My Name is Not Whitney

So watch what you say ... don't wanna hear about Whitney; she's got nothing on me, so ... well, I guess that's where the song loses its relevance.

Okay, well I guess the song doesn't actually have any relevance at all to the ensuing post, but I thought it was kind of clever. Still, I'd like to make it clear I'm not having a love affair with a man who calls out the wrong name while we're in bed. So now that that's out there, I'll get to my point — I am not Whitney Houston.

You're probably even more confused now. I get it — I'm not famous, I'm not a professional singer, I'm not black, and I was never married to Bobby Brown (thank God). So why on earth would you confuse me with Whitney Houston?

Well, Whitney also had a drug problem (most likely a result of her disastrous choice of a husband). In fact, she was remarkably open about this little habit, given that it's illegal and all. She even went to great lengths to make sure Diane Sawyer knew she was just snorting cocaine — as opposed to the similar yet "cheap" (meaning "low class") substitute ... which would be crack. Crack is whack, after all. Whitney had class. Only the best cocaine for her.

Honestly, I don't really believe her on that one. I mean, if anyone saw "Being Bobby Brown" and Whitney's crazy ass behavior (BOBBAY!!!), they'd probably agree. Whitney had some major problems.

At this point, you're probably still wondering what this has to do with me. Well — I'm just here to assure you that I have not picked up a coke and/or crack problem. I'm not addicted to drugs. (Okay, that might not be entirely true. I've been on vicodin since June to manage my disease-related pain. So that's nearly 6 straight months of opiate usage — legal opiate usage, mind you, but still opiate usage — and that's probably plenty of time to make me physically dependent on the painkillers. But as my doctor says, we won't deal with that until my chronic and disease-related pain goes away. And quite frankly, I agree.)

So why am I telling you all this? And why am I relating it to Whitney Houston? Because opiates make you itch (it's a mild allergic reaction that pretty much everyone has). And it especially makes your nose itch. So — here I am, walking around rubbing my nose all day long, and what else happens? You guessed it — I get a cold. So now I have an itchy and runny nose, which means I'm sniffing and scratching all day long. And what does that make me look like? Yep — a coke head.

And now I've reached the real purpose behind this post — I simply want y'all to know I haven't suddenly picked up a serious drug habit and become addicted to cocaine. That's pretty much the furthest thing from the truth. The real truth is that I'm just a girl on a lot of prescription painkillers (again, all of which I have legally) with a little bitty cold.

In summary, y'all just need to remember that my name is not Whitney ... she's got nothing on me. In fact, I've got a hell of a lot more on her (like sanity), and I refuse to be confused with a coke-snorting, crack-smoking star who's completely fallen from grace. You just remember that little tidbit the next time we hang out, and all will be well.

Otherwise, I might have to call in some reinforcements. BOBBAY!!!!!

[PS — if you don't think Kathy Griffin is funny (the "BOBBAY!!!!" link takes you to her comedic Whitney impersonation in case you missed the reference), then you have no sense of humor. That, or you're straight-up lying. Same goes for Chelsea Handler, by the way.]