Month: December 2002

happy new years eve

I have a crush on someone and have for a long time. We are seperated by a great distance and there was always a hint of a little something something. I’ve kept myself in check because the relationship is decidedly one sided and I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I had to make a stand for myself and so I did.
(snipped letter I had here for all of five minutes)
This wasn’t about romance or what have you but it was about respect. I just ended a horrid relationship where respect was not a trait and I want AND need to be friends with people who will give back to me what i give to them.
It took me four hours to write a few paragraphs.
He IM’d me at 11:58pm to wish me a Happy New Year.

in between

Danny and i once got into a playful argument in the middle of Blockbuster a few years back over the color of my eyes. It went along the lines that I said my eyes were brown and he called me out and said they were not, they were hazel. A quick pull to a mirrored post showed that yes, compared to his eyes which were deep chocolate brown, mine
were looking pretty hazel.
But for all sense and purposes, my eyes are brown to me and when I cry, the ring around the irises turn a dark blue and get rather thick, almost as if someone drew a magic marker around the iris itself. there are tiny flecks of green/gold but they are minute and can only be seen when nose to nose. My eyes are not a beautiful hazel like shelly’s but they are, for all sense and purposes closer to a hazel then a brown if you want to get pedantic.
My eyes are like my hair, my life: my hair is neither straight nor curly. Because of it’s texture I have to use ethnic products occasionally to keep it in check. It is apparently soft as people keep wanting to touch it. My hair is also neither brown nor black, it’s closer to auburn if by judging by younger pictures of me were so (and the roots coming in). My eyebrows are black, but I’m the retarded redhead- pale skin, smattering of freckles but not enough OOMPH to make it follow through.
Christmas was weird.
I bought my brother a bottle of Le Male by Jean Paul Gaultier and he was driving my car. Paul was bathed in Obsession and sitting in the back. I was stuck in the passenger seat, head hanging out of the window like a dog panting for fresh air because I was being overwhelmed by the sickly sweetness of the scents. I couldn’t even smell myself (Chance by Chanel). Both of them threatened to cut farts, if that would make me feel better. This is what it has been like for a week. I feel like I’ve been stuck in some sort of retarded boys club between the two of them — they are like night and day. We took Jeff to an Indian restaurant and Jeff decided that the food “got a check at the no box” for while he ate his lamb vindaloo, he didn’t quite care for it. We drove into DC and saw the tree at the White House. I scanned the skies for bombs and missiles.
Merry Christmas.
While I will have a kickass entertainment system I will most likely not have a couch. I have flashes of insight of me sitting in front of the patio doors in my Ikea Poang chair watching the snow fall. The living room, will of course, be empty save for my computers and the occasional animal toy. The entertainment center will be in the bedroom. Guests will be resigned to automatically sleep with me to have a place to sit. Just kidding.
I have laughed so loud today, that Paul threatened to walk out of the restaurant, and so deeply my ribs ached and I started to hyperventilate. I sat on the toilet not even two hours earlier crying so hard my chest hurt. My brother pulled me up and told me to get sweats on. We took a walk around the complex and I had put on my UUNet hoodie, which I had bought for Paul many moons ago and it had shrunk in the washer and now i coveted. I had put a jaunty scarf around my neck as we walked around the complex freezing out asses off, talking about the future. It had snowed a few inches during the night and we were having a real White Christmas, but the wind was killer and cut
through to our skin. We double timed back to the apartment, all the while my brother reassuring me that I had to just play it out and shut the fuck up.
Some things happened that I don’t think Jeff expected to see, namely Paul’s anger. Paul smashed his fists down so hard on the desk my cold cup of coffee went flying all around the desk itself and seeped into everything. A few weeks back, we went out to dinner with Rob and Paul asked me if i was taking the vacuum (or not) and before I could answer, Paul said “doesn’t matter, I’m getting a bagless one” wherein Rob looked Paul and said “why are you being a dick?” A few nights ago, my brother and I sat on the floor sorting cables. cat5 in one box, miscellany cables in a third, spare parts in the second. I took a few unopened packages of cat5 and two power strips. I begged Paul to come and look at the computer closet because I was NOT going to receive a call from him in the future begging for XYZ back. He came in after we had packed that room and we were working on the bathroom and bedroom. “Why do you need two power strips?” “Did you check the other box.” “No.” “If you checked the other box, you would have seen
that I left you two power strips along with the strips for all the other equipment that is currently plugged in.” “Why do you need cat5?” And so it began. He started nickle and diming everything. He who would take no notice of what was being packed (“You are the one whose moving!”), now wants a piece of everything.
I read in someone’s journal recently they do not remember having been loved so selflessly before by someone or at least in recent memory, as in someone who was being attentive to them rather than the other way around. Alisha also said something to me in that same effect when we were hanging out before she left for her holidays about the difference between her current beau and her past beau’s was that she had pursued them and here he had pursued her. It was such a pleasant switch, it knocked her on her ass for a second. I know I need to pull back and regroup, which is fine, but there hasn’t been a single straight thought in my head in the last 6 months and I don’t expect I’ll find it now. Just so that you know.
But I will tell you I’m terrified.
It’s a quandary I debate with myself on as I have hope for the future that one day I will be happy and hopefully that will include a partner of some kind. I’m not so much bitter as much as feeling like the dog whose been kicked around a lot and will now bite at any attempts to befriend it.
My brother remarked last night, as we were watching “Powerpuff Girls: the Movie”, that we were both wearing grey tshirts and red sweat shorts. The other interesting thing is that after many years of proclaiming a few designers worthy to be on my backside, he’s now decided they are cool and has been giving me links to their websites.
There was more important stuff but I need to sleep.
x0x0x0

Pussy Whipped Men

My high school sweetheart, whom i’ve remained especially friendly with after nearly half my life, is going back to GR for the holidays. He’ll still be there when I drive in and when I said “hey you have my cell, call me to do coffee.” he said “if i have time.”
If i have time.
Which strikes me about this is that he found time enough to buy me delicious toys from blowfish.com but when it came down to meeting for coffee he can’t be bothered.
I hate pussy whipped men.

niche

when i tell people i was almost painfully shy as a child, they choose not to believe it. some of my actions now as an adult seem to speak this need to gain attention to myself, because i always felt like it was never quite there. people would believe anything i told them but the shy bit never caught on, even though it WAS painfully true.
when i was a child, i was already the tallest person in my class. my assertiveness was already showing as i was the one chasing the boys since kindergarten and not the other way around. once at a dinner party, we were to tell something about ourselves and i said when i was five i led some little boys out of kindergarten to the school playground across the street. I was bored with the damn playdoh. the host laughed and said i was too confident for my own good.
But as i got older, i fell farther and farther behind in female development, and not as in physical development but as in that I had no real female friends. the farther i fell, the more wigged out i became. Most of my friends were boys and it was further segregated more so when we were tested academically and I was the only girl who was “chosen” for the gifted program. when there is a dozen students in the class and 1/3 are being considered special, it makes it difficult for everyone else to get along, especially when you are 8. the program was abruptly curtailed.
as i got older, it got worse. i have very few female friends and those I do have, while i cherish them as much as possible, i don’t quite fit in with them. the whole issue of the males seems as daunting then as it does now as it was then because then i just wanted to push them in the mud, and now i want to push them into my bed. The irony is that one of the first things men say when the dating ritual start is how my assertiveness is refreshing but later on it turns into be the problem as we are breaking up. Especially my attitude about sex, apparently I think too much like a man.
But this is not where I wanted to go tonight because I’m terribly sad. I’m not sad because I’m leaving VA (though I’ll miss the friends I’ve made here very much), and I’m not sad because I’m not dating, but what I’m most sad about is that I’m nearly 30 and i still do not fit in.
Everyone has their little niche in life, whether it is as a mother, or a husband or wife. If they knit, read or sew or put babies heads on spikes, they have some sort of common denominator that makes them come together. I don’t have that. I don’t have my niche. I’m a 30 year old single white female who is going back to school, who stands 6′ tall, pierced, tattooed and collects legos. While I’ve been joining mailing lists and looking for local GR groups specifically to expand my interests, I don’t seem to fit in ANYWHERE. I feel like I’m 8 again and in Mrs. Buntrock’s (her real name) 3rd grade class waiting desperately for someone to notice me even though I had been going to school with these kids for years.
most people mistook me for being quiet as being a snob, and in some warped way i was. but this feeling of never quite fitting in has always bothered me and hence how i got nicknamed chameleon by a few high school friends because i floated in and out of all the social groups with ease. i belonged everywhere and nowhere and that’s reflected for most of my adult life.
Paul used to say that, in the beginning, it was great dating me because it was like getting a new girlfriend every six months. Hair, style, clothing: everything changes. But he says he can’t keep up because he never knows who he’s talking to and now all he wants is to date a stupid girl who will just want to be his haus frau.
but i digress.
i am scared and as frightened NOW as i was on that day when i started school for the very first time. as worried as the day i walked home from class with my math book wondering HOW in the world it was going to be possible to learn everything to get into high school. i am afraid of failing, I’m afraid of not doing my best. I’m afraid that I’ll be laughed at or mocked at for being the oldest sophomore in existence. I’m afraid they will talk behind my back.
when i had gone back to college when I was 22, i took the bull by the horns and got involved with the paper and other things. i leapt and i want to do that now, i see me at 22 and I want to do the same thing. I want to grab that moment again. I want to fight those thoughts of being a loser back down to the pit of despair so that they will never bother me again.
I just want to fit in.
—
before i took off tonight for dinner, ben came online and showed me pics from his outing to LOTR. Now the thing that struck me was not that he was obviously having a great time but that he had this fucking awesome scarf wrapped around his neck. the irony is that i love scarves. i have like five i trade off in the winter, from a bright orange boa- like one to a stripey wool one from the gap. what furthered the irony is that Paul has been bitching about his neck being cold since we had that cold snap and i offered him one of my ‘jaunty scarves’ and he kept whining. But this is Paul and i should have already known he would have whined, what the hell was i thinking? a few nights back when we were picking up Xmas presents to finish our shopping, we trolled one of the department stores and Paul couldn’t find the perfect BLACK (yet boring and not-stylish) scarf to wrap around his thick neck. As we walked past the Nautica display, next to it they had these really GREAT JANUTY SCARVES on sale. I mean, these fuckers were awesome. I was like OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I wanted one for myself and had to smack my hand down because i did not need another scarf. I called my brother to see if he had a scarf and lost cell phone reception in the department store, so i walked out sans scarf. It was great seeing ben wearing a jaunty scarf. it made me smile.
Now this is jaunty scarf!
i am, as always,
the gay man trapped in a woman’s body.
x0x0x
PS: I’ll take the male models in the above website, naked and tied with a red ribbon. thanks Santa!

my first apartment

brought to you by fisher price.
No one is perhaps more surprised than myself to find out I have gotten approved for very my first apartment — ever. Perhaps the grin that cannot be wiped from my face or the fact that I am not backing down to neither Paul nor my brother also says it. But either way, the inevitable has happened and again no one is more surprised than yours truly.
My idea of my first apartment took hold when I was younger and wanted to go to college, graduate and then i would be young, single and living in the perfect loft ala NYC or Boston or London or Paris with the right hint of kitsch. I’d have the perfect job making 18 trillion dollars a year and I’d wear a size 8, not an 18. A string of beaus for the weekly outings and I’d make Carrie from “Sex and the City” green with jealousy.
You get the picture.
I did not think I would be 30, living in the burbs of DC, wrestling with a 20lb pug in the confines of my car while trying to take her to the vet. I did not think a lot of things would happen. I should be named “Murphy’s Law”. Nothing, ever, goes my way.
My very first apartment.
No roommates.
Mine.
If I want to dance naked singing ABBA songs (which girl doesn’t?) or lounging naked watching tv, I can. If i choose to not do laundry for days on end and I’m out of clean underwear, no one is to blame but me for going commando. If I go on a date, there is no worry about someone being home, no person to kick out and no hassle of dealing with nosey questions. I can kiss said suitor at the door and tell him to buzz off if I choose. If i want to listen to bad 80s gangsta rap while cleaning my toilet I CAN. IF I WANT TO OPERATE A 24 HOUR CAM SHOWING NOTHING BUT HOT STEAMY SEX I CAN!
No more quiet phone calls, or dealing with other people’s messes or having to worry about “their” schedule and “their” time. No one is responsible for anything but me oh mine.
Electric, phone, DSL (which will be hooked up 1/13/02) have already been ordered. Cable tv will be determined by budget and as I have no tivo since it’s pieced out right now and I’ll probably get one when I move (you know, so i can record those oh so special moments).
I have no furniture, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. Things will work out. I just need to figure out how to drug 3 pugs for 10 hr drive.
x0x0x
PS: I’ll be sending out new address updates with new phone and home address. Everything right now is going to my brothers and I’m going to pick it up then.
Lisa

please forgive me

Please forgive me
If I act a little strange
For I know not what I do.
Feels like lightning running through my veins
Everytime I look at you
I SHOULD be working on a paper that is due today, i NEED to finish packing and instead i keep thinking about things that i shouldn’t be thinking about and daydreaming. But hey, i actually got holiday cards out BEFORE THE HOLIDAY so i must be doing something right.
Two main themes keep running through my head and that is: the holidays and love. they seem to be pretty intertwined these days and it doesn’t help that i hole myself up in my bedroom watching chick-flicks when I need a picker upper (exactly what a i need a pick me up from is anyones guess). I could watch Bridget Jones’ Diary 1500 times and I’ll still get mushy knees thinking about the look Colin Firth gives her at the end of the movie.
As we all know, and if you don’t you will now, i hate the holidays, sometimes with the passion that makes others nervous. Without fail something always happens around Christmas time that makes me want to go chop off the heads of the carolers as they come singing about god, Jesus and love. Christmas when I was a child used to be great. I come from a large family (my mother is the eldest of 7, and I’m the middle grandchild of nine) and including extended relatives, we had a good old fashioned German Christmas everywhere.
[The images are not scanned in well, I’ll fix that later]
Christmas 1975
Christmas 1979
14′ high ceilings with 12′ high trees, that were decorated with ornaments my mom had collected over the years. Me and the infallible teddy bear. That one in the picture died shortly after that was taken when I got sick on him. A new one was dispatched and replaced and he still sits quitely by my bed and I still often sleep with him. But I am digressing.
Christmas and love. Love and Christmas.
Christmas 1992: After dating for nearly a year, I find out that Alan has been dating another woman and breaks up with me after Christmas dinner at his brothers house. I would have died for this man. I haven’t been able to say that about anyone since.
Christmas 1994: Shortly before exams, I slip on ice outside my parents house, I suffer double fracture and a dislocated ankle:
outside angle
inside angle
Christmas 1996:My grandfather dies on 12/23/96. I spent Christmas day driving to his funeral and being harangued by my cousins.
Christmas 1999: Spent solitary.
Christmas 2000: Spent in Miami. There is something not right about 80 degree weather on Christmas day.
Christmas 2002: ?
Love and Christmas. Christmas and Love.
This year I decided I wasn’t going to be the grump I usually am come October and thought I’d get into the holiday spirit. I’m TRYING to get into the holiday spirit and it’s getting a bit distracting because it’s not quite going that way. Here we are 14 days before the holiday and nothing is what it’s supposed to be at this time. I’ve told Paul over and over that my gift to him would be a ticket back to Miami for the holidays and i’ve been waiting for him to get on the phone to find out when to schedule this little trip and he has yet to do it. I know that it will end up with him screaming at me about how it didn’t work out and etc etc etc. But I don’t want to talk about that either.
So every year I keep revisiting the old journals and looking at what I’ve written and one thing I can say about myself is that I am consistent in my opinions on a lot of things, but the one thing that really bothers me above anything else is I keep apologizing for who I am. It’s thinly veiled some days and others it’s in your face, but no matter what, I’m always questioning who and what I am as if this would somehow make things better.
I’m sorry I’m loud. I’m sorry I’m obnoxious. I’m sorry I’m smarter than you, wittier than you and TALLER than you (unless you are taller than me). I’m sorry my life is in a constant flux. I’m sorry I’m not blonde, blue eyed or a size 4. I’m sorry that I snort when I laugh, that I am not afraid to eat in front of people, that i twirl my hair, make faces constantly or collect toys. I’m sorry I like sex, I’m not afraid to discuss it and that I’m not afraid to try with relationships even if i keep failing over and over. I’m sorry I’m pushy, demonstrative and aggressive. I’m sorry that I flip switches and push buttons on and off like a light and that I constantly ask why. I’m sorry I have this journal and that if you get involved with my that your life would be published online. I’m sorry for the exhibition streak and the wanderlust streak and the NEED TO ACHIEVE streak. I’m sorry I’m obsessive and compulsive and that I’m passionate. I’m sorry I don’t want to lay down and bare your babies right this minute and be your little haus frau. I’m sorry that the ideas that sounded good 5 years ago, 2 years ago, 1 year ago cause shudders down my spine.
Yes yes, men are shit, women are stupid whores and the world goes on. I’m sorry I don’t want to buy into that self-effacing bullshit and use walls to protect myself. I just keep trucking on, because you know, life is far too short to wear beige and play the games of walls and the whole “i don’t want to get hurt” bull. You never know till you try, and trust me, I keep trying and I suspect one of these days I might get it right.
I’m sorry for everything and anything.
When I was on the drugs, I was happy not to think these thoughts. I was happy that life was going in the direction it was going in and I was content on feeling nothing. Now I’m off the drugs and I feel everything. I cry during movies and when things happen. I daydream so much that i am beginning to hate taking showers or baths because I’m in there for hours thinking about everything and anything.
I just never saw the point of wasting your life on nothing when there is something. I’m tired of being the half-truth and the interim. when will it be my turn?
x0x0x0x
But how many corners do I have to turn?
How many times do I have to learn
All the love I have is in my mind?
thanks to sarah mclachlan, david gray, and of course the incomparable richard ashcroft and the lonly choir mp3 i happened to have.

she’s got looks that kill

the setting:
I’m currently sitting on my crappy ass couch in a pair of grey yoga pants + grey tshirt, with all three pugs sleeping on my extended legs. VH1 Classic is on, and right now Motley Crue is rocking out (lita ford was on a few minutes ago and i was rocking out to “kiss me deadly”). It’s 2am.
ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE.
You’re probably wondering “Lisa, why are you sitting in your grey yoga pants watching vh1 classic on a Sunday night at 2am, using Paul’s laptop (which was yours to being with)?”
BECAUSE in the space of a week the following has occurred:

  • Gas lines were cut and we were without heat or hot water for nearly two days, and gas was restored a few hours before the big storm.
  • The tivo has comatosed and is on life support. Thanks to the beautiful Kara, who is uploading an ISO of the backup for v3 for me to download and screw with, it should be off of life support this week. You don’t understand, Tivo IS MY BOYFRIEND. I will skip a car payment to get another one if i have to (and wring Paul’s nuts out in case it doesn’t work).
  • So Paul says to me today “Oh Lisa *lashes fluttering*, we have to use YOUR PC to fix the tivo. I run NTFS on my drives and we need fat32 to do the backup and go ahead and do XYZ and we’ll get this puppy working.” Well, XYZ doesn’t work and what started out as something simple, ends with Paul going “Oh me!” *gasping O face* “I don’t have special torque screwdriver wrench hatchet to take off primary drive so we can divorce the drives” which means my PC is now in parts (which you can view me and the dogs having a good old time at). I plug everything back in and double check all connections, make sure everything is grounded, etc. Boot up. Bios does not recognize either of my cdrom drives or neither of my drives. Hrm. Take out, remove, reinstall, double and triple check. Nothing. I’m so pissed I’m gritting my teeth and shooting daggers at Paul. He does this big ‘sigh’, I tell him to fix it or else I’m going to plant foot into arse and not remove until done so. I go and fuck off. Do laundry. Vacuum. Feed the dogs. Do dishes. Wax the eyebrows. Start on dinner. I come and find him standing up playing GTA4:Vice City and he says super flirtatiously “OH sweetie, I can’t get it to work”. I glare daggers. He pauses game and goes back into the office. As dinner finishes, he comes back out and says “Oh i got one drive working and one cdrw working. You don’t need two cdroms.” I speak through my teeth “Who are you to say if i need two or not?” He just looks at me, blinking like an epileptic watching video games, “Oh we’ll fix it later sweetie. Don’t worry.”

WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED TO VAL KILMER THAT HE’S WHORING HIMSELF OUT TO NIKON DIGITAL?
ahem, so YAH. So i decide while I’m making dinner, that I want to write a faq about dating myself. Not me dating me, but for others to read to date me. Get it got it? Good. Because I need to come w/ a large warning label in hot pink that says PLEASE READ BEFORE OPENING.
Smashing Pumpkins doing the Fleetwood Mac song “landslide” was bad. Dixie Chix doing the “landslide” makes me want to stick hot pokers in my eyes. Though the one chick has this super cool hair going on.
But i digress.
Btw, I talk to the tv. and the radio. Just so you know.
So, it’s going on later, the Soprano’s are ending (holy shit!) and Paul and I are watching some Real Sex episode on HBO about the Moonlight Bunny Ranch in Nevada. I’m like, woah that is fucking cool. They make some crazy ass money and they are so comfortable with their sexuality and I so admire that. I have such a Madonna/Whore complex going on in my head sometimes it’s disgusting. I was telling Alisha about this the other night, that I admire people who are really so comfortable with their sexuality. I’m comfortable with my sexuality but i have this titch of exhibitionism going on and I really want to let her out.
Which is neither here nor there. So we are watching the Real Sex special and I’m saying “cool!” or “wow!” every five minutes, jamming away at my faq (and I just had gotten to the section and me and sex, which was getting REALLY interesting and I was getting supremely horny) when i put my feet down on the rug and i feel something wet. I thought I had spilled my beer (err Ben, I found a lone beer in the back of the fridge :o) and then I think “Oh fuck, what dog pissed on the carpet.” And i step gingerly around and the whole damn carpet is sopped! I scream and jump up *squish squish squish* and go grab towels and the towels are getting soaked quickly and the water is heading towards my pc. I make Paul unplug it and hand it to me and I run with it like it’s my baby to the kitchen and lay it gently on the counter. I also make him unplug everything in that vicinity. The carpet is fastly getting more soaked and it’s also now heading into the hall. I call the after-hours line and the security guy shows up and he’s like ‘yep you have a leak’ (thanks genius) and he says he’s going to get the maintance guy to come and fix it.
We retreated back to the office. I sat in my chair which is now parked behind Paul, Pugsley had jumped up and drapped himself across my chest (I guess he knows a great pair of tits when he lays on them) and I’m burning holes in the back of Paul’s head. He’s like “What did i do NOW.”
Well gee, I have no laptops (both were shipped back to Toshiba to get repaired on Saturday, and this is the one thing i don’t blame him for). My pc is in the kitchen and only half works. I can’t watch tv because when we took the tivo out of the entertainment center he could not be bothered to put things back together. He is sitting there flanked by two PCs and a laptop not giving a shit that I HAVE NOTHING. All my shit is either pieced apart or broken or something.
I continue glaring. Apparently I look the devil incarnate when i do this.
And I kid you not, the first thing I thought about when the idea of turning the water off was “Fuck. I can’t masturbate tonight, because then I can’t wash my hands.”
ahahahaha. Yes well. I have an active imagination. I refuse to apologize for it.
Paul gets off his ass and hooks the satellite box back to the tv so I can watch tv and I click on VH1 Classic as they were doing 80s special and I’m bopping around with the dogs drapped around me watching old def leppard, twisted sister, and new order. Hence why all the music references. Sammy Haggar, still cannot drive 55.
But I’m LAUGHING. I’m laughing because everything is so absurd. I’m grossing myself out because I did not shower today and now i have NO WATER. Paul’s like “oh we’ll just do the ghetto showering (using the water stored in the fridge) tomorrow and you’ll live” and I’m making faces because I’m grossed out by it. I won’t even be able to make CAWFEE tomorrow morning. Fuck, I’m gonna die.
But I’m laughing because the water being turned off till it’s repaired tomorrow is the least of all the shit that is going on THIS WEEK. Even having no heat for nearly two days didn’t top this one.
I’m laughing because in a week my brother has back stabbed me on various things and I had to remove him from my mailing list and now I’m looking for a one bedroom apartment which might be sketchy but I’ve never ever lived alone. I’m laughing because my lawyer calls me and tells me on Saturday that he was unable to sell stocks to put cash into my account and he’s going on vacation on 12/10 and will not be able to get money into the account until 12/20, which was the day I was planning on leaving, which would not be too terrible if it were not for the fact how much stuff gets pulled out from my debit before then. Paul has offered me cash but I refuse to take it because as he said tonight “YOU ARE NOT LEAVING UNTIL I HAVE A CAR”. Oh the fuck I am not! I will be out of here before January 1st and no later and even if that means I go without anything but a car full of goods. You had THREE YEARS to get a car. Not. My. Problem. Kiss. My. Ghetto. Ass. Don’t ask. In my head it sounded like a good idea to stay at the time.
I’ll be spending Christmas alone due to reorganization issues. Again. Paul did this whole spiel Saturday night about how “OH we can stay together for Christmas and XYZ” and then drops this bomb on me while I’m orgasming eating at this awesome restaurant that night that ‘Oh, i HAVE to go home for Christmas blah blah blah’. I wanted to take the coffee I was drinking and toss it in his face. Then he comes back with oh you have to stay through the New Year so that we can have our departing sex. Right. This coming from someone who has believed/accepted or said I was a gold digging whore, that i’ve ruined his life, used him, abused him, drove away all our friends, held grudges, was rude crude and mean. And he wants to still fuck me… Sure. Whatever you say.
——
I’m laughing because I’m dying right now. I’m dying because I’m watching this video for Santana called “Game of Love” and people are smooching and if you gave me a choice between having okay sex or awesome kissing, I’m taking kissing hands down. I’d probably take kissing over most anything actually. It’s everything about the act, the hands, the whole caressing of the face. The whole burning look, hands in the hair. I’m so tired of dating guys who are crap ass kissers and are under this delusion that they are gods in bed. And it’s not just one ex it’s like majority of them. As TLC says “Girls Talk”. So back to this whole kissing thing, it’s a fetsih or something but whatever it is, the whole ritual gets me hot. Especially if the guy has good lips. mmmmmmmmmm. I can go for hours on this little fantasy alone. days even. Hell months even. 😉
and as it’s going on 6am, final note is that i need something answered. I have an online journal. This is my place. My space. My feelings. No regrets. So riddle me this batman, why is it when I start dating someone they are like “OH LISA, you are so UNLIKE anyone else. You are so (insert tired cliche). I’ve learned so much about you via your journal.” But when the breakup happens, as it tends to do, why is it their FIRST offense is this damn journal? ALWAYS. Without fail. Always. Always.
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I’ll leave you with my horoscope for today:
Dear lisa, here is your Horoscope for December 09, 2002
People around you might think that you have never matured, lisa, and that you still have the mind of a child. It might not seem obvious at first, but your light-hearted attitude is also a symbol of great wisdom. As others, who have committed to long-term romances, you will find out that you will never lose your light-heartedness.
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x0x0x0
leuke schoenen, gaan we neuken?