service—and loud, too.

P.S: I also have a sister named Mariah. More on that in the future.