Are You Talking to Me?

There's a popular belief that talking to oneself is a sign of genius. If that holds true, please consider me the world's foremost genius. Because I definitely talk to myself. A lot.

This is a rather embarrassing admission; I've never known anybody to willingly proffer this information without at least some reluctance. But with age comes a distinct lack of caring what others think. Don't get me wrong, it still embarrasses me to no end when somebody walks in on me muttering to myself, but at least now I know this is a fairly common practice among people, based on a number of articles I've read and conversations I've had recently (with other people, not myself).

Yes, I talk to myself. Don't lie, you do too.

What do I talk to myself about? Nearly everything. From trying out a difficult speech I'm going to later barrage someone with, to repeating movie lines, it all comes out. I even go over previous conversations, coming up with things I wish I would have said at the time. Why does this have to happen out loud? I truly have no idea. But I do notice that certain things trigger more self-talking for me, such as lack of sleep, stress or too much caffeine. Along with many other physical issues I experience when I ingest significant amounts of caffeine, talking out loud at odd times is one side effect. I've actually startled myself while hopped up on caffeine when I "come to" out of a deep conversation with myself, previously not having realized my thoughts were audible. This is one of the many reasons I try to avoid caffeine.

In addition to talking with myself, I have a tendency to take up conversations with inanimate objects. There can be absolutely nobody around, yet I feel the need to speak out loud to an object. For example, if I'm trying to cook and my spatula breaks, is it really necessary to direct disparaging utterances at my utensil? Isn't it weird to say something to the effect of, "Really? NOW you break? When I'm in a rush and just want a tasty pancake? C'mon, spatula, what the hell?!" Or how about aiming comments at my own body parts like, "Well hey there, hair. You're not looking too bad today." It's pretty odd, I'm not gonna lie. But I do it. All. The. Time.

For a while, I actively hoped nobody had set up any sort of recording devices in my home for fear of revealing my penchant for talking to myself and everything around me. But now I figure if there is some sort of recording device, I just hope my stalker is amused by my outbursts. (Note: this is not an invitation to bug my home or to set up secret recording devices. However, if there is already one in my home, I just ask to split any profit you bring in from internet sales of the audio/video.)

So is this really a sign of genius, as the old adage suggests? Or perhaps an overly active, overly creative brain? I'm not sure, but I doubt it. As long as it's not a sign of the alternative--schizophrenia--then it's alright with me.

Have a Seat

Up and down. Down and up. All. Day. Long. Such is the life of a toilet seat in a mixed gender household.

But then the trouble starts. You know how it goes: Woman walks into the bathroom and doesn't check seat, woman falls into toilet, woman screams, woman lectures man endlessly for leaving the seat up, man rolls eyes and tunes out. OK, ladies. I've got something to say that you probably won't like. You're in the wrong.

The seat flips both ways. Guys, put it up. Ladies, put it down.

Having been the victim of a wet bum myself on more than one occasion, I can completely understand the dismay at falling in. I can identify with the blaze of anger that makes some women scream obscenities and curse whoever left the toilet seat up. But please realize that this is not somebody else's fault. YOU should have looked before leaping. Remember in a previous post, how I said women should stop hovering and instead check the seat before sitting down? The pre-sit checking still holds true in this case.

Think about it -- the guy did what he has been trained to do since becoming potty trained as a toddler. He courteously lifted the seat so as to not spatter upon it (sadly, many women don't have the same courtesy and spatter all over seats. Again, see original post). He went through the trouble of reaching down to lift up the seat, when all he really wanted to do was relieve himself.

Ladies... You, however, opt for instant relief instead of taking the half a second needed to check the seat. You couldn't take the half a second to flip the toilet seat down and spare your bottom the drenching that followed. Yet you will yell at the man mercilessly as if he actually did something wrong.

If we are to abide by woman logic, men are supposed to put the seat up AND down when doing their duty, while women bear no burden whatsoever. That seems illogical to me. There's no reason he should have to put the seat down when he leaves, but ladies shouldn't have to put it up when they leave. There's equal chance of each person using the restroom next.

To those women who claim they will likely be the next toilet user, so the man should therefore put the seat up and down... my response is that you have to pick your battles. Personally, I don't see the ridiculous toilet seat battle as something worth fighting for.

I contend that the toilet seat wars are just the product of women's embarrassment at falling in. It's a rather common occurrence for people to fly into a fit of rage when they clearly know they're in the wrong, but are too embarrassed to admit it. Ladies, let's just remember that nobody else is there with you so it's not anyone else's fault. On the upside, due to there not being anyone with you, others will also never know of your unfortunate topple into the bowl unless you tell them.

So how about we all count to ten, pretend the plunge never happened, and remember to take a brief look before plunking down on the seat next time. Plus, let's not forget how lucky we are to have toilet seats. Think of all the people in prison who would kill (figuratively, and possibly literally) to have a toilet seat at all.

Guys, if you consistently put the seat up when you do your business, you're off the hook on this one. But please start remembering to refill empty toilet paper rolls.

Update 4/27/12 I would like to thank a number of you for letting me know that there's another option  practiced in some households -- everyone puts the top lid up and down every time. I have to say, I like this. My previous rant was about just one sex having to bear the whole burden of toilet seat management, while the other did nothing. If everyone shares the burden, I'm OK with that. Thanks again for the suggestion!

On the Road Again

Warming sun. Tropical drinks. Exotic foods. Hiking. SCUBA diving. Chatting with locals. Exploring locations teeming with history and culture. In my opinion, these are just a few of the elements that meld to forge a glorious vacation experience. You know what doesn't make for a pleasantly memorable vacation? Travel jealousy.

Over the years I've been told by countless people, "Gee, you go on so many vacations. I'm totally jealous." I've also heard the more blatant, "Vacationing again? I hate you." Although such statements are usually uttered with jest, they often contain a certain amount of biting truth. Sometimes, sadly, the words are even spat with thinly veiled bitterness.

I will admit, I embark on more trips than the average person. But if you will excuse my hubris for a moment, I also deem myself one of the more adept adventurers I know. I'm not talking about an adventure vacation here and there, with the rest revolving around sitting on beaches. Sitting around is for other people. I want to milk every new locations for all it's willing to give up. I do my best not to take any trip for granted.

We all hold certain passions near and dear to our hearts. For me, traveling is that passion. Exploring new places produces a kind of euphoria in me that is not easily replicated. The funny thing about passion is that it manifests itself in different ways. While one person may be passionate about reading, another may be passionate about collecting art, and yet another may be passionate about music. All are valid if they enrich people's lives, as I believe my travel does for my life.

I understand that all of us like to escape from the daily grind when possible, and for some it's a difficult endeavor. Please believe me when I say my trips do not simply occur on a whim. They are thoroughly researched, budgeted and contemplated. Those of you who know me well know how much of a cheapskate I am. Do you really think I would be spending copious amounts of money on anything, much less something that's not a necessity? I read travel advice websites daily, sift through countless emails from travel companies, hunt for deals on the internet and twitter, enroll in every point/discount accrual program, haggle with hotel managers, study weather patterns, research a destination's low seasons and bite my nails down to nubs while waiting for last minute deals. I promise you, with my weekly and daily attention, I put in more effort than 90% of travelers. Plus, many people tend to forget that I'm not taking full two-week vacations several times a year; many of these excursions are simply for a weekend.

Additionally, my daily expenditures are ridiculously low compared to most people. I make nearly all meals and don't eat out, have antiquated electronics, don't have cable, avoid large purchases unless absolutely necessary due to a previous item's failure (e.g. car, tv), purchase many things second hand, clip coupons, and a rudimentary perusal of my home will prove the glaringly obvious -- that my furniture is quite literally all gifted or hand-me-downs (barring the couch purchased 4 years ago because the other couch fell apart). I prefer to save my money for memorable journeys that will be burned into my memory forever. To me, things like owning the newest electronic item, purchasing designer clothing, wearing expensive jewelry not purchased for $10 at Target, spending more than $20 on a haircut or getting manicures is not important. Travel? That is what is important to me. Please don't judge me for that, because I would bet you also harbor priorities that others might deem odd.

Let's also not forget that for nearly three years, my significant other has traveled endlessly for work, and continues to do so. His being gone day in and day out equates to a rapid accrual of free flights and free or discounted hotel stays. This in itself sometimes causes jealousy to fester in some people. Rest assured, I would scrimp and save and give up every free drink/flight/hotel stay if it meant having my husband here instead of absent practically every day of the work week. I'm convinced the little "perks" are just enticements to keep me from going completely insane. They're something we can enjoy together. Heck, sometimes it seems like the only way we can enjoy each other is to get away.

Don't think I'm saying most people I know or associate with fall into the category of being judgmental about my travel. We've all been jealous or envious of people at some point, especially those close to us. I would hope that my true friends could share my travel joys, just as I try my best to share their joys in life.

Really, I blame American society for the vacation jealousy. We live in a place where workers accumulate weeks of vacation year after year that slip by unused. Americans feel guilty about taking time for themselves, and consequently work themselves to the bone. It doesn't have to be this way. Examine, for instance, all the countries where workers take three weeks of vacation with no questions asked. Whole sections of Europe shut down in August as the locals journey elsewhere. These people shouldn't be looked down upon, but instead applauded for realizing what's really important in life. It's certainly not work. Rather, it's making memories with loved ones. Enjoying time off with friends and family while taking a much needed and well deserved breather. Work is simply a way of funding such pleasures.

I consider myself lucky for having realized at an early age that work is not the purpose of my existence. I live for adventures with family and friends, and for squeezing the most out of my short years here on earth. I loathe the thought of being in my nineties and regretting my time sitting at the office in a bored stupor for a week, rather than witnessing the ear-to-ear grin on my husband's face while he spots a turtle during a snorkeling excursion.

You may continue to judge me for my travels if you so desire, but I assure you, that is a losing battle. Instead of feeling envious, perhaps try joining me in forgoing silly, costly things that mean so little in the long run. Instead, let's take the time to get away, and relish those adventures we'll never forget.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- 
I took the one less traveled by, 
And that has made all the difference. 

-Robert Frost

Infomercial Insanity

Ahhh, infomercials. The silly guilty pleasure we love to hate. We all love to mock them, whether for the absurd portrayal of a product, or for the actual odd product itself. But the laughter left ringing in the air is typically not from us observers, but from those who devised the product and are hauling in loads of money.

Because it's Friday and we could all use a laugh, I bring to you a list of my top worst/best infomercials. Worst/best lies in the eye of the beholder. There may be more ludicrous examples out there, but I haven't yet seen them. Thanks, YouTube, for having these available for countless hours of laughter and eye rolling.

THE BEST/WORST INFOMERCIALS OF ALL TIME 
(ranked from least to most insane)

10.  Forever Lazy--The Snuggie made fleece the laughingstock of America, but this took it one step further. Fast forward to 1:15 where it demonstrates the ease of going to the bathroom. America, you are truly lazy and disgusting.

9. Aspray--I'm not even sure what to think about the plumbers in the beginning of this commercial. Do you really want me to believe that some guy is going to put his nose up to another guy's butt like that? Remember, "you can even Aspray your privates."

8. PooTrap--This made me laugh and laugh and laugh trying to think of how my pup would have handled this back in the day. I understand that cleaning up dog poop is not a treat, but don't make poor Fido wear this. If you don't care about your dog's likely discomfort while wearing the device, then think about his/her humiliation.

7. Tiddy Bear--I love how so few of the people in this video put the device where most people complain about seatbelt pain--on their shoulders. Instead, the women seem to want to put the bear on their... um... well... er... "tiddy."

6. Hawaii Chair--I dare anyone to take up the guy on his idea of using this gyrating chair at the office. Says one woman in the clip, "I can really feel this working!" Yeah, I bet you can.

5. Potty Putter--If you feel the need to buy this, you may already be spending too much time on the toilet. My favorite part is the announcer's awkward pausing around :25. "Just aim and shoot... the ball... into the cup." No wait, it might be the point at :47 when he says, "You'll take the time to play with your putter." Imagine how proud you'll be to tell work colleagues who compliment your improved game that the skills came from hours with the Potty Putter.

4. UroClub--Seems like all the best ones aimed at men are golf related. Don't think you're fooling anyone with that stupid little green towel. Your hands are behind it, so we know you're either peeing or playing with yourself. Although I previously wrote a post about trying to be less judgmental, if I see you using one of these, you better believe I'm going to judge you for being gross.

3. Shake Weight--Few items are as blatantly dirty as this product. If you don't believe me, go ahead and look up the South Park episode about it. I had trouble deciding which video to include, because the company made separate ones for men and women. I'm including the one for women because it seemed just slightly more silly.

2. Facial Flex--Cut to the chase and fast forward to 1:05. There are no words.

1. Kush Support--The name sounds innocent enough. But the product is a breast implant supporter.

There you have it. I hope these videos caused you to laugh as much as I did. Maybe this post will even inspire you to come up with your own wacky product. If you do, just remember who inspired you, and be sure to send me a royalties check.

Flock of Snowbirds

Luckily, spring is nearly here. I can't complain too much about winter because this year has been ridiculously wonderfully mild. But we still had enough cold days for me to curl up and threaten hibernation. That forced my ever-growing snowbird tendency to rear its ugly head.

I first encountered snowbirds en masse when living in Miami. Previously, I had never lived anywhere that prompted such an influx of seasonal visitors. In fact, I hail from the upper Midwest, where residents usually flock away from the winter madness. So watching the Miami winter visitors was truly unique. And sometimes frustrating.

I've posted before about welcoming tourists with open arms as long as they behave when they're visiting. The problem with snowbirds is that many consider their warm winter destinations "home" despite only living there for about two or three months out of the year, causing a sense of entitlement. They sometimes treat the area they're in like a free-spirited spring break destination, instead of considering the fact that it really is home year-round for some people. This can cause even the most patient year-rounder to lose it. I know I lost it on multiple occasions when living in Florida.

So here's my confession: I'm officially, gradually turning into a snowbird. This is evidenced by my desire to take a major trip during the cold weather months every year. My husband knows the winter will be a lot more pleasant for him if he dangles a warm weather trip in front of me. Granted, it's not for two or three months at a time, but hey, it's a start.

Last weekend I went to visit the in-laws at their new condo just outside of Phoenix. I can't blame them for wanting to escape Wisconsin winters. Check out the awesome scenery from our boat excursion on a nearby lake. Yes, I said lake. In the Arizona desert. Very cool.

Perhaps I'm biased, but I have to say, my in-laws are not going to make anybody's list of annoying snowbirds. They're respectful and considerate of locals. They treat the area like it's their permanent home, not some spring break destination. They don't act like the "mature" women we encountered in the bar last weekend who got wasted and proceeded to hit on every man in sight (including my husband). If more people decided to abide by my in-laws' model when visiting seasonal destinations, I don't think the term "snowbird" would carry the negative connotation it sometimes does.

Here's what I promise locals in the places I visit during the winter: I will not clog up your major roads at rush hour by driving during that time, considering the activities I am trying to get to could be done at any time during the day. I will not drive below the speed limit at an insanely slow rate and hold up traffic. I will not tell you endless, boring tales of "back home" unless you specifically ask. I will not complain loudly about your lovely area, because I chose to be there and I can choose to leave at any time. I will not get sloppy drunk and become loud, belligerent and annoying. And perhaps most importantly, what I learned from my year of living in a high rise across the street from a nude beach: I will not make your eyeballs melt by walking around nude or in inappropriately tight/small unflattering beach gear.

To Sleep(walk), Perchance to Dream

Vampires and collapsing ceilings and hot lava, oh my! Does this sound like the latest Hollywood attempt at drawing teen girls into a movie theater? Well it's not. Welcome to my dreams, and my life as a sleepwalker.

As promised, I'm doing a post on this topic because people seem to be fascinated with the fact that I sleepwalk. I had always thought it was something everyone did, but I have been proven wrong on many, many occasions. By proven wrong, I mean people squeal with glee and ask for crazy sleepwalking stories because they've "never known anyone who does that!" Yay me.

This started for me at a very young age. One of my first memories of sleepwalking was when I was probably six years old. I awoke to find myself standing in the living room, facing the babysitter who was sitting on the couch. She had this wide-eyed look on her face and didn't know what to say. I had no idea what I was doing there or what I had said to her. I panicked, asked her to have my parents come see me when they got home, and ran into my bedroom. My mother did come to see me when she returned home and heard about my glazed-over expression while talking to the babysitter. I remember being so embarrassed I think I begged my mom not to hire that girl again. Luckily, kids are resilient and we all moved on after my mom explained to the sitter what had happened.

Consider for a moment why I thought sleepwalking was not such an unusual activity. I had heard stories about my dad being a sleepwalker when he was younger. In fact there's quite an amusing tale of him waking up one morning and his dad telling him to clean out the garbage can. When he protested, he was told how he took a stroll through the house the previous night, all the while still asleep, and mistook the garbage can for a urinal. Hearing stories like this made me feel "normal" and like I wasn't alone. Plus, I have encountered a number of sleeptalkers throughout my life, so I figured they were walkers as well. Not so much. It turns out only 1%-15% of the population sleepwalks.

This is NOT what sleepwalkers look like.

Stop picturing those stereotypical sleepwalking scenes of people walking like zombies, arms outstretched and eyes shut. It's nothing like that. A lot of people don't even realize when they've encountered someone who's sleepwalking, because the afflicted sleeper can actually carry on a semi-intelligent conversation. Different people are affected differently, but most have open, glassy eyes and can carry out regular activities.  It's just that the brain isn't fully registering what's going on, and movements might be a little slow or jerky.

Yes, it can be an incredibly dangerous problem. For the most part, I have been lucky not to harm myself. Except once in college. Remember those loft beds in the dorms to make room for a desk underneath? Well I had one of those, but it was built a little too close to the ceiling for my subconscious to be comfortable with it. About a week in, I dreamed that spikes were coming down from the ceiling and falling down on me, so I rolled right off my loft to try to avoid them. By pure luck, that night I had moved the wooden chair that I typically used to climb up into bed; had it been there as it was every other night, I would have cracked my head open on the chair. Instead, I made the 6 foot tumble to the floor, knocked myself out, and bashed the heck out of my hip. I came to at some point in the middle of the night in so much pain I could barely walk. The doctor said I had bruised my hip and stressed some ligaments, which led to a two month limp, but thankfully that was the worst of it. After that incident, I lowered my loft a bit, and was ordered by friends and family to install rails on the side of my bed like a two-year-old. That's definitely the mature look I desired in college.

When I met the man who is now my husband, I made an interesting discovery about 8 months into our relationship. We went to Las Vegas on our first trip together, and the first night we had an episode. I woke up gasping with my arms over my head, trying to hold up the ceiling that was, of course, collapsing onto me. At that same moment, Chris was leaping over the bed because he thought it was hot lava. The simultaneous activity woke us both up, and perhaps that moment when we gazed with embarrassment into each other's eyes was the exact moment I knew we were meant to be.

Not only is Chris a sleepwalker, but he is far worse than I am. All of the triplets exhibit this trait to some degree, but I do think Chris is the worst. I can't tell you how often one of us wakes up in a panic and the other has to offer calming words. Chris tends to sleepwalk most when he's overtired or stressed out with work, and actually brings work into his dreams. He's an electrical engineer who works on nuclear power plants, and I've caught him trying to "rewire" our curtains or ceiling, solve issues with cooling towers and on many, many occasions, he jumps up and runs to the sink to splash water on his eyes because he thinks acid has splattered on him. The trouble comes when both of us sleepwalk at the same time and can't offer calming techniques, such as with the Las Vegas story. Or, you know, earlier this week when Chris sat bolt upright in bed yelling that some person/beast/ghost near our bedroom door was peering at us, and I then sat bolt upright and was convinced I saw it too. We huddled together, trying to figure out what to do, and then we both woke up. Yes, we're unusual.

While reading about sleepwalking, I learned that it's not uncommon in childhood, but most kids grow out of it. Good for them. Although scientists aren't fully certain why sleepwalking occurs, Chris' brother, who is a psychologist, explained to me what is believed to happen in those of us who don't grow out of it. Humans are wired to have paralysis when they're dreaming as a safety measure. Those of us who sleepwalk lack that nervous system mechanism that causes the paralysis. It really is a defect of sorts, and sleepwalkers exhibit this to varying degrees. Plus, sleepwalking has been identified as a genetic trait that runs in families. People who have one parent who does it are 45% more likely to sleepwalk, and those with two parents who do it are 60% more likely. As previously mentioned, my dad did it, my mom did as a child, Chris' brothers do it and Chris' mom has done it. If Chris and I ever had children, they'd be pretty much screwed.

I hope not to do something really dangerous while sleepwalking.

You might not think of certain safety measures if you're not a sleepwalker, but planning for sleep usually ends up being a larger event for us. When we were having air circulation issues in our home, Chris suggested keeping our bedroom door open a bit to let the warm air flow better throughout the house. At that suggestion, I looked at him with fear in my eyes and he simply said, "I know." What did he know? That "they" would come for us with the open door. "They" could be any creature, person or object that comes after us in our sleep and forces us to take action. Naturally, they're going to creep in through the open door. We often have to make adjustments with things left around the bedroom. Closet doors must be shut, or "they" will pop out of there during the night. No clothing strewn around the room, or the lumpy objects will manifest themselves in our sleepwalking episodes as intruders. Typically our incidents don't involve leaving the room except for a few extremely severe examples (often brought on by having a fever while sick), so we haven't had to worry about securing sharp objects.

I mentioned in a previous post that I can't watch horror movies, not because they scare me while awake, but because then "they" will come after me in my sleep. That can, and has, led to night terrors that include blood-curdling screams. When "The Grudge" came out a number of years ago, just seeing the commercial of that child ghoulie crawling across the floor was enough to cause a month's worth of sleepwalking. On more than one occasion, I found myself standing on my bed, wrapped in sheets as protection, because I "saw" the ghoulie coming at me across the floor and he was coming onto my bed next. I've had enough similar incidents throughout the years by accidentally seeing clips, or even trying to force myself to watch a whole movie to "get over it," that I now avoid horror movies altogether.

It's often difficult to wake up from sleepwalking episodes, and personally, it takes me quite a while to reach consciousness. I've noticed that both Chris and myself often think we're awake and fully functional when we're actually not. It's really disorienting and often frightening not just because most of the acted out dreams are nightmares, but because I don't know what's going on when I wake up. What's weird is that often I don't remember sleepwalking unless I wake up in the middle of it, or am reminded about it the next day. It really makes me wonder how many embarrassing performances I've put on at sleepovers. I guess it's just one of those quirks that makes me unique and provides great stories for people to laugh at.

Thanks for joining me on my sleepwalking journey. As a courtesy, if you ever see me wandering around when I'm supposed to be asleep, simply soothe me and send me back to bed. I'll try my best not to scream bloody murder because my subconscious morphed you into a vampire.

Houston, We Have a Problem

Although it is a natural part of the life cycle and something we can all expect at some point, death is never easy to deal with. Living through the loss of a loved one conjures a plethora of feelings--most of them negative. Nearly all of us have dealt with a soul-crushing loss that rattled us to our inner beings. I can say with a fair amount of certainty, that for the vast majority of us, that loss was not the passing of Whitney Houston.

A death is always tragic. But we might be going too far with Houston's.

So why are so many people mourning her death as though it were a close personal friend who passed? The same scenario played out when Michael Jackson died, and it leaves me utterly befuddled. The losses, while unfortunate, are not worthy of random fans wailing in the streets, blubbering through tears on TV, and suddenly acting as though Whitney Houston were the most important thing since the invention of the internet.

It's an incredibly unfortunate loss, but I'd like to curb overuse of the word "tragic" to describe Houston's situation. I reserve that term for inexplicable, intensely sad instances like a small child being murdered or a good person dying while trying to help someone else. I have much difficulty using the word for celebrities with odd ego issues who repeatedly fall into drug or alcohol hazes. I'm not insinuating that battling a drug or alcohol addiction is easy, because I recognize it's anything but. Average folks struggle with these demons on a daily basis. However, Hollywood seems to be rife with the types of personalities who revel in the crazy strung-out lifestyle, then express surprise when they're "suddenly" hooked on substances. We hear stories ad nauseum of substance abuse in Hollywood, but few positive stories of seeking help and successful recovery. Sure, maybe artistic types possess more of a natural proclivity to addiction. But with the multitude of avenues for getting help, it seems remiss to allow oneself to venture into such a destructive lifestyle. Not to mention, downright careless to ignore the numerous stories of such lifestyles leading to the demise of countless celebrities.

Isn't it sad, perhaps even pathetic, that the first thing so many of us ask when another celebrity dies is "what drugs was s/he on?" Yet there's no concerted effort to cease the practice. Currently much ire exists for celebrity doctors who assist their "patients" with acquiring drugs, then stand by idly as said drugs are used to excess and used in lethal combinations. But the half-hearted effort to end this abuse is a facade. We, as a society, gobble up the latest celebrity gossip, gorge on it, belch to make room, then beg for more when we find a void in our own lives. We choke on the stories that are just too much--like child abuse--and push them away. But something as juicy as a crazed celebrity going on a drug-induced rampage, possibly even one that ends fatally? More, please! People, we are disgusting.

I must say, for the most part I do not buy into the celebrity culture. I'm not attempting to be holier than thou, I just prefer to partake in my own wild adventures rather than living vicariously through someone I do not know at all, but for forking over my $12 to see their movies or buy their records. I think this sentiment became more cemented in my head once I began working in TV news. Watching the reporters and anchors field repeated harassment when they simply desired a night out with friends often proved too much for me to handle. Having to stand idly by while person after person comes up to share life stories, get a picture, and perhaps even try to touch the "celebrity"... well I find that ludicrous. I adore my anonymity and when I encounter celebrities I prefer to let them have some peace. I enjoy movies, TV shows and music as much as the next person, but I also realize the art of doing these things is a job. I certainly wouldn't want to endure constant questions and comments about my job when I'm away from work. Sure, these people put themselves in the spotlight by choosing an unusual type of business, but the public often draws no line between reality and fiction. Many exhibit no common decency when approaching someone famous and think because the person is a public figure, anything goes--even sometimes verbal abuse. I do believe it's the constant badgering and constantly having to be "on" that drives some celebrities batty.

But I digress. Back to Whitney Houston. Anyone who is truly surprised by the outcome needs a small slap upside the head. I don't mean to judge her or to prematurely characterize the situation as a run of the mill celebrity overdose. Any variety of scenarios could absolutely exist. However, I believe non-overdose scenarios to be unlikely. Unfortunately, Houston will likely be yet another in an ever-growing string of celebrities who live forever in history as someone who succumbed to substance abuse.

Some fans are dismayed that Houston's family chose a private funeral, and that there will not be a large, public ceremony. But never fear. There will be opportunities to watch the whole display on the internet. Look, this is not some sort of concert to be followed online and sung along to, this is a human being's funeral. Normal people dread attending funerals, so why are scores of people enamored with the prospect of watching one on the internet? It's morbid. Let that family grieve privately as they requested. And now there's news that Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey has authorized the flying of American flags at half staff on state buildings in Houston's honor. Are you kidding me??!! This is an honor typically reserved for recognizing fallen heroes who served our country, be it in the military, on a police force or as a firefighter. While Houston may have been influential in her own way, she absolutely does not deserve the honor. It's an insult to all who have received the half staff honor--such as the firefighter here in my area who is being buried today because he fell from I-395 while fighting a car fire. Flags are flying at half staff for him in my neighborhood. But Whitney Houston? Personally, I find the whole thing, from funeral to half staff, disgusting and offensive.

Whitney's demons ultimately claimed her life.

Was her music beautiful and inspirational? Absolutely. But where were all these people proclaiming their love for Houston just two weeks ago? Probably calling her a whacked out crack whore and not listening to the dusty CDs of hers lying in the back of the closet. Who supported her when she was sorting through hard times in the public eye? Certainly not all of these people now weeping at her death. Remember that reality show she did with then-husband Bobbi Brown ("Being Bobbi Brown")? Remember what a train wreck that turned into? The type of train wreck that the public can't stop gawking at, barring a few seconds to scoff and roll eyes at the conductor. How about the National Enquirer story on her crack cocaine use? Most people said, "How sad" and moved on. This horrible period in her life never totally left her, even wrecking her voice such that when she recently attempted a comeback, she was booed off stage more than once. Where were her supporters then? Nobody, and I mean nobody, who mocked Houston during that time or called her a coke head or crack whore has the right to become emotional at her death now. Sentiment should have poured forth years ago and cries should have spouted, non-judgementally, from mouths about getting that poor woman help. I admit, I was a jackass who partook in the mockery. But I am not clutching my heart now and spewing her songs while moaning that she was such a fantastic person, if only someone had helped her.

I feel for Whitney Houston in the same way I feel for anyone who had a tough life and endured seemingly endless struggles. I will allow the few lifelong fans who were particularly touched by her music and stayed true all these years to get a little emotional at the loss of someone who may have influenced their lives. But you won't find me suddenly clogging up my mp3 player with her songs, and you won't find me glued to my TV trying to get tidbits of news, or starting up conversations about her life and trials. I will view this as I do the passing of any person whom I do not know. I will simply hope that her troubled soul has finally found peace, and avoid dwelling on it. Then I will move on. Because that is what life is about--growing strong and moving on in the face of adversity.