my goil rynsey and i have figured out we were separated at birth. we think the same, act the same (sometimes) and have impeccable taste in men: Imhotep. darth maul. now mike.
twas strange how this worked out.
one day, i read my guestbook and i always go check out websites of those who sign my book. i find mikes. i read it. I’m impressed by his artwork. i email him. he emails me back. we do this for a few days. i don’t know notice there is a new person hanging out in #userfriendly. rynsey says something about his kick arse drawing. the light bulb goes on over my head. “dolemike == ihatemike.com”. he says “yesh”. and thus rynseys and i’s new obsession began. he’s tall, he’s cute, he’s a geek. what more could a girl ask for?
the funny thing was, he and i were talking and i mentioned i had given my resume to my friend greg who works at @Home for content writing. Mike said “Oh really!” I said “Yesh.” Seems that Midsouth Road Runner is looking for content writers too. I said “what the fsck!” and sent in my resume. Never been to Memphis, but what the hell, has got to beat SF.
timeshare.
rynsey and i really need to set up a timeshare on all our mens. pawly. brendan. imhotep. mike. darth maul. will the madness never end?
Month: May 1999
redux
In July of 1997, I had gotten my tongue pierced. In January of 1998, I had taken it out. However, lately I’ve been watching my cube mate Matt gauge his down to a 2g. I wanted my piercing back. I scheduled an apt with Anne Greenblat to either taper my old hole back open or repierce it. Turned out that the hole was never closed and she put in a 5/8th’s bar with pretty purple beads.
While I was at it, I had her gauge down my nipple rings from a 14g to 12g. I could have, effectively, worn a 10g. However, she didn’t have them in matching colors. The new rings are now bright blue with blue beads, instead of being the lame stainless steel color they were before.
And of course, I have pictures.:
gash.
i look horrid.
I’ve recently become obsessed with my breasts: i keep thinking they are getting saggy. Justin keeps making snide comments about how they are not: they are perfect. He even said after I had unrobed in front of him at the piercers that he was going to say “Doesn’t she have the more exquisite breasts?”
I really, really need to move soon.
So, here is my left saggy breast with new ring (b/w cams do suck sometimes), me being tired with my new barbell and my tattoo. I’ve never had a picture of my tat up before. Kinda amusing that the symbol of what it is (Eye of Ra) flows into this whole Mummy theme this weekend. My friend Will has the same tat on his wrists, in much smaller format. He is my gawd. 🙂
Speaking of Egypt, I just saw the movie The Mummy this weekend. Fuck Brendan Frasier, I want Imhotep, High Evil Priest of Orsis.
We were sitting there at the movie theater and when the actor (Arnold Vosloo) took off his robe, I about creamed my panties: tall, bald, incredible body, intense dark eyes. I must have him. And the girl who played his love interest was gorgeous too. Okay, I’ll have them both. 😉
What I found so damn amusing is that the hole never closed, though it had only been open for about 6 months and nothing in the hole for about 16 months. When I had called Anne, she had described several procedures:
- Either use a taper to widen the hole if possible (she had said this was the most painful) or!
- Repierce in front of the existing hole.So when she slide the taper into the existing hole and viola! It was still open. She slide the new 5/8ths bar in and put on the pretty purple beads. I felt no pain. It was most strange.
What was also weird was that I had been expecting to have the same problems I had before: lisp, slight annoying tug of the bar against the meat of my tongue, etc etc etc. But I had nothing. It tugged for about 12 hours and it feels like I never took it out. I was also frightened about having to re-learn how to eat again, but that didn’t occur either. The body is truly marvelous thing.
My breasts I had gauged down from a 14g to a 12g. Anne thinks by the next time I come in, I should be able to gauge down to a 8g. My whole reasoning was to stretch the holes to provide spacing for two rings, nesting inside one another. However, I recently saw a picture of a double nipple piercing and it looks exquisite. I want that, I think.
What I’m planning next is two outter upper labial piercings. From Anne’s description, it’s like better than ben wai balls AND rocks for fucking doggy style.
I begged her to stop telling me such things since I’m single now.I’ve just spent an inordinate amount of time here.
It is NOT for the faint/weak at heart.
I also came to the conclusion looking at some other pierced female nipples, that my breasts are pretty extraordinary.
You have been warned.
Gash, it’s strange. It’s like watching a car wreck or some other national disaster. I’m also finding myself highly aroused.
Eep.
Damn don’t I just feel like plain vanilla today.
I think I’ll take my vanilla ass to bed and continue on tomorrow.
Love,
x0x0x0x0x
dorothy
here toto!
eyes like coins
my rant the other did help one thing: the serious writers block I have had as late. Those long term in the Lisa Chronicles should know the pattern by now: days of entries, big gap in time, one seriously angsty entry, and back to days of entries again.
In the last few days, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my head. I was telling James (from England) about how I would, at times, spend hours staring at myself in the mirror. Maybe looking for the piece that is missing? maybe looking for the “spark” to light up my life. who knows. but, it’s something I’ve always tried /not/ to do (but did anyway) because it seemed to be fairly vain.
When I’m walking by a window/mirror or something that basically is going to reflect, I always want to look at my eyes and facial features. I want to see what the world sees. Justin often chides me on this as we are driving home because I will glance into the rear-view mirror and just /look/ at my eyes. I want to notice something that other people claim to see or want to see.
The one thing that struck me odd was that my eyes are actually /light/ brown. I remember a few years ago when Danny and I were at BlockBuster one night renting a movie. We had been joyfully arguing about whose eyes were darker. The BlockBuster we patronized at the time had square poles that were covered in mirrors. He grabs me by the hair and shoves my face (lightly!) near the mirror with his next to mine. Yep, he was right. My eyes were a lot lighter than I had /thought/ I had seen while his were nearly black as night.
all too often I don’t think we really /see/ who we are. One of the big conceptions I think (as someone pointed out to me last night) was that web-Lisa is different from irc-Lisa, which to be sure, is different from real-life-Lisa. Some times it’s hard to reconcile one from the other and where those boundaries lay.
I’m not really good with boundaries. I tend to think “mine mine mine” and keep it that way until I’m bored or have been kicked to the curb.
so the other day, was sitting on the sink applying mascara when i /really/ looked at myself. eyes, lips, cheekbones, the curve of my face into my neck. i spent more time staring into my eyes than anything, still looking for that piece of information that i feel keeps lacking in my life. going back to the color, i noticed my eyes were light brown with a wide ring of dark blue around the cornea. it was a strange combination, but that is what i saw. someone else, as i recall, had noticed it too when staring into my heavenly orbs. others have claimed to have seen green and yellow specks or that one eye was hazel and the other dark brown. me? well, i always said my eyes were dark as night and after 26 years of living with them, you would think that i would know what i was talking about.
well i was wrong.
i keep thinking of late what Andrew said about perceptual reality and global reality. we can all agree, for instance, that the sun rises in the morning and sets at night. what we can’t agree on is whether or not when it rises or when it sets because our perception of this even is going to be different. i like akining this to people and how people perceive different things and what we want from that perception itself. maybe, sometimes, we try to hard to think one thing and what we really have is another.
i dunno, it just seems that lately the more angst i give myself the more i bury myself into myself. sometimes change is good — and sometimes finding certain aspects of different relationships with people on either irc/real life or what have you, gives you a whole new view on things.
tonight for instance, i interviewed a guy here for a position that is going to be created. basically, this position would be my boss. at first, i knew who the person was (he was doing tech support for us) but i had never spent more than five minutes speaking to him in any sort of conversation. but once we started the interview, the roles changed. he was a fresh perspective and i found i could really and truly communicate with him. while we came from different ethnic and racial backgrounds, our own lives were very similar in a lot of aspects.
Joseph said it on irc one night that clicked a bell inside of me: I like the attention people give me. And i had laughed that off because I didn’t that was true, but it’s not the attention from others in any context that i crave, it’s the energy from those people i crave.
someone with charisma who can keep up their end of the conversation is more apt to have my attention then someone who doesn’t. i think this explains some of the aspects of why i flirt so much. some people you can spend hours and hours talking to, even in a platonic matter, while others are like fucking dead people. I think that is what bothers me the most about some of my “admirers” that were stalking me at one time or another: the spark wasn’t there to carry on the conversation longer than any sort of subject other than what was superficial at the moment. and it wasn’t that i needed something like that all the time, but think of me as a battery: i need to keep going and going and going.
i think this works well with the exhibitionist streak that i have or the fact that it seems i have no morals. I do, however the point i want to make is that i want people to /think/ for themselves and think completely independent of what they see/hear. This doesn’t fall into any sort of intelligence or common sense issue, it falls into the issue that some people have “spark” and others don’t.
Jeff once said to me that I zipped up my whole life into a F.U.C.K. file and gave it to the world. Pawl said that I never told him anything other than in email. I think that I say a lot of things, I just think that many of those I’m speaking to just don’t listen. Yeah, yeah, I know: they are not clairvoyant or even telepathic. I just think that for the lack of attention paid to that aspect (look what I do for godsakes), is one of the reasons why i had finally broken down and did LisaLandCam, because I have absolutely no problem baring my soul to the world and have you notice the consistencies (or inconsistencies) of who I am. This is me. This is not all of me, but it’s enough for now. Even in day to day activities, I still find that many of what I said/do is still under heavy watching because it may not make sense with what I have said/done in the past.
I’m really into “real” things. like things that can be touched/felt/seen/heard. I’m into staring into eyes and seeing what images i can come up with. I’m into baring the soul and not letting go. mystery is fine, that’s part of the mindfuck, keep it changing, but i need to make it real, in no matter what context. so that’s why, it’s a paradox: i say a lot in these herein journals but when it comes to those I’m talking to: i want to see results! i want to see actions! don’t tell me x,y,z just do it! I get easily frustrated with how people will, instead of take charge of the situation, lax on it. either you do or you don’t.
as for me, well, no one ever said i was perfect nor did anyone say that i easy to get along with. but i can tell you one thing: go sit in your bathroom, flip the lights on and stare into your own eyes for an hour or so. things will become a lot clearer when you do.
love,
x0x0x0x0x
sex/purity/soul
in the past, a snappy title is what it takes for me to get going on writing a chronicle. sometimes it will be something that I’ve seen or something that i have read. other times it will be something that will just pop in my head when I’m doing something mindless.
tonights title came from the fact i was zipping up my mozerella cheese when i started singing the ziplock commercial song.
now how lame is that?
so here i am. hurriedly approaching my 27th birthday and in many ways, i don’t feel like i have accomplished a whole hell of a lot in my life. for many of you know, I’ve been in a constant state of flux with what i wanted to do with my life. my first set of stress was Justin. Well, I took care of that by breaking it off with him. So now I’m single. Well, lets enter some other problems here:
- We live together.
See, my plan was to stay with him till i felt that he was capable of taking care of himself. And NO he didn’t move to SF to be with me, however it took a lot of push/pull on my side to get him motivated to get a decent job and earn a living for himself. Now he is, but then I was in school and I wasn’t making enough to sneeze at. So I dropped out of school. But the stress is still there cos now we are broken up, i quit school and are living together. He gets depressed when I start mentioning about anything about the breakup. And that throws me off. I have not had time to heal damnit. And I really resent that. I need my space. But I cannot be a cruel person and kick him out on the streets. He has no financial obligations to me anymore (not that he should, however). But his lack of motivation drives me insane. I can’t force myself into doing that. - New Roommates.
Well it finally happened: Charlie “officially” moved in. Charlie is Cathleen’s bf, whom she’s been dating for the last 6 or so months. I finally put my foot down the other week and said “Look, he’s here /every night/, either he coughs up rent or he doesn’t come over anymore.” Well, the other day I was told that Charlie was officially moving in. Good because now everything is split in fours. Bad, because I still gets no privacy damnit. We have a two bedroom house, but it’s not like it’s spacious. and i still am in a snit about the fact that i haven’t slept alone since I last went back to Michigan and visited my family. god, back on my shitty twin size bed. it was lumpy, it was crappy, but oh so worth it. i miss that bed, out of pure instinct that i haven’t slept alone in nearly a year. no one knows how much that bugs me. I am, by nature a private person. I like my space. I like being alone. Really. I’m not chiding people here nor do I expect people to understand, but I’ve lived with three bf’s in the last four years and I’m tired of it. I want my own fucking space. I cannot stress this enough.Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my roommates, but my lifestyle and theirs just don’t match. You know I’ve never owned my own bed? it was either parental given or bf-owned. - Verk.Oh this should be a fun one.
(If there is a hell, I’ll see you there.)
That should sum it up. I’m BORED. BORED I TELL YOU!
I feel absolutely uncreative and un-anything at work. All i do is IRC all damn day, because that is mildly amusing.
This is one rant i don’t want to go on about right now.
sex/purity/soul
(you make me perfect)
I’ve been sl00ting around on irc for the last few hours, looking for something anything that will get me going. something that would take me away from all of this. something that will make me spark and make my world appear in clarity. what i got was a topic war in #after_dark and being beaten with a zuicinni by snowdrake.
this isn’t a bad thing — but there is something missing, a part of me. a part of something else. i don’t know.
So I’ll start at the beginning.
I’ve always dreamed of a life of being the perfect sub to the perfect male. more or less he would be my perfect counterpoint in so many ways. he didn’t have to be perfect, he just had to be perfect for me. and along the way, i ran into a lot of people i thought i loved. and maybe i did, but there was so much missing from them that i made compromises for. that i accepted it as such because i didn’t think anyone would want me. in my own ways, I’m too messed up for a relationship. along with me comes a lot of baggage that no one deserves to have.
and then there was shame.
shame came along when potential dates would exclaim about my fantasies as sick of perverted or that i had too much experience and since i enjoyed anal sex, i was a whore. i lost my ideals as they mocked my purity saying that someone like me wasn’t pure. my soul kept getting raped by gangbusters of things i do not understand or care to know about. and i let it happen. i wasn’t protective enough to not let it happen. i gave in. i wanted someone to fucking love me and along the way i was abused and used by (it seems) every male in my life.
and i have to be strong.
and so future potential dates would be aghast and would proclaim that i was damaged goods. “How could you!” they would yell at me. “How could you let him do that to you?” How could you have said that you loved him? How could I let him fuck me 90000 different ways. How could I become his willing whore? And after they fucked me, they would laugh and say how much this didn’t happen. I didn’t have enough respect for myself to NOT let it happen.
I always exclaimed I was the one women men would fuck while they married my friends. They wanted this ultra-pure girl who would proclaim, honestly or not, that he was the best they ever had. but she wouldn’t fuck like i do. they would get bored with their wives/gf’s and they would call me on the sly and tell me they loved me. and i would play the denial game and deny them, making me stronger in so many ways. they would come back to me. hiding out watching me. “She doesn’t fuck like you do lisa?” But what about fucking me. that’s my question.
What the fuck about me.
After Jeff, I lost all hope. No, I lost hope before that. It’s been so long since I have liked someone. Really liked someone for themselves. But I can’t talk about me because that would be too fucking painful. And they would only use it later on me when they touted to their friends that they fucked me and I was a whore. And they would laugh as I cried after we had sex because they didn’t get it. Or they would try and play the sympathy act, telling me that they loved me. my perversions didn’t mean jack shit but in the end, it did. “Hurt me.” I would say. “I can’t” they would say. OR else it’s the guys who love me and want to hurt me, but they smack me or pinch/claw/bite me and get frightened by my response.
Everyone goes away in the end.
I try to be so brave and pretend I’m something that they want. i would do things that they “thought” they knew me as, and not ONE of them had the balls to look past that and tell me to knock it off. They don’t want me. They think I”m the whore i truly am. Nothing matters anymore.
What have i become.
I’m angry right now, but it’s the anger that doesn’t matter. because i like someone right now. i like them a lot. first person in god knows how long I’ve actually liked. and i find myself sitting there just thinking about random and sundry things because i know i could fall in love with him. and he says he understands. i think he does. but…
but I’m over-reacting. i see myself in him and vice versa. and i think my obsession with him will drive him away. how my own lack of security about the fact that this person likes me will drive him away. i should be happy, right? i have something to look forward to. and i find that I’m not happy about anything because finding him right now was the worse fucking luck. why couldn’t it have been when i was settled somewhere new and not have so much fucking baggage wrapped around my neck? why couldn’t it have been when I felt i made something of myself. or in any a 100 different ways or situations?
the other day we were on the phone and he said he felt i was it. you know, THE ONE. first time someone admitted that to me without my prompting (men are so fucking easy to fuck in the mind). and in the spur of the moment, i wanted to say “i love you” because in that moment i did. i loved like i never loved before. however, there was a fork in my tongue and i didn’t say it. the problem is that, when i find someone i like, i start thinking the wonderful person they are. and i get possessive about them. and i get obsessed about them. they get scared. and they don’t understand. and i find that i jinx it by talking about talking about them. that i might make it worse. and i don’t want to be stress to anyone. or a burden. just pet me a few times a day. throw some luvin’ my way, and I’m set. let me be free. i don’t want to hurt anyone, god, i don’t. i don’t want to be hurt, but liking him means that maybe, one day, i’ll be hurt or he’ll be hurt. and I’ve been thought hat scenario so many times in my life. how much more pain do i have to go through? i don’t understand that.
hold me like this for a hundred thousand million days.
i always end up saying the wrong thing and they will get angry at me. and then i get scared and i cry and i don’t know what to do. and he’s not a stress to me. no. that’s not it. i know that, I’ve thought about that. finding him right now was good luck because i don’t have to think with him i just be. but i miss him. more than anything.
but i always feel like there is something missing in me.
or that something is evil. that i will never get anything that i feel is richly mine. that i will always end up being someone’s whore, because it feels like every man i meet wants to fuck? fine. i can play that act so well. i don’t know what it feels like to have sex and WANT it. all I now is the motions. I now how to fuck someone and fuck them good. i know how to move and moan in the right motions. and when they aren’t looking, i turn and cry.
I wish i could just stop.
too many years I’ve cried for you.
head in pain, holded in shame.
different name. same old game.
so i can’t take it anymore.
my friend James left to go back to Florida yesterday. a few weeks ago i had the bright idea that i would pack up everything that was holding me down and just go. leave. vamoose. adios, i ain’t looking back. but i didn’t. i couldn’t. i should have. I’m kicking myself for not doing that. i didn’t care about what happened. i knew what i wouldn’t. i didn’t have the balls to do it. i wanted to feel free. take a few weeks off, enjoy his company, see the US.
I’m feeling non-sequential right now. i have so much to say. and i read this and it smells like tripe.
and i hate myself even more.
i wish i had the energy to die. you know, suicide. but I’m too strong for that. i don’t have the guts to complete anything it seems. i just waste my hours on thing that make no sense. people anger me. i don’t want to deal. just don’t want to deal anymore.
I’m broken.
used goods.
there is a tiny sliver inside of me that has hope, but I’m guarding that. holding it close. i know this game all to well. i know now how to play it with the best instinct. i know how this goes. i now what to do. this is my mantra. i know what I’m going to do.
I WANT MY LIFE BACK!
so i sit here with my head cocked to one side and i realize that i don’t care. i don’t care at all. Justin is next to me, he’ll do anything for my attention and i get repulsed by his constant greediness and i can’t deny him because it’s all my fault. it’s all my fault. and i want to hurt myself. pain. that’s all it i think about these last few days is pain. because i can let it go. i can let it go.
i need to find something pure. something worthwhile to believe in. something worthwhile to hope for. i need to have something(someone?) who i can hold and not feel like it’s fake. not feel like it’s going to disappear on me. i need something i call my own. i need something that won’t mock me, shame me or make me feel dirty inside. i need to find something that i can hold in my life that once i have that everything else will click into place.
I’m not as strong as you think i am.
i may pretend, but that’s a game I’ve fabricated all to well.
i just don’t want no more lies.
i just don’t want to lie to myself or to them or to anyone. i want to carve out the person known as lisa and fuck them all. i want to curl up and die sometimes. i want to hold hold hold hold hold hold.
no more lies.
my life is a sham. it is. everyone wants a piece of me and they all want this piece of something. and I’m not worth having. because once they get the person known as lisa, they decide this is the time they don’t want it, so they discard it. they don’t understand.
one person.
not fake.
to understand.
who fucking gets this shit in my head and i don’t have to explain. i don’t want to explain anymore. I’m so tired of explaining to everyone.
and what I’m sick of is these tripey emails from people who tell me how brave i am. i ain’t fucking shit. I’m just a person who sits down and writes what the rest of you don’t have the fucking balls to admit to anyone, not even to yourself. you have no fucking clue what it’s like being me. everyone wants a piece when I’m high, cuz when I’m high i fucking rock and when I’m slumming to new lows they all vamoose quicker than a prom dress. and you fucking sit there and tell me how much you admire me? Admire what? My pain? Admire what? My view on things? because i can see things you are too fucking ignorant to even comprehend. I’m so sick of the nearly 100 emails in my box of people telling me they understand. no, you don’t understand. how do i know you don’t understand? because i know that you want to feel like me. this is my gift. i fucking rip my heart out for the whole fucking world to read and you sit there and think you are like me and you’re not. you don’t have the balls to do what i do. very few people do. you just sit there smug with satisfaction thinking that this is nothing more then something you understand and then you try and hold a conversation with me and you don’t get it. i have to explain even the same thing over and over to you again. and I’m sick of explaining. if you so fucking understand you wouldn’t have me fucking explain the most simplest concepts to you. you don’t get me. see, that’s what I’m saying. you think that this webpage is a mirror of me. no. it’s a mirror of a part of me. it’s everything I’ve been dying to say to the fucking world since i was old enough to fucking talk.
yeah and I’m fucking pissed right now.
and the word fuck gets sprinkled in my language a lot.
and i’ll tell you why I’m fucking pissed. I’m pissed because people are fucking whores. I’m a whore. i sold my fucking body for a plane ticket and three months of hell to move to california thinking i could escape my demons. hell is living with a gay male pretending he’s straight. someone telling you over and over that he loves you and understands you but has no clue to who you are. someone who publically humiliated me at a conference over some two bit trick. i’ll tell you what being me means, it means sitting there listening to people talking about their fucking life and wishing for one fucking moment the fact that i chipped a nail was the least of my problems. i’ll tell you what fucking being means. flying to Pennsylvania on the fucking HOPE that you found someone that had a clue only to get there and try to kiss him and have him reject you AND then to top it off, tell you that he doesn’t find you sexually attractive and sit there smug as a fucking ass while you cry. i’ll tell you what being me is, it’s sitting there waiting hope against hope that someone that you once dated turned himself into the image of something you wanted and once he did that, you didn’t want them anymore. i’ll tell you what it is, it’s sitting here shoving clothespins everywhere because that pain is real.
you want to know the big joke is?
it’s that the people who read this will take this abuse.
that’s the fucking joke.
did i hurt your feelings?
too fucking bad. I’ve been too fucking careful about what i say. fuck’em. every last one. the minor points of my stress is this facade people put around themselves. What the fuck are you afraid of? I don’t get that. They all sit there smug when i rant and rave (She’s nuts, they say.) but you know what, this is ME. mememememememememmeme. ME. This i WHO i am. I’m fucking angry. I enjoy giving pain. I enjoy pushing myself to the limits. You don’t get it, you never will. You see something I do, and suddenly it becomes the new euphanism. I snarfle, you all snarfle. I burp you burp. I make asinine comments and you laugh. god you’re stupid.
one person.
to stand up to me and tell me I’m full of shit.
I’m revoking the right for you to abuse me with your lame ass emails. Who gives a fuck if you understand me. If you understood me, you would know perfectly well that by impressing me is not by emailing me some lame ass tripe shit about how cool i am.
duh.
i despise you. i despise the fucking lot of you. i despise the fact that you’ll read this and go back to your safe little life and have no imagination or creation. i despise your ability to mock me and what i say. and secretly you want to be like me.
i despise you for imitating me. get your own schtick. now i get sick when i do something because you want to be like me so bad. i want something different.
one person.
different.
someone.
just one person.
that’s all i ask.
i want to fuck them and feel it. no more blue dots for me. i want to regain everything you parasites took from me. every single last thing.
i want to love like there is no tomorrow and i want to be my own person.
i want to.
kinda i want to.
because my curse. hysop in your perfume.
and he knows i love him.
and i won’t be afraid to admit it next time he asks.
x0x0x0x0x0x
moi