I had so many dreams last night, but three stand out because they were longer and almost made a series. 

I was at my parents’ house, and since I know they love Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado, I figured it would be nice to tell them that Keith and I were going there over the summer.  I told them that we were renting a cottage at Machin’s, and I said that it would be great if they wanted to make reservations for the same time so that we could all have a family vacation together.  My dad got hostile right away and said that we could all go to Machin’s but that Keith and I couldn’t sleep in the same room.  I tried to explain to him that Keith and I were going regardless, and that we were just trying to be friendly and extend an invitation, but he was being a jackass and threw a fit.  Then some other things happened, and I got really depressed and went into my bad dark place.  Me and the family were at Machin’s (in cottage 14) and everyone was watching TV.  There was a bowl on the coffee table that had a bunch of cute little stuffed animals in it.  I grabbed them and started dismembering all of them one by one.  They watched me as I ripped the ears off, then the arms, then the legs, and then tore the bodies in two and threw the tufts of stuffing into the air.

Keith and I were staying at an underwater hotel.  Maybe it was in Colorado, although it was supposed to be in the ocean.  Even though it was really deep down, the water was a nice light blue instead of that lightless dark blue at the bottom of oceans.  Only the back wall to the hallway was actually a wall, and the other three walls were floor to ceiling glass so that we were surrounded by water.  There were no fish, just blue water all around.  It was night and we had all the lights off, so the only light was the blue glow.  The carpeting was dark blue and the furniture was decorated with shiny gold embellishments.  It was really sexy and romantic, and I was pretty turned on.  So naturally, we did what any horny couple would do in that situation.  We jumped up and down on the bed.

Both sides of my family were at our house for a party.  I was standing in the dining room eating snacks, and everyone else was seated around the table and on the couch.  I was very depressed again.  To express my anger, I threw a bowl of chips up in the air, and then I put the bowl on my head.  I did the same thing again with another bowl of chips.  Then I had a mouthful of banana Laffy Taffy, and I pulled it out of my mouth because I wanted to make an announcement.  I said I was going to make a game by ripping up pieces of Laffy Taffy and throwing the pieces at people I didn’t like.  I ripped up a square of Laffy Taffy into quarters, and I threw one chunk at my cousin-in-law Don because nobody likes him.  Then I saw my dad walking through the kitchen, so I threw the other three chunks at him as he was walking out the back door.   Uncle Hank asked me if I had change for a 20, and I said yes.  But instead of cash, he handed me a check with a note written on it.  It said that he was going to execute my mom.  I was just supposed to go upstairs and get him the change from my wallet, but I went to my mom’s room instead.  She was in there with Jade, and she was crying already because she knew she was in big trouble for some reason.  I told her that she was going to be executed, and the three of us started panicking together.  I was trying to come up with a plan for her to sneak away and go into hiding.  Then the dream series ended.

I don’t think I’ve given Teresa Barrick enough credit as one of my role models. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never underestimated her place in rock and roll history. I just haven’t put her up on the same kind of pedestal that I’ve placed some of the other rock and roll it-girls on, and that’s really not fair because I actually care a lot more about her than I do about most of them.

She's genuine and loving and truly a lifesaver.  She really takes caring for a musician to the next level.  Above all, she was never in it for her own personal gain.  She just had a big heart and opened her arms up wide.

The only pre-1982 information I have about her is that she and her twin sister Lisa sometimes hung out with Johnny Thunders, but I don’t know what that relationship entailed or the extent of her influence on him and the New York scene.

But I can tell you that pretty much every love song Steven Tyler wrote from the ’80s onward was about her, and that really goes to show just how significant and influential she has been. Not to mention she designed most of Steven’s stage clothes.

I also can say with certainty that Aerosmith would not be in this current predicament if she were still Mrs. Tyler. She wouldn’t have let Steven go down this dark road. She would have kept him in line.

On Friday I was in the car and I saw a mom walking down the sidewalk with a little girl, maybe around a year old--I don't know, old enough to walk well but still a tiny little body. The girl was dressed in a purple-pink snowsuit that was so big and puffy her arms and legs stuck out at unnatural angles like that kid from A Christmas Story. She waddled along, hardly able to bend her knees or elbows, and then she saw a big blow-up turkey decoration in somebody's front yard. She stuck her little hand through the fence and waved at it enthusiastically, and it was the cutest thing in the world. I got butterflies in my stomach from the cuteness.

As I thought about it, I realized that I wasn't so excited by a kid interacting with an inanimate object because I wanted a child of my own. The reason it seemed so special to me was because I still feel the same way. I still want to wave at happy-faced turkeys. I've never stopped believing that toys have feelings, and if I don't give them enough love, they'll be sad and lonely. Any time I see a sweet little creature look up at me with its plastic googly eyes, I want so badly to pick it up and squeeze it. I want to make it feel loved. My closet and the attic are filled with my old stuffed animals, and even though they're just taking up space, I can't get rid of them because they'll feel rejected. I can't betray them that way.

Most of the time, I reflect on my childhood and can only recollect how miserable it was. But I miss being friends with anything adorable.

I'm not doing particularly well in school this semester. Actually, I'm not sure if I'm going to get any A's. As much as I'm not the kind of person to fixate on grades, that's kind of depressing because it's never happened to me before. I've always gotten at least two A's on every report card, and almost always more. I guess I'll still be happy as long as I don't get any C's, because that's only acceptable in P.E. class. I just have to make sure I don't lose my scholarship.

If it's not apparent already, I'm a very paranoid person. I worry about everything, all the time. I still check my closet before I go to bed. I get panicky when I drive under bridges. I refuse to ride roller coasters anymore despite the fact that I love them. But right now my biggest worry is travel safety, and since Keith is going to be traveling for work twice a month, I'm probably going to have to give Xanax another shot. So many things can go wrong, and with such a disastrous result. If I have to let the person I love most go away from me out into the big scary world every two weeks, I need to be absolutely assured that nothing bad will come of it.

I can't think about these things anymore.

He said he wants a manly looking locket necklace with a picture of my clitoris inside. So maybe I'll browse for lockets.

Seriously, why is everything due at the same time? I realize that the end of the semester is fast approaching, but these last few weeks are always so brutally busy. I'm not advocating spreading the work out over a longer period of time, because that sounds shitty too. I just think that there should be less work altogether, and therefore, the massive cram at the end of the semester wouldn't be quite as bad.

I've been moody lately, and I'm not exactly sure why. Mostly I think I'm just sick of annoying people bugging me. Keith makes me happy, but he's going to be traveling a lot for his new job so I have to find a way to keep my spirits up when he's not around. On the rare occasion that I'm able to read a book, that makes me feel pretty good too. But it's not possible very often because of my school work.

Next week's agenda:
Finish notebook of historical influences on modern dress
Finish portfolio pages on dyeing, printing, and finishing textiles
Begin huge enormous brand extension project worth a million points
Assemble sewing portfolio and redo a few samples
Bake Amelia a boob-shaped cake
Meet Steven for lunch (?) and receipt of my birthday gift
Meet Amanda for lunch or shopping
Thanksgiving dinner at Jade's house
Start Christmas shopping
Start Christmas craft projects

At least some of those things will be fun. But I still have to learn better time management in order to get everything done. And I must stop procrastinating, even though I'm so good at it.

This distracts me frequently:

Apparently we had to write autobiographical essays sophomore year of high school, because I also found this glued into my journal:





Yep, that pretty much sums up my teen years. This actually makes me supersupersuper hopeful for the future. If I can look back on the person I was a few years ago and feel bemused at how pathetic my life was, I'm hoping that, years from now, I'll look back at my current situation (which seems pretty great) and realize how far I've come from where I currently am. My life will be so grandiose that I'll be amazed at how lame I was when I was 21.

Fuck. How am I still alive? When I was in 8th grade I started keeping a journal, and even though I rarely add to it now, I decided to go back and read some of my thoughts from my early teen years. It's the most depressing thing ever. Each page is filled with more and more discontent and misery, and I honestly don't know how I avoided suicide through all those years. I'm not asking for pity here, but I'm honestly shocked. For the past year or so I've been so happy that I forgot how depressed I was in all my years previous. I've never shared a single word from my journals with anyone, but I kind of feel like sharing my poor teenage angst here now, because, let's face it, I'm feeling sorry for myself! Not who I am now, but who I was. Poor little baby Crystal. In the midst of my Aero-obsession, at age 16, I wrote a journal entry on the 19th birthday of Joe Perry's son, Tony.

--
4:50 PM
Where will I be when I'm nineteen? At the same college my mom went to, living at home, with no friends, a virgin, afraid of the city, still not looking like Bobbie Brown. I'll be studying how to teach kindergarteners the days of the week because they'll be the only people in this world who don't intimidate me. I'll be such a lame loser that I'll even make fun of myself, staring for hours into the mirror. This is not who I want to be but I realize that it's totally inevitable. My face always turns red and it never even gives me a chance.

So where is Tony now that he's nineteen? I hope he's living his dream. He deserves it more than me.
--

Page after page after page goes on like that. Most of the entries are more descriptive and dramatic, but they're too personal to post. After reading over all this, I truly cannot discount the importance of Lexapro. That, and actually having noteworthy accomplishments to my own credit. I'm happier than I've ever been, and it's astonishing to me, when I look back and see how miserable I was for so long, that I made such a complete change in such a short time. I ended one of my entries from 2006 by saying, "I just really hope that there comes a point in my life when I can look back on all this and laugh." But I don't laugh. It's depressing.

But I also learned that I claimed the name Cristal Diamante for myself on November 30, 2004, while sitting at the new computer and testing out the fonts. That's cool.

I really hate being at my parents' house because it's impossible for me to fall asleep at night without thinking about how much I miss my dog Tanner and fighting back tears for a long time until I eventually get exhausted or find some distraction. It's been almost two years since he died but it just doesn't stop hurting. I don't have this problem when I'm in Keith's bed, because it's not the house where I lived for nine years with Tanner and anyway I'm not alone. Keith is right there next to me and I don't have a reason to feel lonely. But when I'm alone in my bed, I have nothing to think about besides how badly I want Tanner with me, and there's no comfort. Death is the worst thing, because of its permanence. There's no resolution to the loss of a loved one. It's not just a temporary inconvenience. It's a big hole in your heart, an inconsolable hurt that will never ever go away. I remember vividly how it felt to wrap my arms around him and squeeze myself against his big furry chest, and I can only experience it as a painful memory. He's not here anymore, I can't hug him, and that void is so big and so strong that I can't help being overpowered by it. When we first brought Tanner home, I cried myself to sleep because I knew already that when he died someday, it would destroy me. I knew that I would have an emptiness inside me that could never be filled, and that I would have to go through all my years missing the best friend I'd ever known.

This is the baby that came into my life and filled me with a kind of love and happiness I never would have felt otherwise.

Dearest 1000 W Washington Lofts,

Oh, my darling, I miss you so. How I long to be near you once again. My heart aches for your high ceilings, your exposed duct work, your wrought iron railings. My beautiful, beautiful sweetheart, I close my eyes and see your glass-tiled walls. Every moment that passes feels like an eternity without you. Until we meet again, my love, you'll be in my dreams each night.

Sincerely yours,
Crystal


On Friday I did another fashion show for JM Couture, and I went to the designer Jim's amazing condo to get ready. I was stunned, and I feel like I now have a better idea of where I belong. Fuck California, I can weather the winters for this. I acknowledge that I'll never be able to afford the $1+ million penthouse lofts like the one he lives in, but I can settle for one of the stripped and gutted one-bedrooms for half the price. I'm realistic that way.

















Oh, and hopefully I'll get some of the fashion show pictures soon.

I'm meeting so many nice people these days. I didn't know so many nice people under 50 existed, but they do. At the JM Couture/Lovers Lane show on Saturday, all the girls were so unbelievably sweet. For some reason I've always been surrounded by snobby bitches in the past, but these girls were the nicest girls ever and they helped me prepare for the show by analyzing my walk and giving me pep talks. They were just so friendly and accepting. Even when they were critiquing me, they weren't being judgmental. I was pretty blown away.

Not only that, but the people at my school are really nice too. So many people smile at me when I walk down the hall. People I hardly even know say hi to me when I walk by. I chat with people in class and they listen to what I say. I get invited to meetings and events and lunch and the mall. It's amazing. I've never encountered so many nice people before.

I have no energy left now that he’s gone. There’s no motivation for me, nothing left to look forward to until I’m with him again. There’s no reason to get out of bed, but even my bed feels bad because I got used to him being there. It’s silent in the house and I feel completely isolated. I hate how weak I become when he’s not around. He’s my only source of vitality now, because I love him more than words and he’s the reason behind everything I do.

I woke up happy on Friday because I knew that he’d be coming to see me. I knew that we’d spend the next four days where I’m from, in the house I grew up in and the town I’ve always lived in, and I knew that him being there would suddenly make all that okay to me. I wanted to be here and experience it with him. I even cooked him my favorite childhood meal, tomato soup, acini de pepe noodles, and hot dogs (substituted with tofu dogs).

We went to the local pet shops where I spend my free time looking at the animals, and we picked out a white and yellow fish for my aquarium. There was a pretty ferret there and I was tempted to buy it just so I could feel its body in my arms. I miss the long slinky body and pointy bones. I miss the squirming and fidgeting.

At night we usually drank a lot, and on Saturday we decided to take copious amounts of Robitussin to enhance the experience. I had never done it before, but I ended up having quite a trip. The living room was dark except for the blue glow of the TV while I danced and sang to Def Leppard’s Hysteria album in a way that felt religious. All the songs seemed exceptionally long. As I listened, I became aware of the fact that I was going to die in my sleep, and that this was my last night on earth. I wasn’t happy about it, but I believed that it was inevitable and I asked him to promise me that he would make me famous after I was dead. Then I realized that he was an alien, and I didn’t like it because I just wanted him to be my boyfriend.

When I wasn’t tripping, I felt fantastic and took every excuse I could to hug him close to me. I was so happy that he seemed to feel at home, and when I went out for a model call I was comforted by the fact that he would be waiting for me when I got back. We made beautiful love as often as possible and he covered my body with more kisses than I can count. We cuddled and danced and sang songs and played video games and talked to my sister’s bird and cooked breakfasts and slept together in my tiny bed every night. I could do it over and over again.

Then he left, and I cried as I watched his car back down the driveway.

The singer from Wilco drives a minivan. He was eating at the Smokedaddy in Wicker Park with his family and I saw him go to the minivan and get his son's guitar out of the trunk. It was cute.

My agency interview went okay, but I'm waiting for a response. I got to the open call only 15 minutes after it started, and I still had to wait over an hour for my turn. It was more crowded than I'd expected. Maggie from school was there because she's represented by the agency already, and I met some nice people waiting in line. Most of the interviews were pretty long but mine ended up being really short, and I'm hoping that's a good sign rather than a bad one. We just talked for a couple minutes and she took a picture of me and that was about it. I guess I'll have more to update about once I hear from them.

I have a cold. My face itches on the inside.

On Friday I'm going to an open call for a modeling agency in Chicago. I've talked to the owner a few times and she showed interest in me, so I hope it will go well. I really need to have the backing of an agency because I'm tired of people flaking out on me. I know shit happens sometimes, but I've just been cancelled on way too often lately and nobody reschedules.

I worry a lot about my posture. I don't think I stand up straight enough when I walk. Today I drove past an etiquette school and I thought about stopping by for a lesson. Being ladylike is hard sometimes, especially when I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I have to work on sitting up straighter and keeping my shoulders back when I walk. It makes such a difference in a person's appearance. One of my older friends has a really great strut and it adds such an air of confidence and appeal. Maybe that's why Mick Jagger took a liking to her. When I see people slouching really badly, it seems really childish to me. My sister walks like a sk8er boi and I think it looks ridiculous. Elegance and poise elude some people, and I wonder if it's something that can be learned. I've been told I have a graceful stride but it's my shoulders that I worry about.

Keith is in Connecticut for a job interview so I've been at my parents' house most of the week. I miss going to band practice with him. Apparently the radio station at UIC has been playing the new V Sparks EP, Biscuits and Tea, so I'm hoping they'll actually release it soon. First they have to do the photo shoot, which I'm looking forward to. I'm going to help direct it.

I think I need to move into a loft apartment very soon. Wherever I live needs to have exposed duct work and brick. My bedroom will have dark purple walls and a hanging round bed with leopard print covers and Italian lights draped over every surface. Anyone who walks in will know that kinky stuff happens there.

A loft apartment has been on my mind constantly lately, and over the weekend I got even more desperate when I got to hang out in one. Keith and I met up with Alan from V Sparks and their friend Jye (of the pre-V Sparks band Dolari), and we hung out at Jye's new place listening to the Beatles and Motley Crue. And it's one of the coolest apartments ever. It's fucking HUGE and it even has those three-quarter walls that don't go all the way to the ceiling. I was definitely digging it.

We also ate at Kuma's Corner, the famous death metal restaurant. I had the Melvins burger, but with chicken. Death metal has never appealed to me, or even been tolerable, but it does make surprisingly good background music. While we were eating, Jye jokingly harassed me because I don't like anything and have almost no interests. I told him I was interested in modeling and he asked if I was influenced by Alessandra Ambrosio. Keith said, "What about 70s model superstar groupies?" and it made me happy.

I was supposed to be in two Glam Live fashion shows this weekend. I've been really wanting to do their shows for months now and I finally applied and got accepted, but then they told me that they'd overbooked the models and I got cut because I'm a newbie. I went anyway to watch it, but I was really sad that I couldn't be a part of it. Seriously, how fucking sexy is this stuff?


There were also two dancers, and they inspired me to learn go go dancing. I want to take lessons but I can't afford it right now, so I guess I'll buy a DVD. I don't care if it's mod style go go dancing or hippie style go go dancing or modern slutty go go dancing. All of them are fine with me. I just want to be able to do it.

I haven't gotten any modeling jobs lately and my trade shoots are falling through. It's pretty upsetting and I feel like this business is not reliable at all. I'm supposed to do trades with Jim Jurica and Alex Goykhman, who are probably my favorite photographers in Chicago, but I'm so paranoid that it's not going to work out because I'm having bad luck lately. I miss shooting. It's been over a month.

Old Posts

I used to be a member of Buzznet for a few months, which is kind of embarrassing to admit because that place is Emo Kid Central, and we all know how ridiculous emo kids are. I thought maybe they would be easy to impress because they're so mindless, but they didn't really talk to me much since I don't have rainbow-colored hair and facial piercings. Anyway, these are my blogs from Buzznet.



July 7, 2009

"The strangest things seem suddenly routine"

I'm always right there with the makeup.



Keith and I sing really well together. Or at least it seems that way to me after drinking a lot of screwdrivers and snorting a lot of Ritalin. We’re pretty amazing when we’re fucked up, and as long as we’re just as amazing when we’re not, we can basically become superstars anytime we want. For the 4th of July all our party plans failed, so we had another two-person party and did the same thing all over again, singing, talking, and generally screwing around until it started getting light out. The only difference was that I put makeup on him and he kept it on when we walked down the street to a bar to hang out for a bit. I swear I have more fun with him than anyone else I’ve met. We’ve only been dating for three months but I can’t believe how compatible we are.

I had to leave relatively early the next day to go to a family party. He walked out to my car with me and we laughed because it was covered in tree pollen. I loaded my bags into the passenger’s seat and then turned to kiss him goodbye. He said, “Drive safe. Have fun. I love you.”

“You just told me you loved me.”

“I know, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I love you too.”

I hugged him tight around the neck and felt myself blush. I’m so overwhelmed by him but it’s a good thing and it makes me happy.


June 30, 2009

Parties, Pancakes, Popsicles, and Penises

Partying is good. It’s something I don’t do enough of. I much prefer small parties to large ones because I enjoy having meaningful interactions with people even when I’m extremely drunk. A couple weekends ago, my family was out of town so Keith came over to party with me, just the two of us, and I’m so glad that my original plan of a St. Charles North High meets Dominican University party didn’t pan out, because it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as exciting.

Keith made many delicious mixed drinks and I got out my vinyl records to sing along to. We took a few painkillers and lost our minds. I don’t remember a whole lot, but I know that at some point after consuming eleven beers, he stuffed his pants with an enormous Planters peanuts jar, and then dutifully washed it because it “smelled like balls.” We talked in great detail about past and future sexcapades and what we are and are not interested in trying. After exhausting the subject, we sang along to “Wig In a Box” from the Hedwig soundtrack multiple times and he made up songs on the piano. As the sun started rising, I fell on the ground while attempting to locate a Who record, and shortly thereafter we fell asleep to the sound of birds chirping. The next day, we got up at 6 PM and went to IHOP, where I indulged in the Butterscotch Rocks Pancakes. You should treat yourself.

This past Sunday we went to the Chicago Pride Parade in Boystown, which was very amusing. I find it fascinating that during the gay pride weekend it’s totally acceptable for men to walk down the street wearing nothing but tighty whities. Generally I’m pretty sure people can get arrested for that, but I guess anything goes on Halsted Street.



Most importantly, Keith and I developed the storyline for the upcoming V Sparks rock opera, The Diary of Byron Gaye. The songs have been written but they don’t yet have lyrics, and Keith was given the task of developing the plot. Together we worked out the details of Byron Gaye’s life over French fry salad at a restaurant one evening, and I think it’s really promising. This could be huge, if people start listening to rock music again. They talked to a movie producer and he’s interested in making a movie to go along with the album. Now I’m working on the first draft of the screenplay. I’m really excited about this. Wish us luck.


June 9, 2009

What I have and what I don't have

We were laying backwards on the bed, heads where our feet should be. My forehead touched his; it was cool and damp. His past unfolded before me, laid out in awkward honesty. We asked each other again what this is, who we are--we used words like “boyfriend and girlfriend,” the words that almost made us blush. He told me that the second time we met, the second show I went to, he brought a girlfriend there and divided his time between the two of us. I told him about flirting with the bassist from Pale Blue Dot that night and still being in a serious relationship. Sometimes we laughed and sometimes I was uncomfortable, but his arms were always around me. He was always grabbing me and squeezing me to his chest. He kissed my eyebrows and then licked my surgery scar. He rested his cheek against my belly and listened to the sounds that my body made inside. I cupped my hands on the top of his head and couldn’t close my eyes.

This time he didn’t play any songs, but I don’t mind because I have the recording of the song he wrote for me called “I Can’t Sleep.” He wrote it in the middle of the night and sent me the mp3 in the morning so that I could wake up to it. It almost made me cry. I hope he’s still working on the second song because I think it’s just as nice. I loved it from the first time he played it because of the lyrics about eating chocolate for breakfast and the line, “I stare into your eyes, and you’re staring at my jeans it seems.” True events inspire the best music.



Tuesday made it to the city of angels, leaving with nothing and gaining everything as needed. Sunday I got a text I didn’t expect: “tuesday & I are sitting @ the rainbow thinking of ways 2 get u 2 LA!” In my mind I fell off the barstool, but in reality I smiled and texted back. Two thousand miles from here, April and tuesday look like gold to me. I imagine the two blue jean babies watching the sun set behind the Hollywood sign. Of course I don’t even know if the sun sets in that direction.

I said to Keith I want to move to Hollywood and he said let’s go.



May 19, 2009

Further Adventures of Crystal Diamante: On almost becoming a recording artist, being homeless, and life at the Hotel Hosmer




I went with Keith and Prescott to the recording studio to hear the French horn part being recorded for “Manic In the Light.” We walked down a spiral staircase in a room with mirrored walls, and then we went through a door into a long dark hallway. It twisted and turned in all different directions and occasionally we passed rooms that were lit up with the red and green glowing lights of recording equipment. Before Keith and I got there, we had been practicing our mouth French horns (“bwaa bwaa bwaaaaa”) and we agreed that we sounded good enough to be on the CD so that they wouldn’t have to pay a professional, but I guess we didn’t live up to Prescott’s standards (he’s a master of the air cello), and they proceeded with the real French hornist. The studio was dimly lit and the walls were covered with red shag carpeting. There was a large main room where drums and other stuff could be set up, and the area with the mixing boards and mechanical stuff was raised up above it behind a glass wall. There was another small recording room next to that, which reminded me of cages at a strip club because it was all enclosed in glass and raised above the rest of the big room. Keith and I stood in there doing our mouth French horns and kissing and laughing about random things. This was the last part of the recording for “Manic” so the rest of the song was already done, and we got to listen to it over and over again to see what changes needed to be made. There’s an awesome vacuum cleaner noise followed by an explosion that I wasn’t expecting because obviously they can’t do it during the live shows. At the bridge, they had this weird “whoa oh oh” thing going on that sounded like a tape of ghost noises you’d put on your front porch to scare kids on Halloween, and it kept cracking me up and then they eventually decided to get rid of it. I thought that was a good choice and I was proud of myself for being on the same level as the musical geniuses. After a couple hours it was all done, and the three of us left the building as Keith and Prescott imitated the weird ghost noises all the way down the hallway.

The next day Keith and I went out for dessert breakfast, and as I was leaving, there was a man lying in the middle of the crosswalk. A crowd was starting to gather around him and some people were on the ground trying to get him to regain consciousness, but he couldn’t get up. A cop came over and called for an ambulance, but that was the last I saw and it’s strange because now I have no idea what happened to him. After seeing someone unconscious in the middle of the road, you want to know that they’re okay. It’s kind of unsettling.

The drive usually takes me about an hour and a half, but it was considerably longer due to traffic, and the real kicker is that I was only home for about an hour before my dad told me to get out. I was in the kitchen heating up some enchiladas and talking to my mom, when my dad burst in and, as usual, demanded to know what we were talking about. I said, “It’s none of your business,” and he told me to leave. I packed my bags and started making phone calls to friends, and that’s when my dad also added that I couldn’t take my car because it was insured under my mom’s name. Fortunately Steven was able to pick me up, and we went to Sweet Tomatoes for dinner because I didn’t get to eat my enchiladas. I didn’t know where I was going to stay, but I had narrowed it down to either Keith’s or Jade’s. (Jade is my aunt and friend.) Depending on where I was headed, I had to take a different train, so Steven and I pigged out at the buffet to kill time as I tried to determine what would be easier.

My epic dessert



I ended up deciding to go to Keith’s, so Steven drove me to the train station and saw me off at the platform. It was almost 10 at night and I was headed right back where I’d come from earlier in the day. When I finally got to Chicago, the first thing I did was apply makeup in the bathroom, of course, and then I got a cab and was on my way, dragging my four bags along with me. I walked in, told Keith my story, laughed, and promptly fell asleep.

Sleep...



So, the tricky part was that Keith was leaving for a tour the next evening. V Sparks had a show in Raleigh (with Five Alpha Beatdown) and then they played the Florida Music Festival in Orlando. Being the sweetheart that he is, he had keys made for me and told me that I could stay at his apartment while he was gone. Around 1:00, we had to go pick up the tour bus from Adam’s friends. They lived in a cool old house that smelled musty and was decorated with album covers and various instruments. It was very much a home for musicians. Everything was made of wood. The only real colors in the place were from the ’70s curtains and the pinball machine in the corner. Anyway, we got the bus, and it was totally pimp. Old, but pimp. It had six bunks, two couches, and a TV. Interestingly there was no passenger’s seat, which I suspect is because a groupie is meant to be kneeling over the driver’s lap. We cruised around (Keith driving, me leaning on the seat next to him and getting thrown against the walls), while blasting music and pretending that we were on a major U.S. tour as we made our way to deliver the bus to Prescott.

On tour in Chi-town







Keith left that night, and he told me that his friend Mike was going to come over at 8:00 to also spend the night there. My internet connection was very weak and sporadic, so I mostly talked to friends on the phone and read a book called Vox (which is about phone sex, which I did not have with my friends). But Mike never came and eventually I went to sleep.

Around 11 in the morning, as I was sleeping of course, someone walked in and said, “Is anybody here?” I replied, “Yes!” and fumbled around in the bed in my semi-naked state, trying to get dressed and fix my hair. So I met Mike and told him about my homelessness. He listened sympathetically and told me that he’d like to take Keith and me out drinking if I had a fake ID.

Around this time, I flipped a light switch only to discover that the power was out. Fortunately I had enough hot water for a shower, but I couldn’t blow dry my hair or use the microwave or any other appliance. With nothing in particular to do around the house, I decided to make it a shopping spree day. I checked out some of the local boutiques and then sat in Starbucks for a long time taking advantage of the wireless internet. According to Google, Wicker Park had quite a few record stores so I decided to check them out. Of course I had no car, but I managed to find two that were within walking distance despite my horrendous sense of direction. First I went to Dusty Groove, but the name was misleading because the place was very clean and organized. I was disappointed. Next I took a long walk down Milwaukee to Reckless Records, which was much cooler. Their clientele seemed to be mostly twentysomething men with long hair and ripped jean jackets. They had a much larger selection and all the used vinyl was really cheap. I didn’t buy anything though. I’m so picky. By the time I left, Ragstock and most of the other cool clothing stores were closed, but it was getting dark so I wanted to go back anyway because I didn’t feel like I was in the safest area.

When I got back to the apartment, it was pitch black because of the power outage. I couldn’t see a thing anywhere besides the living room. I fumbled around with the blinds, and they fell off the window. It was only 8:00, but I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t read because there was no light. I couldn’t watch a movie because there was no TV. I couldn’t surf the web because there was no internet. I called tuesday, but we couldn’t talk long because I was afraid my phone would die. So I lit some candles and stared at them for a while, and then went to bed even though I’d only been awake for ten hours.

Aside from that last part, though, I had a very nice week. I did some exploring, vacuumed the crazy red rug, and spent a night with Jade talking about how awesome penises are. Needless to say Jade and I also got really drunk and I sent Keith stupid texts about the greatness of V Sparks, but it appears that he still likes me.

Apparently the show in Orlando went really well and they got to talk to some guys from Atlantic and MySpace, so that’s a big plus. I’m very hopeful that they’ll get a record deal. Anyway, when I went back to Keith’s I was so hung over that I could barely move, so I sat on the couch and did nothing for hours. A few weeks ago he and I had watched Hedwig and the Angry Inch together, so I decided to watch it again and I think it’s more inspirational the second time. The last song made me shaky because I believed in it so much. I think my dream, more than modeling or anything else, is to be a rock and roll singer. That’s what I want. I deny it most of the time because it’s so scary to me, but it’s who I really am. I’m just not sure what to do about it.

I went out to eat and tried to write song lyrics as I sat at the bar, but it doesn’t matter anyway because I can’t write the music part. So then I went back and sang along with my iTunes until I got sleepy. Can someone finally tell me what “Suffragette City” is about? I’ve never known why it was stuck there in between “Ziggy Stardust” and “Rock and Roll Suicide.”

Keith got home bright and early yesterday morning. I was so happy to see him, and he had brought me back a pair of handcuffs. After he partially unpacked and showered, we settled in for a long nap because they’d driven for 19 hours straight. I couldn’t sleep though, so I just hugged him while he snored against my chest and drooled down my shirt, and I laid there thinking about how much I really really like him.

Last night we went out and met his friend at Swig, and we ended up staying there till almost 2 talking about music. I didn’t drink because I wasn’t even supposed to be in the bar so I didn’t want to push my luck, but I had a great time anyway, while everyone else pounded them down. As the bar started to get empty, we listened to some V Sparks and Motley Crue that I sang along to, and then they put on Appetite for Destruction. As everyone knows, this is easily one of the greatest records of all time, so we all rocked out intensely, singing along with bad imitation Axl vocals and smiling at the dirty lyrics. I’ve never had so much fun being the only sober one in a group before. Keith explained all his different feelings for me as we sat there at the bar, and we made out and groped each other inappropriately whenever we weren’t busy singing. The bartender called us “sickeningly cute.” I have such a huge crush.

I had a doctor’s appointment today so I went back to my parents’ house this morning, which is where I’m at now. It’s pretty dull around here. When I looked at my socks, I saw that I still had tufts of Keith’s red rug stuck to the bottom of them, so I’m choosing to view that as a sign that I should stay in the city more often.


May 9, 2009

Getting Freaky

Note: This journal entry contains material that is not suitable for children. Consider this your warning, and don't cry to the Buzznet police about it if you don't like it. You don't have to read this. You are making the choice. Here comes the naughty...



(Photo by Chris Negrete)

I once did a photo shoot that required me to wear lace panties and a pair of yellow scuba fins. Little did I know that a select few people are sexually aroused by women in scuba gear. Not just the wet suit but the whole nine yards: fins, masks, tanks.

There are some really, REALLY weird fetishes out there. Of course, I try to be very nonjudgmental regarding all sexual matters but...formicophilia? Really?? Bugs crawling on the genitals?? That’s just gross.

A little bit of research revealed some of these oddities:

Hybristophilia--Attraction to someone who has committed a gruesome crime.

Vorarephilia--Wanting to be eaten or see someone being eaten. Isn’t that the same as cannibalism?

Plushophilia--Attraction to stuffed animals.

Necrozoophilia--Attraction to dead animals. As if attraction to animals isn’t bad enough, let’s add death to it.

Dendrophilia--Attraction to trees.

I also don’t understand why anyone would want to do something that really hurts. Why do some men like for a woman to put on spike heels and step on their balls?

I can see how a man would find it sexy for his lady to dress up like a naughty little schoolgirl. But I’m sorry, wearing a diaper is crossing the line. I have to seriously question why any man would get off on dressing like a baby or having his partner dress like a baby. Babies aren’t sexy. Ever.

I’d have to say that the most random fetish I’ve ever heard of is the attraction to girls whose cars are stuck in the mud. Yes you read that right. There’s an entire website devoted to it. Some men out there get off on watching girls try to push their cars out of the mud. This is really going to make me think twice about letting a stranger help me if I ever slide into a ditch.

In all honesty, I can almost see how water sports are appealing in comparison to some of these things. At least it comes from your partner’s body. It’s all natural. I’d never go for it, but it’s better than necrozoophilia.

So now I’m curious as to what some common fetishes are. The technical definition of fetish involves a sexual preoccupation with something nonsexual (or something along those lines), but people don’t use the word fetish that way so I’m just referring to what people commonly consider fetishes. If you like black platform PVC boots, I don’t think that technically counts as a fetish because they’re intended to be sexually arousing, but for the sake of conversation we’ll just call it a fetish anyway. I guess you could use the term “kink.” So let me hear your kinks, people. I’m curious.

As for me, I like to be the submissive one. Partly because I’m shy and partly just because it turns me on. Every once in a while my inner domme makes an appearance, but that’s very rare and will probably only involve oral sex with restraints. No whips or candle wax. I don’t consider myself superkinky, but I’m not a prude either, so I guess I fall somewhere in the middle. Some of the things I like during sex are:

Being pinned down

Cumshots anywhere (not the eyes obviously)

Hair pulling

Biting

Wearing lingerie

Wearing high heels

Light spanking

Light choking

Dirty talk

Anal play (but not actual buttsecks, ouch)

Vibrators & other toys

Cross dressing (for him)

Being outside or somewhere unusual

Watching him masturbate

Massaging as foreplay

My list of possibilities includes: play rape, voyeurism, FFM threesomes. Something that always gets me is fingerless gloves on a man. And makeup. It’s so taboo and sleazy.

I consulted a male friend on the matter, and he said his only real kink is that he loves a woman in garters. But what about the rest of you? What gets a rise out of you? I want to hear what fetishes people have, and I also would love for anybody with one of the fetishes I listed at the beginning of this post to explain the attraction.

That is all.


April 30, 2009

In Memory of Sable Starr

On April 17, Sable Starr passed away.  She was one of the few of the ’70s supergroupies to keep quiet about her wild adventures, and she even kept quiet about her battle with cancer. I admire her for establishing such a private life after spending her formative years in the limelight. I just wish that I knew more of her story. In any case, here she is.

With Lori Maddox.

With Lori Maddox and Dave Hill (Slade).

With Lori Maddox and Iggy Pop.

With just Iggy Pop.

With Johnny Thunders.

With Johnny Thunders and Iggy Pop.  Awkward moment.

With Stiv Bators.

With Nancy Spungen.

With Queenie and some chick I don't recognize.

With Debbie Harry.

 

There’s a lot of interesting info about her in Please Kill Me, so I highly recommend it to anyone who’s curious to find out more about her life. I’m happy that she’s gotten the recognition she deserves for being inspirational and caring for so many musicians, and I’m glad that she was able to step out of the spotlight when she needed to and live the rest of her life in private. She'll be missed by so many rock and roll fans.