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By Misti Submitted by chris Date: 2001 Jul 15 Comment on this Work [[2001.07.15.02.43.18916]] |
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...Kid Rock was never my hero. I lived in my own whimsical little world, a world free of misogyny and the questionable glamorization of the lifestyle of trailer park trash done good. Prostitutes and Southern California and flashy cars never appealed to me. That is why I knew from the start that my love affair with Krystal would be nothing more than brief, erotic bliss that would leave me mangled in the end. Her appearance was the first clue. Long bleached hair. Tons of makeup, including blue eyeliner and blue eyeshadow. Bright pink acrylic nails. Big boobs. Red gym shorts and a white tank top. No bra. Toasty tan with no lines. She looked like a Hooter's waitress. I admit...I was hooked. She wasn't my usual type. I'd always fallen for girls who didn't wear any makeup or acknowledge their femaleness with all the usual gimmicks. I'd always liked my girls natural and smart and goal-oriented. My exes had ordinary names. Sarah, Pamela, Melissa, Joan. "My full name is Krystal Darling Childress. My mom gave me the first name and my daddy gave me the middle name. And the last name," Krystal told me on our first date. I took her to Pizza Hut. I had a broken seat and she had a chipped plate. I remember hearing "Raspberry Beret" playing on the jukebox. After consuming two large supreme pizzas and two pitchers of Budweiser we went back to my place. My posters puzzled Krystal. "'The Wizard of Oz'? That's odd. Why would you hang that up? You're a guy. You should have a 'Reservoir Dogs' or 'Star Wars' poster. And where's Cindy Crawford or Carmen Electra? Do you actually think that woman is attractive?" She was staring at my Janis Joplin poster in disgust. "She is so ugly! What's she famous for, anyway?" "You're kidding. You've never heard of Janis Joplin?" "Noooo. She must've been way before my time." "I have a feeling you're not going to appreciate my cd collection." "Uh oh. I just have one request. Kid Rock." "No. Fresh out. How about some Otis Redding?" "Never heard of him. Let's just turn the radio on." As mentally incompatible as we were, the sex was the stuff that rock-n-roll dreams were made of. The kind of sex that inspired such songs as "You Shook Me All Night Long" and "Black Dog" and "Drain You." The sex was enough to glue us together for four sweaty, sleepless months. I brought her bouquets of sunflowers. For her twenty-first birthday I gave her a musical snow globe that played "Over the Rainbow"...there was a little ceramic couple inside, holding hands. One night toward the end I took Krystal to the mall cinema to see "Boys Don't Cry." She was wearing a red vinyl mini-skirt, black fishnet pantyhose, red stilettos, a red halter top and a blonde fake fur jacket she bought at a garage sale. In the back of my mind I thought, "This is no good. She looks like a cheap street whore." But I told myself to shutup. I told myself I was an elitist bastard. I bought her a jumbo tub of buttery artery clogging popcorn and a box of Sour Patch Kids and a large Mountain Dew. She seemed happy. When the movie ended we walked in silence toward the red exit sign. Krystal seemed upset. "Fucking dyke," Krystal muttered as we walked toward my Toyota Corolla. "What?" I was shocked. "You heard me. That bitch deserved to die. I would've thrown a brick in her face. I can't believe that chick still loved her even after she found out the truth. I want to puke." "Don't say that, babe. That's horrible. She did not to deserve to be raped and killed. That sort of thing is more common than you think." "What? Girls who trick girls into thinking they're guys? That's disgusting! They should get the death penalty for that shit!" I noticed a dead bird lying in front of my car. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "What's wrong with you? Are you crying? God! You are such a bleeding heart liberal! You probably voted for Clinton, didn't you?" "Yes. Both times," I replied as I turned on the radio and backed out of the parking space. "Ew, I hate that song. Let's go to a hotel. We've never gone to a hotel. I want room service and a pool to skinny dip in." I dumped Krystal over the phone the following Monday. I told her things weren't working out. I told her that great sex just wasn't enough. "I knew you were in the closet," she quipped with a harsh laugh. She slammed the phone down in my ear. I felt like a lock had been opened. I felt like a dragon that had just been fed. I felt like Ihowell's stapler...finally, my life had purpose again. Now I'm dating a girl named Lynne. We both love "Wizard of Oz" kitsch and "Over the Rainbow" and Janis Joplin and Otis Redding. We both voted for Clinton both times. Sometimes the sex is good. Sometimes it's great. Usually, it's mediocre. But after mediocre sex, nothing beats a stimulating conversation with a true mental equal. I don't think people will hang posters of Kid Rock in their apartments twenty years from now... |