...why I will not cry or update my Facebook status for WHITNEY HOUSTON

Whitney Houston (Photo credit: asterix611)

I’ve never cried for a celebrity. Hopefully, one day I will – when I’m so ridiculously famous that I call all my celebrity buddies by personalised nicknames and loosing them is like loosing my subscription to Weekly Magazine (or other tabloids that will feature me regularly). I’ll be the one walking down Hollywood Boulevard, calling out  “Hey Brad P. Daddy”, “TomKitten”, “Justin-lizard-in-your-pants” and “Puffy-puff-puff-puff-D”. You know, famous stuff.

But for now, I admit to finding no reason to cry. Or update my Facebook status about how much I’m crying, as per the latest trend. While everybody around me makes tissue-towers, I sit here a little dry (take that as you will).

Please don’t think I’m a heartless bitch. I resent the tag-on adjective ‘heartless’ – after all, I cried at the ending of The Little Mermaid when I was six.

I think it’s sad when anybody dies, even animals. I can’t squash a mosquito for the guilt of murder (ok, and for the whole ‘don’t-know-who’s-blood’ factor). Don’t even get me started about ants. The sight of death stabs at our own mortality, and brings to focus the passing of life and the concept of our ‘souls’. Who are we really crying for, anyway?

But it is tragic when a person close to you passes away and loosing them feels like you are, in fact, heart-less. Then I cry buckets.

Like most people, I knew Whitney like the back of my hand. Do you even know what the back of your hand looks like? Me neither.

So, while I will join followers commiserating the untimely death of a wonderful vocalist, a leader for black women singers, and an icon in the music industry, I will not cry for Whitney Houston:

1. Because the people who really knew her are crying tears for all of us.
2. Because I am not one of those people who really knew her. In fact, I never met her. Also, I didn’t buy her last CD.
3. Natural vocals are no longer a requirement in the music industry. It will go on.
4. Britney Spears is still alive.
5. Because her death reinforced a very important life lesson we often choose to ignore: do not mix medication with alcohol.
6. She died before her comeback had a chance to crash. Leave while you’re still on a high (too soon?).
7. I didn’t cry for Princess Diana, Steve Jobs and Other Famous People. I prefer to remain non-discriminative.
8. Because all top rock stars are meant to die from drug overdoses. Now she can happily rest in the Hall of Fame with Elvis, Morrison, Cobain,  Hendrix, Joplin, Winehouse and Jackson. I wish I was invited to that party.
9. Because I can’t cry on cue, unless onion induced. And I hate cutting onions.
10. Because life goes on after death. If Bobby Brown still managed to host a concert just hours after Whitney’s death, then I think it’s safe to say we’re allowed to assume our normal, meaningless lives. Just as long as you make a tribute, as did Clive Davis at his pre-Grammy party that raged on while police investigated Houston’s hotel room and her body was still in the building. Move on folks – is the message I’m getting from her friends.
11. The coveted “The Voice” title is back up for grabs. And I think I’m in with a chance (what with computer enhancement and all).
12.  ‘I will Always Love you’ has been on repeat for the last…twenty years. I need a break.
13. Dolly Parton wants her song back * (she did not confirm this fact).
14. Because Whitney paved the way for pop. I can’t say I appreciate how that turned out.
15. Because she was late to a dinner honoring Nelson Mandela. And he did stuff for a whole bunch of people, not just singers.
16. I’m too angry to cry. I was late setting up a memorial page and missed out cashing in.
17. I’m upset because I don’t know why I wasn’t invited to the funeral.

I will celebrate her life, however, for everything she taught us about dating men: hanging with bad boys only leads to trouble… and raging parties, copious drugs, and crippling fame. Who would want any of that anyway?

Thanks Whitney, for the little bit of something you gave us all.

Single socks are good for nothing (image: wikipedia)

Dear Sock Monster,

Hi. We both know you’re not going to read this. Either because you don’t exist, or you’re too busy munching all my socks.

I’ll get to the point, then. I’m pissed at you. I’ve just finished a load and realised you’ve stolen my expensive, designer sock. I only had the one pair, you know. How am I going to impress my date with classy taste? If I don’t get laid tomorrow night, I blame you entirely. And don’t tell me I’m out of my league.

I’ve had enough of your erratic behaviour. I’ve got so many single socks, I almost believed the leftovers were mating and producing one-of-a-kind offspring. Almost. But I know it was you.

I tried to fool you by buying all the same socks. Ha! But I’m still always left with an odd number. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? I bet your childhood was real twisted.

Ok, I’m sorry, that was mean. But, can’t you satisfy your sadistic sock fantasies on the old and hole-y ones? Or at least, any of the ones that my deranged ex-lover keeps leaving here to give him an excuse to come back? Given what happened the last time, I thought you’d be the first one to want to get rid of him. That is, if you live in the washing machine.

All I’m asking for is a bit of respect. There are many children in the world who don’t even have a single sock to wear. And by my count, you’ve got at least 19. That’s just greedy. Think of the children.

I give you three days before I call the police. Or a lawyer. Or at least my mum.

Whatever. I know where you live.

P.S. I know it was you who ripped that hole in my sweater.

...'tis the season to commercialise the LEAP YEAR

It's a lucky Leap Year for ladies (image: wikipedia)

Have you organised your Leap Year Party? Of course with colourful party hats and a banner shouting ‘Happy Leap Year” across your lounge room wall! Oh.

You didn’t. That’s a shame.

Leap Years are highly underrated. February 29^thshould be encased in mystic and magic. It’s the day our planet realigns to the sun and seasons and ladies are allowed to propose by tradition. And we all know, technically speaking, that leap year babies age 4-times slower than normal human beings. What can we expect from a day that doesn’t really exist?

Primary school children can tell you how a Leap Year is calculated. It’s the solution to the extra .242 that’s left flying around time-space, waiting to be used up when the calendar allows it. And so, as 2012 is divisible by four and four hundred (as the Gregorian algorithm dictates), it’s time to celebrate another Leap Year. HAPPY LEAP YEAR!!!!!

With modernity knocking at our doors, and scientists trying to dispute Einstein’s theory, perhaps the Leap Year should be adapted to suit our self-indulging culture. What’s in it for us anyway?

Maybe the extra .242 should be based on a flexible accumulation theory. People can be free to choose when they take their Leap Year day.

“Boss?”

“Yeh?”

“I won’t be able to come in today. It’s my leap-year day”.

“Oh. Happy Leap Year then.”

“Thanks.”

And of course, you could accumulate your Leap Years over a lifetime. You could wait until you’ve accumulated enough Leap Years to take a week’s holiday. It would only take 20 years.

In failing to get government and business support, the very least we could do is commercialise it. Considering the commercial state of Christmas and Valentine’s Day, I’m surprised the Leap Year has been neglected. People don’t even throw ‘Leap Year Parties’.

Therefore, the following rules are in order:

• A Leap Year now equals the hype/status/importance of New Year – only four times as massive due to its rarity of occurrence. Someone get some fireworks!
• Start adopting stock celebratory phrases when identifying with a Leap Year. “Hip hip hooray, it’s a leap year day’, “ Happy loopy Leap Year!” or “Leap Leap hooray” would be appropriate.
• Any wishes made on Leap Year Day will come true (starting from…now). Just make a wish while holding one finger on a toad, licking bat’s blood, and jumping over a lazy dog. If it doesn’t come true, try again in four years.
• Get drunk. Really drunk.
• The traditional Leap Year’s dinner must involve takeaway that amounts to a week of calories.
• Gift giving is forbidden (as if we need another holiday forcing us to buy gifts) Instead, tell everybody what you don’t like about them.
• What happens on Leap Year, stays in Leap Year.

If you’re interested in Leap Year party decorations, I’m sell you some. I came prepared.

...special announcement: the day all holidays were NULLED

Expensive gift giving (credit: www.parenbonjour.com)

Celebrating gets expensive. Especially when you feel the pressure to surpass the price tag of the last gift you received. Don’t deny it – it’s an awkward moment when you feebly present someone a handwritten ‘massage coupon’, and they give you a shiny, new SLR camera (much to my horror last Christmas). And so the process starts. You find yourself unconsciously stuck in the ‘unwritten’ social norm of upward-gift-giving.

Fast forward several years and you find yourself wandering aimlessly in a gift store – perplexed and stressed – and looking at purchases you really can’t afford. Whether it be designer clothes (because you crossed the ‘non-designer’ line last year), puppies (teddy bears just don’t cut it), jewellery that sparkles (semi-precious was so two birthdays ago), or that new flat screen television you always wanted (I mean, they always wanted).

How do you stop the upward trend of gift giving? For those who freak at the thought of backing down, I discovered a list of mathematical equations (in my head) that devise the year you are acceptably allowed to scratch the gift-giving back to BASE ZERO. Do it – before you go insane and/or bankrupt.

How it works: it’s scientific fact based on unexplainable mathematics involving the day, month and year of each holiday. It arrives at the year you are not expected to give gifts, or other nonsense facts.

Valentine’s Day: no need to apologise for forgetting yesterday, it didn’t exist!

14 – 02 – 12 = 0

Easter: give yourself this many Easter eggs this year (held on April 8).

08 + 04 + 12 = 24

Check how many eggs you must eat every year here to abide by this highly accurate equation.

(image: wikipedia)

Christmas: you can afford to spend big this year, ‘cos next year’s Christmas is back to base zero. Just in time for Europe’s crisis.

25 – 12 – 13 = 0

Your parent’s birthdays: to be fair, the permanent record is set at base zero, except in the following situations…

(The year they were born) – (the year they were born) + 40 = 40

Interchangeable with +50, +60, +70 +80, +90, +100 (unless they turn senile, then you’re off the hook).

Birthday of your loved one:

(Amount of years you’ve been dating/married) – (Amount of years you’ve been dating/married – 1) = one year of exchanging presents while you’re still trying to impress each other.

After that, you clue on that ‘coupons’, ‘home cooking’, or ‘sexual favours’ are cheaper and happily accepted.

Your child’s birthday: is allowed to be forgotten before their conscious thought becomes ‘memories’. Gift giving can acceptably stop once they first declare ‘i hate you’, ‘you’re so annoying’, ‘i wish you weren’t my parents’ and so on (usually in teenage years).

To avoid extremely fucked up children, you should probably start gift-giving after the age of 20 when they forgive you and think you’re cool again.

base zero: >5 and 15< until >20

Friends:  

F+R+I+E+N+D = 6 – (minus the description of what they mean to you)

G+O+O+D = 4

B+A+D= 3

B+E+S+T = 4

FRIEND (6) – GOOD (4) = 2 presents

FRIEND (6) – BAD (3) = 3 presents

Yes, bad friends get more presents. Go figure, you try to suck up more (unless they are an E+N+E+M+Y or B+I+T+C+H).

Perfect it they’re a B+A+S+T+A+R+D – then they owe you a present.

Can also be used for F+A+M+I+L+Y.

The Queen’s Birthday

21 – 4 – 17 = 0

Yeh, sorry. You’ll be forced to keep celebrating that public holiday until 2017.

New Year’s Eve

31 – 12 – 19 = 0

By which year, you’ll hopefully be sick of all those fireworks, drinking, late nights, and…. crazy, stupid fun. Hell, hope there’s something good on television in 2019.

Your own birthday

(insert day) – (the month) – (year you were born) x 0 = 0

No matter how secretive you are, sending yourself birthday presents is sad. However, using someone else’s credit card to buy your presents is just genius. And highly acceptable.

Happy holidays!