The Crushed Obsessive By Gina Lovoi 1995         "You're psycho."         "You're a fucking nut."         "Don't you think you're taking it a little too far?"         I have had all these things said to me, and more, simply because I have a habit of finding one or two people to have really obsessive crushes on.  Even though I have been hurt, not only by those comments, and been made to look like a pretty big fool, more than once, I still persist on the idea that having crushes makes life more fun.  Sometimes I can go without a crush for a while, but when I get one, I usually like to hang on to it for as long as possible until the person does something really drastic to disenchant me with them.         When Michelle, my old roommate, and I started living together, I had had no crush for a while, but Michelle put me in the mood for another one because Michelle had a crush and it seemed that she was having an absolutely fabulous time with hers.  Michelle helped me to finely tune my obsessive crush skills by showing me new techniques tat I had never thought of before.  She showed me my now favorite maneuver called "the drive-by".  It's when you get in the car with a couple of friends and either drive by the person's house, or where you know they're going to be; and when you see the person you either duck down under the dashboard and floor it, or you wave and smile...depending on the mood you're in.  Now this may sound rather juvenile, and at first I thought it did too, but after trying it a few time, you get hooked.         I had become bored with following Michelle, following her crush everywhere, so I decided to find one of my own.  Now don't get me wrong, there has to be a certain something, an attraction of some sort before I get the crush, and after seeing a local San Jose band called the Diesel Queen perform a few times, I knew who my crush was to be.  There are a few prerequisites to my crushes:  I have to not know them too well, but have an intuitive sense of a connection between personalities; they have to be fairly unobtainable in that they are already dating somebody, or, and I'm not trying to put myself down here, I just feel they would not be attracted to me; and usually they have a good sense of humor.  I had decided that the one for me was Jeff Rahn of the Diesel Queens whose stage name is Velvy.         The Diesel Queens are a local band, whose members have been in local bands what seems to be their entire lives, and now have come together to form one of the most infamous San Jose bands.  They are not infamous for their fine musicianship, but rather for their deep and meaningful lyrics and elaborate, yet sometimes dangerous stage productions.  Their best shows were holiday themes, like Christmas, Cinco de Mayo (a popular one in San Jose), and the Fourth of July where they would do parodies of these holidays, white-trash celebration style, with just a touch of sado-masochism.  For example, if it were Christmas, they would stuff their codpieces with tinsel and their female stage dancers would wrap flashing tree lights in their hair which would drape down over their pierced breasts.  You get the picture.         Velvy has a fairly consistent stage look.  He mainly sported a painted blue face with clothespins in his hair, and his outfits go something like:  an old jeans jacket with "smell my butt" written in black marker on the back, a pair of ripped fishnets, and a codpiece stuffed with an over-sized dildo and whipped cream, which would, if moved the right way, squirt out towards the audience.  Now I know love can be blinding, so personally I didn't see this one, but according to Michelle, he also had quite a cellulited hiney, which I suppose only added to his stage appeal.  He was a little man, about my height, with a very big stage presence, and he was also in charge of most of the bands lyrics.  Songs like "Orchard Supply Hardware, Where a Man Can be a Man", "I Like Cheese Because It's Good", "Man/Boy Love" (which I don't even want to get into), and "The Manson Family Feud".         I could never really realize why more women weren't completely in love with this man, with a genius like his, but since no one else seemed to be claiming him, I thought I would.  Now once again, don't get me wrong, it's not like he wasn't the ladies man kind of guy, because he was.  And every time I would see him, there would be some new woman hanging all over him, but since none of my friends were interested, I thought it would be good.  After all, he did fit the requirements of:  didn't know him very well, fairly unobtainable, and obviously with a very good sense of humor.         After seeing the Diesel Queens perform a few times, Michelle got very good at recognizing Velvy out of costume.  I, on the other hand, had a more difficult time making this leap.  We'd be out somewhere and I'd go "Hey Michelle, isn't that Velvy over there?" and Michelle would look at me the way Michelle looked at me 99 times before, "Nooooo".  Then I would get mad, and start insisting that it was him, after all, I was the one with a crush on him, I should know him when I saw him.  But time and time again I was wrong.  I believe it was actually the time when I was standing there talking to him and some of his friends, and still did not realize that it was him, until afterwards when Michelle told me about it, that I decided that it was time to make a concerted effort to recognize Jeff Rahn out of costume.  Out of costume he looked fairly average.   He mainly wore Doc Martin boots, black shorts, a t-shirt, with his blond hair done in a mild rock-a-billy kind of pompadour.  Now this lack of flamboyance out of costume, and to me this was lack of flamboyance, pompadour and all, only added to his mystic.  This guy was sooooo it for me.         As time passed, Michelle and I realized that he lived only a block away from our place.  See Michelle and I respected each others crushes, and anytime we would obtain new information on these people, we would promptly relay it to the other.  Michelle had spotted him driving into the parking lot of a small apartment building down the street.  After many walk-bys, which is the on foot form of the drive-by, we were able to deduce that he drove a small white Hundi, which from that moment on, I was perpetually on the look out for.  In general, Michelle and I would spend hours at a time sitting on our porch waiting for something exciting to happen.  "Hey Michelle, you want to play Scrabble again?"   to which Michelle would always reluctantly reply "Okkkkaaay".  So amidst all our Scrabble games, I was aware of every small white car passing by.  One day he actually did pass by, but in the passenger seat of a small black car, which completely threw me off.  So I looked.  I looked at Michelle - Michelle are you seeing what I'm seeing?  I looked back - Michelle are you seeing what I'm seeing?  Michelle was not seeing what I was seeing, drastic measures had to be taken.  I pointed, yelled, "Michelle isn't that the guy from the Diesel Queens?!"   Being that this was not one of the most discreet actions, I turned, looked, saw him looking at me, looking at him, with a look of, "Why don't you take a picture?   It would last longer."         Yeah, it was bad, but I suppose there's a silver lining in every cloud.  As I saw it, at least now he knew where I lived, so I could begin to construct total fantasies of him just dropping by and hanging out on the porch with me in the summer because he was bored and hot, at which time I would of course relieve him of his boredom.  Often times when Michelle and I would go out at night I would spot his small white Hundi parked outside (and yes I had memorized the license plate number), and I would begin to construct new fantasies of how I could break into his car, turn on the headlights, so by the time he came out of where ever he was, his battery would be dead, and he would need a jump-start, and I would be ever-so-conveniently lingering near by with a pair of jumper cables close at hand.  Michelle (and since I have a rather big mouth) everyone else who I told my fantasies to thought I was taking it too far.  I felt they were a creative expression of something, so I kept making them up.  Looking back on this, I believe that if I had put all this energy into actually interacting with Jeff Rahn, we would have been married and divorced by this time.  When I would see him I would become this sort of staring, mute, dork, following him around the room, trying to sneak sly, Sixteen Candle-style glances at him.  Like he'd be where you are (talking to audience), and I'd be up here, and I'd slowly start to turn around, stopping midway to look for friends (of course to give the illusion of being popular), then I would continue on the rest of the way until I saw him, at which time, he would usually see me too.  I would have to play it off by neurotically rubbing my chin on my coat collar to relieve that ever pressing itch.   I believe that by the time my crush had taken on the obsessive qualities, he had caught me in the middle of this little ritual about ten or fifteen times.  Somehow I know my antics will cause my crushes to catch on to my interest, but I like to keep in denial about it, so that when I'm relaying this story back to someone, it just sounds like an unfortunate mishap of crush technique.  "Oh my God Michelle, he just saw me, (pause), he just saw me again.  Oh my God what should I do?  Should I go?  Should I go outside?  What should I do?  Let's go to the bathroom.  Needless to say, many trips were taken to the bathroom.         So one particular evening, one of my favorite bands from Southern California, the Cadillac Tramps, were going to be playing at the Ajax Lounge, and there was a pretty good possibility that Jeff was going to be there.  He was friends with the band and at every show the lead singer would give thanks to Jeff for having invited him over after a previous show to watch porno movies.  So, I was doubly excited:  the cover charge was two dollars, and there was a good possibility that Jeff was going to be there, but being that it was a cold night, I opted to be practical rather than to be warm.  I put on a frumpy dress, thinking who was going to see it under all the layers anyhow, a sweater, a jacket, hat, scarf, gloves, tights, the works.  I looked like an Eskimo.  Michelle, on the other hand, opted to look cute rather than to be warm.  She put on a body suit with a pair of tight corduroy bell bottom pants, which may not sound cute, but on Michelle it was, and so we were off.  And when I walked in, the first person I saw was Jeff.  My stomach dropped a notch and I positioned myself in the corner of the room where I could easily follow his every move.  I believe at one point, I must have lost track of his every move because I actually went up and started to groove with the Cadillac Tramps.  "Train, train, train, she's gonna ride that train to fame".  So I was groovin', I turned to my right and there he was, so my groovin' died dow.  I looked, I pushed my cuticle, I looked and I pushed my cuticle, I was looking and pushing, looking and pushing, by the end of the evening my nails were perfect and I had not managed to cause a spectacle.         After the show Michelle and I were talking to my friend and co-worker, Megan, who was talking to us and at the same time she was talking to some of her rock-a-billy guy friends.  Since I've already brought it up, I might mention that rock-a-billy is a fairly popular, somewhat underground, music/style trend in California.  Megan was talking to us and she was talking to those guys when Jeff and Adrienne (Adrienne being the guitar player for the Diesel Queens) came up and joined our group, and when I saw Jeff join our circle, my stomach dropped a few more notches, and I stopped talking, which is of course always a charming quality when trying to impress someone.  Actually I may have stopped talking because my attention was distracted by two other fellows.  One of whom was a local who had a reputation of being drunk and obnoxious, which he was living up to on this particular evening.  He was trying very hard to get both Megan's and Michelle's phone numbers.  Megan gave him a fake phone number in hopes that he would go away, Michelle, on the other hand is a friendlier sort, she not only gave him our phone number, but engaged in this very loud, over-the-top, "we're not talking about anything" drunken kind of conversation.  On any other night I would have been indifferent to this, but on this particular evening he was talking over what Jeff Rahn was saying, and I began to get very agitated.  So to relieve some of my aggravations, i turned and talked to his friend, Mark.  "Mark, why is your friend so loud?  Can't you get him to be quiet?  Mark?  Phhhht, phhheewwtt, Mark?"  At which time Mark relayed a sad story to me as to why his friend was so obnoxious and I began to feel badly, so badly in fact that I offered them both a ride home being that it was cold outside.  Fortunately for the meantime they went elsewhere, and I was able to rejoin the original conversation.         The group had now dwindled down.  It was just Michelle, Adrienne, Jeff, Megan, and myself.  I don't know how the conversation got to this point, but when I did rejoin it, Adrienne and Jeff were telling Megan about how much they just loved her shoes.  I looked at Megan's shoes.  They were a pair of old worn out Doc Martin boots.  I listened to what Megan was telling them.  Megan was telling them of all the really disgusting things she stepped in with those shoes while working at a deli.  Now I knew first hand what gross things Megan had been stepping in with those shoes since I worked in the deli with her, so I backed her up on this one, which I believe made Adrienne and Jeff like her shoes all the more.  Within seconds, they were on the ground licking Megan's shoes.   Michelle couldn't be left out of this fun, so she pipes in with "Everybody loves to touch my butt when I wear these corduroy pants."  I imagine somebody must have just touched Michelle's butt or else I do not know why she would have said that; however, it was the perfect thing to follow up the shoe licking.  Jeff and Adrienne got off the floor, turned to Michelle, had her bend over and model her ample ass, which she happily obliged to, and they began with a slow stroking of her butt which escalated into a slapping of her ass in the middle of the stairwell of a very busy club.  It's not like I was mortified or anything, I was actually sort of jealous.  I mean, Megan got her shoes licked, Michelle was getting her butt slapped, but how could I have topped these two?  I suppose I could have said something like "My pussy smells like roses when it's cold outside", but it just didn't feel right.  I stood there, leaning against the wall, looking like an Eskimo, staring longingly at Jeff Rahn.  I was pretty sure that neither Jeff or Adrienne was aware of my presence; I was also thinking-this would be the perfect time to talk to him, but I had worked myself up so hard over the situation that I did nothing.         The festivities were beginning to die down.  Megan had to go home.  Now it was just Michelle, Adrienne, Jeff, and myself.  Adrienne and Jeff had actually begun to take a few steps down themselves, however Michelle and Adrienne were still in a conversation over Michelle's corduroy pants.  Jeff was standing against one side of the stairwell, staring at the other side of the stairwell, and I was of course above Jeff, staring at him.  Then, kind of out of nowhere, Jeff glanced up at me, glanced back at the other side of the stairwell, and then slowly held his hand up for my hand.  I truly classify this as one of the most cosmic things to have ever happened to me.  Of course it's not like there was no reason for him to know I was interested since I did spend most of my evenings out staring at him.  However, this was most incredible.  So I took his hand and he began to rub my fingers, up to my palm and under my sleeve.  Thanks to Michelle elongating her conversation with Adrienne, this actually went on for about five minutes without one word ever having been spoken until Adrienne interrupted to say that they had to leave.  Jeff began to pull his hand away, and I linked my forefinger around his and uttered the only words I've ever directly spoken to him, "You can't go now."         You know I really wish Jeff were here to have seen this performance today.  What do you think it would have gotten me?  I have a friend named Chris who does some of the stage setting for the Diesel Queens, and consequently is good friends with Jeff Rahn.  I've been writing to Chris lately, and he's asked me to send him some videotapes my  performances.  I know that if I sent him this tape, whether I would, or would not want it played in Jeff's presence, I can rest assured that it would be.  Do you think I should send the tape?  What do you think would happen?  Let me clarify that I am not looking for any Annette Benning/Warren Beatty "Love Affair", Tom Cruise/Nicole Kidman adopt-a-child kind of a relationship here...although there is nothing wrong with that.  I was thinking more along the lines of strapping on a really big dildo and fucking him in the ass until he comes harder than he ever has before.  What can I say, I'm a romantic.  Do you think I should send the tape?  What do you think he would do?  Perhaps it's hard for you to imagine what Jeff would do assuming that you don't know him.  It's hard for me to imagine what Jeff would do being that I don't really know him either.  But if I were telling this story about you, what would you do?  Would my eyelashes charm you into bed?  Would you find me too overbearing?  Would you want a really big dildo up your ass?  Could you possibly conceive of leaving this performance arena with me around your arm, while I make obvious gestures that you're mine, at least for the night?  It's not hard to convince me.  How about you?  Because like the song says, I'm a goddess, I'm a virgin, I'm a teaser, and I'm a one night stand.  Thank you.