By Misti Velvet Rainwater
Date: 3 December 1998

Should I Stay Or Should I Go

What am I doing with this guy. He's had more sex than Charlie Sheen,
he has the entire men's wear section of Foley's in his closet, and he 
tells me we need to put some Miracle-Gro on my breasts. I must be a
masochist of the lowest order. The hell I go through just to get my
groove on.
  That's not to say I haven't had fun with this guy. He's the only guy
I've ever met who's as crazy as I am. How many guys out there would
wake up one morning and decide to drive eight hours to a casino with 
nothing more than two hundred dollars to his name? Of course, he lost all
but forty dollars of it and we had to pull over at a rest area on the
way home and sleep in my truck, but, hey- it was definitely an adventure,
and I'm always up for one of those.
  There are moments when I feel like I really love him. Usually it's after
sex, not during, when I'm laying in his arms gazing at his Adonis face.
He has a better complexion than I do. And his green eyes just absolutely
put me away. I love him when he shuts his mouth. The minute he starts 
talking it's all over with. That's how I know it must be wrong. After all,
he's not a Ken doll but a human being. If I hate his personality and
mentality so much that I find myself telling him to shut up everytime
we're together, maybe it's time to move on.
  I've been breaking up with him ever since we got together again. We were
together, in a sense, a couple years back, but that's irrelevant. I'm
talking about now. Fall 1998.
   He would do something goofy or detestable and I'd say,"This isn't
working for me. Let's just be friends." Like at the cinema when he'd spray
me with his soda. He'd shoot me in the face with it, spraying it through
his front teeth. I was reminded of that passage in Catcher in the Rye
when Holden is going on about how uncool he thought it was for that guy
to spit on his girl's face. Come on, Holden- where ya hidin'? Come to mama.
I know there HAS TO BE some decent, attractive, intelligent men out there
who are morally opposed to spitting on women's faces.
   And he had this thing about following me into the bathroom. "Make sure 
you wipe your ass good," he'd say. I've told my sister about this and she
says it's not normal. I know she must be right.
   A lot of women would have given him his walking papers a long time ago.
I would, but then I'd take it back. He'd turn me inside out in bed and 
cloud my thinking. Or he'd take me out to eat at a really nice Oriental
restaurant.
   I weigh the pros and cons as I page him just one more time...