Author: pookiebear

Room in his basement

Ben and I have been playing phone tag for the last month or so, which is amusing trying to keep time tables straight as he is in Belgium and I’m in the US. I called him back tonight to chat because I wanted to talk to someone who made me laugh and if it’s anyone, it’s him.
I’m really upset I won’t get to meet him in France in a few months — something he and I were both looking forward to do. Unfortunately, he’s taking his finals during the week I’ll be there where as he had the week off when my trip was first arranged for the previous week. We’re now talking about meeting sometime in the summer, if ach gets me those tickets for the Reading Festival AS PROMISED or if Ben decides to take a trip to Canada and I’ll meet him there.
He’s completely disquieted about my relationship with Patrick and he doesn’t understand why I’m still seeing him. Maybe it’s a Euro vs American thing? Dunno, but he’s concerned about me, as long as I send him jelly belly jellybeans and Peeps.
I’m kidding.
I’m concerned as well, and the situation isn’t getting any easier. Having conversations with Patrick is like pulling teeth from a chicken. I was feeling particularly romantic today and I called him to tell him I missed him. Dumped me to vm. Called again several hours later and got dumped to VM again. Patrick called back and I was excited and happy, and I told him I missed him. “Why do you miss me?” he asked. Which, totally ruined the moment. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. He refuses to absolutely talk about his feelings with me at all and every conversation we have sounds like a business meeting. There is no romance and it bothers the living shit out of me. I’ve told Patrick this, this isn’t a new story. But I don’t get IT — if you love me then what the fuck is the difficulty in telling me that you do?
Because to Patrick, it’s “too painful to tell you.”
This is 180 degrees from the Patrick I started talking to back in November. I wrote this late december and he called me that day after he read it to tell me how much it meant to him. How crappy his ex-relationships were and how sensuality, love and meaning had gotten tossed out the window. How much he NEEDED, WANTED and DESIRED everything I wrote. We were on the same plane, finally. I was on the same plane as someone and it was going to work!
When did things start going downhill? Shortly before my last trip out there. Sex became mechanical and featureless. He kept harping on my stupid blow jobs — because yes, they are just that great. I swear to god, I’m never putting my mouth on another penis again. Ever. Because that is what sex was reduced to on the last trip – me giving blowjobs and okay sex. Not the great VAVOOM that it was two months prior. I’m supposed to take into consideration that his work and personal life were in an uproar, he was sick (as was I), but damnit, you have not seen me in two months! I don’t fucking get the 180 degree flip as for months you did nothing but tell me how you missed me, wanted me, loved me etc.
And now nothing.
Ben and I have had this long running joke for the last few years about saying “fuck you” to the world, giving up school, moving to the South of France and bearing giant amazonian children (he’s 6’7). When I came back from Denver all bummed and was talking to Ben about the trip, he was also equally remorse about his personal life. One of us had said, “We should have just chucked everything away and gone to the South of France.”
We both agreed we should have.

[pfp] search and destroy

Lots of people have been asking me, “how was Denver??” and the most I could tell them was, “great!” or “good!”
But no descriptions or adjectives to describe what was going down.
Why did I, the prolific of them all, clam up?
Especially when it comes to the uber personal crap, which is my forte.
Because here is the deal, shit in Denver wasn’t all that great. Some days it was downright awful. Lots of things were going on: Patrick and I were both sick. One of his bosses had just left Denver the morning I arrived and kept him on a tight leash all week He quit his main job due to personal stress and conflict of interest half way through my trip. My hormones were on fire from the BC. Things were terrible at some points and okay in others.
As I was explaining to darkdepths tonight, the problem with voicing what happened that week on LJ has it’s ramifications, because even if I prefaced with the background I just told you and then told you the facts of what went down, people would be calling for blood — his blood. You, my dear readers as my friends, would be asking why the hell was I still with this man?
Now, before you get panties in a twist, he didn’t beat me, abuse me, cheat on me, rape me, or any other horrible things. He didn’t drink while I was there nor did he do anything that would warrant a lynching. But I also knew, as it were with how we hear stories, save for a minute few, none of you have met Patrick. So even if after all that I had to say and I defended him, I would sound like I needed to be thrown on Ricki Lake or else I was just fooling myself.
Patrick and I talked about what went down before I left. I voiced my concerns and he agreed that I was right and he understood where I was coming from, but that didn’t take away from what had happened. All my defense modes were on and as of right now, I have zero idea where this relationship is heading. I still don’t feel like the problems have been resolved (to me) though he feels differently, he really wants this to continue.
This isn’t really about love anymore, but about if we have what it takes to make it work. The problem (or not) about this is that I know where Patrick is coming from. I understand why he does the things he does and why he sometimes treats me like I’m an object and not a person. I understand from his past why he is emotionally closed and unable to communicate his feelings. I’ve expressed that to him and I also realise that a good relationship takes time and effort from both parties but it’s highly unlikely in this case when we are 1100 miles away and the only time we have together is destroyed because of other issues rising.
But as darkdepths pointed out so wisely, it’s not a matter of him merely understanding what I’m saying but he needs to change several things about his tune if he wants to keep me. But I also know that things have to cool down a bit, work is still crazy and he has an old friend of his (male) in town staying with him. So, we’ll see.
There you have it.

Can Lisa ever be happy?

My brother and I were sitting on opposite couches last night discussing the fate of our lives. It seemed that for every few good steps we take forward, we get pushed back another five. When the topic turned to relationships, he started cracking walnuts and I felt like it was some kind of sign.
On my way home from Denver, I flew through MLPS. A young couple with a child were in the seats next to me, with me taking the aisle seat (preference for leg room). The overhead bulkhead was closed and I thought perhaps they had already filled it with stuff as I needed a place for my messenger bag. But when I popped it open to verify, it was empty. After placing my bag up in the bulk hold, I noticed the father (presumedly) struggling with bags at his feet. I asked if he’d like for me to place that stuff in the bulkhead for him. He was quite rude while declining, and I just shrugged as I sat down. During the trip, the child was quiet and when it started to whimper a bit, the mother started breast feeding him.
I was a bit taken aback by the whole experience, especially since they apparently felt uncomfortable around me. The father and I kept jostling to not touch each other during the 1.5 hour flight. I kept to myself, leaning towards to the aisle with my book and my legs on the far left side. Megan and I were lolly gagging around the luggage carousel when I noticed the mother staring at me. I have no idea why she was so intent in me, but apparently one good deed for the day was enough to warrant the evil eye.
My brother and I were watching About A Boy last night as we talked. Our conversation stilted while we watched what was happening on screen and then would rev up again. I felt like I’m living in a glass jar. Being watched and scrutinized by those around me. I’m falling between cracks I never thought possible.
My birthday is coming up and I’ll be turning 32. I’m feeling the pressure of not having consumed enough or done enough by my early 30s. I should have my masters by now! I should be married! I should have kids! I should be doing a hundred and one different things and not worrying about whether or not a group project is being completed or if my grades will be good enough. I feel like I can’t relate to anyone in my age bracket and especially to women who are all walking that normality line that I’ve swerved so damn far from.
Everyone keeps asking me how Denver went. My monosyllabic answer of “Good!” or “Great!” seems to not fulfills their demands. I’m not sure what to say because in the end, I still have no answers to my questions. So perhaps I’ll start with what I perceive to be the truth and take it from there.
If you were not aware, Patrick had (has) three jobs. He own(ed)s part of a local company in Denver and does contract work for two others. I knew that while this was to be *my* vacation, for him, it was to be a hellish week of work. He was/is currently in flux with the local company, with him quitting the company half-way through my trip. One of his bosses for the contract work showed up prior to my arrival and left the morning I arrived.
He kept Patrick on a tight leash, calling at all hours of the day and night to get things completed. Many “dates” we had were broken by us driving to downtown Denver to work on shit at the colo, many plans disintegrated because his work schedule. Coupled with both of us being sick as dogs, tensions were high. Verbal fisticuffing ran rampart. It was terrible.
Verbal fisticuffing is the term I use when Patrick starts pushing my buttons, making smartass comments that only ignite me to push HIS buttons and make comments. This gets nasty really quick. There were no holds barred accounts where I let both guns fly. This was not the sound of a “happy couple” at all, rather, of people who could barely tolerate each other. It was distressing.
I grew tired of this game quick, opting to keep my mouth shut when he started which only defused him, which was the point. I was beginning to feel like an object, not a person. I whittled away the hours while he worked suffering on the couch with the illness that would not go away. After he would get done with work, he would spend a few hours playing video games on his PC. He would occasionally check up on me and make sure I had things I needed and that I was still breathing, but I did not feel like I was being comforted enough. Like something was missing, and I never really knew what it was.
The sex was interesting. Taking into account the stress from work, being sick and other shit going on, I didn’t care about those things. I wanted the sex to be as hot and passionate as it was the last time we were together. It wasn’t. Perhaps I’m rare, but despite all the emotional bullshit he was going through, I wanted him to treat me like he did before and he didn’t. I was getting tired (and bored) of always initiating it. And it wasn’t that he was not affectionate or showed affection to me, he did, but when it came to the actual act, it was always ME who had to take charge. Always, always always. Then the issues came up. According to him, his exes were dead lays. No imagination, passion or interest other than things vanilla. Things had to be done a specific way at specific times, heaven forbid that anything deviate from that pattern. Me? I’m not like that. By a long shot. And I tried. Tried to make him feel loved, wanted and needed. I introduced new things, taking baby steps. Nothing seemed to work as sex always ended with me on top.
Always.

[PFP]

Lots been going on I haven’t discussed with anyone or on lj during my week here.
He hasn’t been drinking, save for a few beers on Friday and I’ll report more when I get home on Monday.
Don’t worry, I’m not in danger. I’m fine.
Really.

[patrick-free post]

I’ve noticed when the shit hits the fan, I don’t talk about it on LJ. I seem to be arch typical of most LJ’s out there.
Patrick is an alcoholic.
I’ve been suspicious about this for awhile. Talked to my mom about it and one other person recently.
Patrick and I were on the phone till 6:30am talking about it this morning. It started out with my litany of reasons why I was nervous about the whole probability of moving to Denver. His drinking was number 4. I told him that under no circumstances could I be with someone who uses alcohol as a crutch. I told him I cannot conceive of uprooting my life yet again and moving 1100 miles to be with someone where I WILL get sucked into the whole “taking care of” mode and watch not only my life but myself and HIS life go spiraling out of control even more so. He said he respected that decision and he wanted me to run far away as fast as I can if I feel this strongly about it.
I’m still going to Denver on Friday, this is serious shit that needs be talked about face to face, not at 6:30am on the phone.
Not sure what I’m going to do yet or what we are going to do yet.
We’ll just leave it at that.

que tu t’amuses!

I decided to write something for Patrick. Prose maybe or a poem. It seems really tacky to me considering that I just got emailed by an ex who sent me back the poem I gave him nine years ago, but, on the other hand I haven’t written a poem for someone in those nine years and to my knowledge (and I could be wrong, as I have been before), that was my one and only poem written for a boyfriend.
I keep going back to my 23rd? 24th? birthday when Patrick gave me notebooks to write in. It’s funny, because he is probably one of the only people in my life who has ever really encouraged my writing. It’s not that others have said “Well you suck ass Lisa, bite me.” more like, there is no encouragement at all. Which, to me is just as bad as discouragement. Should I say, he’s been more of a constant encouragement. I told him the outline of the book I’m working on and he laughed because he thought it was about him even it was started before that infamous kiss of November 28, 2003.
I don’t do well with fiction or poetry or prose. I mean, the earlier works are testament to that. Some of it is just pure crap and even I am embarrassed to read it.
So this is really important to me.
I just wish I could explain how much.

In true lisa fashion

UPS has been missing me these last few days. Since the boys are home till 1:30 and more often than not, I don’t get home till later, he’s been leaving tags on my door. I just, JUST, changed to pick up my packages at the UPS depot last night. Today I come home and see my downstairs neighbor has a UPS tag on her door and our front door has none. So the third package I was expecting came before the boys went to work.
The package that arrived was from Blowfish, containing the Raspberry Ring I got Patrick for Valentines day. The other packages contained other small items that I had purchased at various stores for him as well. I bought a pretty gift bag and have been slowly buying small things because I don’t have a lot of cash and I’ve been choosing items I’d think he like.
I messaged him earlier on tonight (he was sleeping) that his v-day gifts i bought him finally arrived. Later on as we are talking, I tell him that having a boyfriend sucks because I keep buying him things, as I completed the transaction to get him a Coach Money Clip.
He laughs and then says:
“What showed up? The jacket or the purse (or could be this one)?”
?????
“sorry?”
“Oh, I’m still waking up, I thought you said the valentines days gifts from me arrived.”
“er, no, the gifts *I* bought *YOU* finally arrived.”
“Fuck. I just ruined it didn’t I?”
“I’ll pretend I never heard you say that.”

I'm a naughty little minx

Just bought this and this (NOT WORK SAFE) for Patrick for V-Day. I’m slowly building up small items of Patrick-worthy items and giving him many small things instead of one large big thingish when I see him in March.
I also ordered Spy In The House Of Love by Anais Nin, because this is by far one of my favorite books and he’s never read her! *gasp*
Also thanks to fallenpegasus, I’m hand-making him a card which I’ll send out this week!
🙂

[patrick-free post] the diamond girls

I am, apparently, missing a girlie gene on some things. Here is why:
Patrick was in two long term relationships: one lasting about 11 years, the other two. He bought, nearly identical jewelry sets for both plus scads of other jewelry for them during the course of each relationship. Which is fine. Patrick isn’t your typical 28 year old bachelor, meaning his apartment could rival someone who is older in that he likes the nicer things in life and I do mean nicer things. But hey, he makes ten trillion dollars a year, so he can do whatever he wants. Right? Right. With that being said, we’ve been butting heads on monetary things — he has issues with me paying for things, but you know, for the better part of my adult life, I’ve always paid my own way. To be in a relationship with someone who openly wants to foot the bill is different. Hell, we’ve been having this argument for years when we were just in a platonic relationship.
Now, Patrick isn’t all talk. I’ve known men who’ve claimed to enjoy the finer things in life and like expensive things but it was more to impress the girls than really to follow through — if you know what I mean. I’ve met his ex of 11 years in the early stages of their relationship and seen the stuff he’s bought her and talked with him about what he was GOING to buy her. I’ve seen the receipts. So we were chatting about this the other night, and he tells me he just got a bonus and was going to buy me something (or I possibly inferred that) and I went apeshit. I don’t want to be one of his “diamond girls” — it’s just not my style. Yes YES, I am cynically funny about how when I was with Paul for three years, he gave me enough diamonds to rival a 1/2 carat total weight (this is a pair of diamond studs, a pendant AND a ring), but I don’t NEED expensive jewelry. For fuck sakes, I wear nothing but jeans and tshirts and boots. I’m a college student! Walking into a classroom with $4500 on my arm is just simply ridiculous.
Then he got pissed as to why I wouldn’t accept expensive gifts. It’s not my style man! I’m about tacky cheap shit, with the exception of a few things like my obsession with Coach, but you know, as I told him, I don’t need expensive things to be impressed. I didn’t need the limo or the fancy hotel or anything, I just want to be with HIM.
You don’t have to buy my love.
Then he said, something like, “But it makes me happy!”
“But it’s overwhelming!”
“Get used to it!”
?????????
I don’t want to be part of the herd goddammit. Hello!
Why does this seem incredibly petty to complain about?