Has it really been five days? Maybe just three? Either way, I've gotten one too many jackass messages today about my blogging respite. I wish everyone would chill the fuck out. I am not dead or hungover, or any combination of the two. I've emerged a new woman after celebrating my quarter of a century. It is, however, with a heavy, one-gloved heart that I break this news to you all . . . Michael Jackson has passed. Yes, really.
I hate that I have to be the one to tell you; and trust, I am finding no secret or perverse delight in seeing your tears (as I normally would). I'm just as shocked and disgusted as the rest of you. His timing ("his" being God . . . or, judging my your upbringing, MJ himself) was impeccable. Albeit not untimely, the passing of my youth was incred disturbing. I was glum, angry, pensive, and on & on - all at once! I totally felt like Margaret from Judy Blume's "Are you there God? Its me, Margaret" . . . a fucking mess of emotion! Sickening! What's worse? The feelings seemed uncontrollable.
And then, enter Michael Jackson on a fluffy cumulus cloud beaming and singing like the angel he is (was? it's no longer figuratively, obvi). Homeboy pulled an Anna Nicole. How disappointing and unoriginal and on so many levels! Thank heavens they haven't released any pictures yet ( Joe Jackson is probably waiting for People to up the ante, but, alas, I digress) - and I can still picture Michael Jackson in that "Free Willy" video heading straight (no pun intended) to the "second star to the right and straight on til morning" - the Neverland in the sky. WTF - I'm starting to sound insane - like if the track marks on my arms are from Demerol, rather than heroin. Anyway. Totes kidding.
So, on the outside I adorned myself with a sequined vest and white glove I found in my attic whilst telling numerous (totally fabricated) tales about how much MJ meant to me and how he was the first black kid from Indiana that made it, and inspired me to dance (Jessie Spano, anyone?) on the inside I was bidding a tearful 'adieu' to my first twenty five years. So sweet, so innocent, so naive. Such a young girl - grown into a woman. Right? Fuck, this is total Hallmark.
What I'm trying to say is, thanx Michael Jackson. You totally made my rather loud (and rather public) grieving socially acceptable. I only had to get one LBD for the occasion! It's so like Michael, isn't it? Always looking out for others . . . after all, we are in a recession.
The foregoing is not to discredit the pain I initially felt (and still am affected by, although it has lessened with the help of the aforementioned Demerol and/and Jager) upon hearing this horrendous news. I guess part of me is sad because he was so young, and so white. Its always a shame to lose a Caucasian youth in their prime. Don't even act like he didn't have another "Man in the Mirror" up his sleeve (or under that blanket he hides his baby with), SWV was chomping at the bit to re-collaborate on a track. When it comes down to it, especially because he was acquitted of all charges, I guess I always assumed he would really love my children. IDK - I know I've been through puberty (decades ago) and am therefore too old for the companionship and comfort a best-friendship with Michael would have offered - but you know, for my kids to be blatantly robbed of such tenderness . . . it's a sadness I won't soon forget.
When it comes down to it - you go girl! (in this case "girl" is pronounced "Michael Jackson") and thank you for inspiring the likes of the Backstreet Boys and Chris Brown (dance-wise; shout out to Joe Jackson for the domestic violence influence! Yes!). And nice try on stealing my birthday thunder. I'll forgive you this once, mainly because I know you won't be around to do it again; and also because "PYT" plays on repeat for my birthday each year anyway - you just saved my favorites the effort of requesting it.