Loud and Queer

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Saturday night, me and three friends were having a light dinner when we heard the news.

Whitney Houston had died.

I was actually kind of late in finding out about the tragedy. It was one of those days where I wasn’t glued to the Facebook feed, so news had to travel the normal slow way to me.  So now, the terribly unremarkable salad and cheap champagne I was having will forever be etched into my mind.

I’d origially planned on going home early that night, curling up on the couch, and watching a movie.  February is the perfect month to stay home. Too cold to dress slutty, and who the fuck trusts the coat check with your fur?

But when I heard that Whitney had died!  When I confirmed that one of the greatest BELTERS of our lifetimes had passed…Well, I had to go out. I had to go dance. DANCE WITH SOME-MOTHER-FUCKING BODY!

I drug my friends out. We headed to the biggest gay bar in town, and I plunked myself down at a table and watched the big screens. i was transfixed by the clkering images on CNN. It was all Whitney.  Meanwhile, other screens were flashing through concert footage, national anthem moments, music videos, talk show appearances, and hilarious (even then) impersonations by MadTV and SNL.

At 48, Houston was way to young to pass away. I know that even though her voice was weathered and worn from years of drug abuse, that she still had a few more albums left in her. I know she still had few more hits.  Come on! She was ready for a comeback!  A big fucking comeback!  Everyone, EVERYONE, should get a comeback.

I think of how talented and lovely Whitney  was in the “How Will I Know“ video. Do you remember that video? It really changed my life the first time I saw it.  When I watched that video today, I burst into tears and cried. Have you ever tried to sing that song and cry at the same time? It’s not easy. I almost choked on my own tongue!

Saturday night we didn’t know exactly what killed Whitney. I mean, sure… We had a darn good idea.  But we didn’t know the gruesome details of her death quiet yet: drowning in a hotel bathtub, leaving behind a slew of rumors about her addiction and a beautiful young daughter who she didn’t say goodbye to.

We didn’t know any of that Saturday night as me and my slut gang launched onto the crowded dance floor.  We didn’t give a shit either. Celebrity death is celebrity death, it should be spectacular and sinister – with a scent of tragedy. Drugs? Sure! Worked for Garland!

After they finally ejected the queers from the bar, and closing time had sent all the DJs home for good – I went home and passed out.  It wasn’t till the next morning that it all hit me like a brick truck.  I YouTubed all the classic Whitney I could, and thought about all the good times I had lived through – jamming to her music.

“Bittersweet memories that is all I’m taking with me. So, goodbye. Please, don’t cry.”