All My Boyfriends Are Dead
Elvis Presley was my first love. I was four years old and made it known to my parents that I loved him. Tom Petty had just released “Free Fallin’” and I was convinced that the line “She’s a good girl, crazy ‘bout Elvis” was about me.
I loved him so much and was pretty sure we were going to get married. One day at school, someone told me he was dead. I think I was in first grade. This was around the same time someone told me mermaids weren’t real, which is SO fucked up because I had already decided I was going to be one when I grew up.
My love for Elvis stayed strong. I watched all of his movies, had a giant Jailhouse Rock poster, requested an Elvis-themed party for my 8th birthday, and received a bronze Elvis ornament for the Christmas tree.
In middle school, I fell hardcore in love with Leonardo DiCaprio. I know a lot of people did, but my love was next level. I wrote “Mrs. DiCaprio” in cursive on all my notebooks and dedicated an entire binder to archiving magazine cutouts of his hot face. I loved Leo the actor of course, but I really loved Leo as Jack Dawson in Titanic and Leo as Romeo in Romeo + Juliet. Jack was so charming and down-to-earth and Romeo was so sexy and brooding. They both die in the movies, which is kind of sad, but I’m thinking that might’ve intensified my love.
In high school, my love for Elvis and Leo remained, but I also had the hots for Patrick Swayze. My best friend and I watched Dirty Dancing all the time and she would run up to the screen and pretend to make out with him. He had such a great body and was such a good dancer and honestly seemed like the nicest guy. When he died, I was inconsolable. That night, I cried and watched Dirty Dancing alone in my apartment.
My college heartthrob was David Bowie. I was at a conservatory studying opera and made this t-shirt in my dorm that just said BOWIE. I wore it to class the next day and some nerd was like, “Bowie, like a bowie knife?” Major eye roll. I had an Aladdin Sane poster up in my room and I remember listening to “Oh! You Pretty Things” on my Discman moments before a big performance. Bowie always knew how to calm me down.
Everyone’s got their favorite Bowie era, musically and otherwise. For me, it’s early ’70s Bowie musically and ’80s Bowie sexiness-wise — I just love the hair and well-tailored suits.
When we lost him last year, I couldn’t deal. I was in my bed about to go to sleep when I found out. I cried and cried and cried, hoping it wasn’t true. The only way I could fall asleep was by tricking myself into thinking it was a hoax and he would be okay when I woke up the next morning.
He wasn’t. I cried all morning, but somehow pulled it together enough to put on my favorite Aladdin Sane t-shirt and go to work. I sat alone at the little reception desk in our office, staring off into space. No one really talked about it or cared, but one of my friends walked past me, glanced at my shirt and said, “I’m sorry.” I lost it. I took a crazy early lunch break and went the record store where I used to work. I walked in and his voice soared over the speakers. Everyone was sad and drawn, just like me. I had a really good conversation with a friend about him. It helped to be in a place where people cared and understood how much it hurt to lose him.
My other great love was Prince. I always loved him because my parents are huge fans, but I really came into my own as a fan after college. My dad had given me this three-disc compilation called The Hits/The B-Sides and I used to go on these long walks and listen. When the lyrics got real dirty, I’d blush and be like, “PRIIIINCEEE!” but I loved it. He was just so free and sexy and didn’t give a fuuuuuck, which is the most attractive thing of all. And musically, his songs ranged from making me dance (“Let’s Go Crazy”) to making me cry (“Sometimes It Snows In April”).
I got to see him play live twice — once in Oakland with my dad and one other time after that. Never in my life have I witnessed someone sing, dance, and shred guitar like that. He was just a magical person.
When he died, I honestly didn’t believe it was true. I just couldn’t imagine a world without him. I know that sounds nuts because I didn’t even know him, but when someone’s music means that much to you (as with Bowie), it physically hurts to have them gone. Prince was part of my landscape, I guess.
For the first few days after he died, I was numb. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t process the information. I got little tattoos of his symbol and Bowie’s lightning bolt, but I still hadn’t absorbed the reality of the situation. It started to sink in when I was at a dive bar one night and this band played a super shitty cover of “Purple Rain.” I felt nauseous and had to get out of there.
The next day, I was set to go see a screening of Purple Rain with a friend. Twenty minutes before leaving, I cried for the first time. I was listening to the live version of “Nothing Compares 2 U” and it hit me.
For the next few months, I mourned for real. I can’t explain why it hurt so much, but it really did. I got to see four different Purple Rain screenings and they were amazing because Prince fans go ALL out. Everybody wore purple, hollered when he took his shirt off, sang and cheered for each song, and cried during the final performance of “Purple Rain.”
Somebody told me that even though Prince had left this plane, I would always have his music, so he would always be with me. That goes for sweet Bowie and Elvis, too. I can play their records any time I miss them. I can cuddle up and watch Purple Rain or Jailhouse Rock anytime I want, too.
I miss my men, but I’m pretty confident they’re having a rad party up there in Heaven. Maybe they can take a minute to handpick a good guy for me down here, too. That would be really cool.
