I occasionally go on YouTube binges.
Someone will send me the link to a song, funny clip, or inspirational video. But after it is over, I can never bring myself to close the browser, because YouTube has offered me a suggestion of something else to watch. And so on and so forth until it is three hours later and I am watching a documentary about tsunamis, when the first video I watched was a guy who gets excited about rainbows.
Such was the case the other day, when I was watching various music videos and I came across this song. And I was immediately reminded of my ex-girlfriend, Crazy Krista.
Now, I don’t know who this singer/rapper is, and I don’t really feel like doing much research about her. The title of the video is Бьянка – Без сомнения, meaning that her name is either Бьянка or Без сомнения, but for the sake of clarity, I shall henceforth call her Svetlana.
While I might not know her name, what I do know is that she is kinda hot, albeit trashy.
My ex-girlfriend, Crazy Krista, was insanely hot as well. Definitely hotter than this rapper.
Until we started dating, that is. Once I really got to know her, her attractiveness went right out the window.
Let me explain what I mean by referring you back to Svetlana’s music video with three key similarities to the craziest girlfriend I’ve ever had:
1) She starts out mad.
We, as innocent listeners, are thrown right in the middle of a whirlwind of fury as she goes on her indistinguishable and angry rant.
Those crazy eyes.
They still send a shiver down my spine.
I hadn’t done a thing, but I knew damn well that her anger, wherever it came from, was completely my fault. And even when she was having a good day and recognized that it was not my fault, I still had to hear her wrath. Her wrath, which was directed at the universe in general, but funneled through me, as if I was the earpiece for the cosmos.
2) You can’t understand a word she is saying.
That, of course, is because we don’t speak Svetlana’s language. But I think that even if I did speak the language, I would still have difficulty understanding what she was saying.
But with Crazy Krista, I did speak her language. Yet, I never understood a word she was saying or why she was so angry. There was an obvious communication barrier, but it did not exist due to differences in languages. And it did not exist because of a male/female communication barrier, which I admittedly have yet to figure out.
It was a crazy/non-crazy communication barrier. She put words together into intelligible sentences, but the conclusions she reached very rarely had anything to do with her preambles.
As such, it was extremely frustrating to become the reason for your girlfriend getting a D+ on her first exam in Economics.
Or being the reason that dance majors don’t make any money.
Or being the reason that she didn’t get enough walnuts in her Waldorf Salad.
Just like Svetlana.
I mean, what’s the deal, ladies?
Svetlana, you are on a beautiful beach. Sure, you might have chosen the worst place on the beach to have her emotional breakdown, between two rocks. But it is still a beautiful setting, and you even have a colorful cello! And everyone knows that there is nothing better than a colorful cello on a beach!
So why are you so pissed off?
3) The sexual aggressiveness.
Even though Svetlana is so incredibly angry and blinded by rapping fury, she still has the wherewithal to hunt down a dude and rape him in the sand. While the guy doesn’t appear to be completely opposed to her attack, I am sure that he might have preferred to go someplace more comfortable; perhaps his air-conditioned loft. Or at the very least, he might want to change into his bathing suit.
But no. Svetlana’s sexual appetite is so insatiable and so immediate, that the only thing that can satisfy it is a good old dry-humping of a fully-clothed man on the beach.
It reminds me of the time that Crazy Krista and I went out to dinner.
I did not have a car on campus my freshman year. She did. On our ride home from dinner, we got into an argument. Or more accurately, she got into an argument with herself, and I served as the mediator.
When we got back to the parking lot of our dorms, I suggested that we go back to my dorm room to talk things out.
Krista turned off the ignition, and as I reached for the car door handle, there was a distinct click, as Krista locked the doors. As I turned to ask what she was doing, she had already begun mounting me and kissing my neck.
“But I thought you were mad at-” I started to say, but was cut off by the g-force I felt as she pulled the seat adjuster lever and I was pushed downwards to a completely horizontal position.
“Just shut the fuck up and kiss me,” she instructed.
I did as I was told.
And so it went, in the blistering summer heat that turned her car into the one at the end of that steamy scene in Titanic. Yet, it was only steamy in the hot/balmy/annoying sense of the word, and not the sexy/erotic/titillating sense. Because the only thing I was really thinking about was my cool, air-conditioned room, only a few feet away, and how it made so much more sense to be there at the moment. Surely, that was a better place to find a solution to our conflict than her car?
But this was Krista’s way of finding a solution to the conflict. With kissing and grinding and sweating. Looking back on our relationship, I am pretty sure that the conflicts she created only existed because they made for tasty resolutions.
I broke up with her a few days after steaming up her car.
But to be perfectly honest, the breakup was something that I was planning only a week after we officially became a couple. Once we became “official,” the wheels came off and she completely discarded the mask of sanity that she had been wearing during the courting process.
In just a week, I had realized that this particular relationship was like when you are a kid and try to hold your breath for as long as you can. You might be able to hold out for a while, but you knew that it was going to lead nowhere but you gasping for air at the end.
Such was the case with Krista. Except with her it was as if I had taken an enormous breath and she immediately began punching me in the gut, forcing me to cough and dispel much-needed oxygen.
She made it very difficult to hang on.
The problem was finding the right moment. If she got that mad at me while we were a couple, I couldn’t imagine dealing with her wrath and fury when I tried to break up with her.
But as scary as it was to sit her down and tell her the bad news, it was an even scarier proposition to have to endure such an unfulfilling relationship for much longer. To become that guy who was a handmaid to a princess. Though she was beautiful, I couldn’t envision myself performing senseless duties for her (e.g. dragging a flowery cello to the beach) and then getting yelled at for doing it wrong.
After I broke up with her, I felt terrible. She didn’t take it very well.
But as I stepped outside of her dorm, I smiled.
It felt good to suck sweet oxygen back into my lungs.