crystaldiamante

Please take a few moments and vote for me in the Deb Girl Model Search!

http://www.debmodelsearch.com/profile.php?username=CrystalDiamante

Thanks a bunch!  I'd be happy to help you out in a contest in return!

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 4^th 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.

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.

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 with Steven.  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.

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.

Brief fun

Then 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.

Lazy hangover Crystal

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.

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...

(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.  

I had another photo shoot this weekend with a girl in DeKalb who I love working with, and I already got the photos back!  We went to an industrial park and shot in various locations around there.  Walking down the street in tiny shorts and garter boots attracts a lot of attention from passersby.  So does changing clothes in the back of a car.  I need to find a job because I’m running out of outfits to wear.  On that note, I want to preface the posting of pictures by saying that I know the two leopard prints clash.  I just don’t care.  

After the shoot, I went to Chicago to meet Keith, and we saw a play in Boystown called Snow White and the Seven Drag Queens.  It was at Hydrate, a gay bar I’d never been to and probably wasn’t supposed to be able to get into but all I have for ID is my ticket, not my license, so my age is less obvious.  The performance room was lit up with fuschia lights and it was hard to see because there was a fog machine or ten.  The show was good.  Campy, catty, loud.  They sang Britney Spears and Madonna songs and Snow White took her top off.  I don’t remember sparkly nipples or blowjobs being involved in the Disney version, but maybe I’m forgetful.

Afterward, Keith and I came up with an excellent idea for a new hobby I could engage in.  I’m thinking I could try having a sex toy review blog.  I’d contact different adult product companies and tell them that I’ll review their toys online if they send me some for free.  Then I’ll have a fabulous collection, the companies will have publicity, the readers will have valuable information, and everyone will be oh so happy.

Last but of course not least, I haven’t yet mentioned that Keith plays bass for V Sparks, the best glam rock band in Chicago.  They’re also the only glam rock band in Chicago, but that’s irrelevant.  They just posted a new song called “On My Arm” on their MySpace so I recommend that everyone go listen to it right now.  And dance!

www.myspace.com/vsparks

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.