Queen of the Doomed Relationship

The showbiz life can wreak havoc on your love life. Havoc? A "c," no "k"? That never looks right. But it's true. Havoc or havock.

Having the necessary charisma and magnetism to make it big in the entertainment world is no guarantee you'll be successful at love. In fact, in my world it's been the opposite case. All my relationships have fizzled into burnt marshmallows at the bottom of a pissed-out campfire.

My first boyfriend was my third agent, let's just call him Mort R., for the sake of confidentiality. Old Rothstein, that's what I always called him, he was a sucker for girls who looked young. And I looked young, being 12 at the time, so we were a perfect match. We had everything in common, we both liked McDonald's and Alf, we both wanted kids. Well, he didn't want kids the same way I wanted kids, but we were working through our problems when my parents and his wife made us break up. You may have seen the news article in The Star or the Fox movie of the week. They could have at least done me a favor and cast me as myself, I definitely know the part.

I didn't have a real serious boyfriend again until I was 15. We were married in California, only to find out Reverend Jughead didn't have state sanctioning so it never was legal. When we found that out, things just disintegrated. That and one argument about what constitutes "enough" oral sex and the storybook romance was over. Yeah, a storybook—the title of this story was "Sleeping Beauty and the Prince Charming Who Violated Her Before She Woke Up."

For years I just had little flings here and there, sometimes for days at a time. But I couldn't land a real boyfriend, it was like I had herpes or something. I mean, I did, but it was like everyone knew it. And I don't care what anyone says, they do go away, that is the biggest myth I ever heard.

Then at 22, I met the nicest guy on the face of the earth. No, not Bob Ross, I think he was already dead by this time. I met my boyfriend Spanner. He was a fantastic guy, before he turned into an asshole. He was a professional pool player when I met him, he played in places around the city and got paid for it. I met him playing pool, actually, and we even played for money. It takes him a few games to warm up, but around the third game he turned into a dynamo like instantly! Our sex life was often a mirror of that. Anyway, he didn't like to be called a "pooler" like I used to say, he preferred "hustler." My dad said it wasn't even a real job but I know he was mistaken because I've seen magazines for the profession.

I could go on forever about Spanner. He was sweet, he was handsome, he had a different car every night—everything a girl dreams about. I'm convinced we would've gotten married some day if the lousy cops hadn't sent him to jail for a crime he only did once. I would have gladly waited for him but he started cheating on me with his cellmate, and to make things worse, I didn't even know he was gay. He said he didn't do it voluntarily, but if you think I'm going to believe that, ha! Why didn't he tell the guards or ask the guy to stop then?

Yes, boys, my heart's been broken more times than Liz Taylor's elastic waistbands. But as always, I come out landing on my feet. I recently started seeing a charming co-worker of mine here at the commune, Ramon Nootles, and I've got a great feeling about this one. He's already taking me to meet his mother this weekend. At least I think it's his mother, he just kept calling her by her first name, Bunny, and he said he'd thought we'd really get along—he can't wait to watch us.

I may be in love again!

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