Addendum

In regards to this entry, I need to give you guys closure.
As AQ Paul and I had agreed to meet up for lunch this week, we were to meet Tuesday after French to plan. Due to my own procrastination, I knew that everyday this week was going to be bad, so we agreed to go to lunch that day to Hunan on Leonard (the one that wenchie is always raving about to me).
Lunch was short and very strained. Our usual playfulness was gone and tension was high. We sat in a booth, facing each other, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I couldn’t look at him in the eyes. Too much was left unsaid that day last week and I wanted it to remain buried. I kept bringing up wifey-poo at every opportunity that presented itself. Since he took the initiative to cut the lunch short (less than an hour, including driving time), I was heavily relieved.
I dropped him off at his car and we talked and I watched his hesitation as he got out — as if he was waiting for me to inquire about having lunch again or something of the sort. I kept my mouth shut. He is leaving AQ next spring, so there will be opportunity to see him again in academic setting and I think it’s best for all parties involved to keep it like that.
x0x0x

Patrick Update

If you read the last post, which is quite lengthy, I do want to stress that I do not condone cheating. I’ve done it, but, shit has changed and it’s not my bag. Married/in a relationship, unless you are scot free, don’t call me.
With that being said, still no idea on what is going on. As I related to Kate and Jen the other night, he’s probably waiting to get me to Denver to dump me so that he can say he has a clean track record (he’s broken up with all of his girlfriends). I twirled my finger when I said it.
I could postulate on this forever and you’re probably wondering why do I even bother, and to be honest, since I get no emotional or physical satisfaction from it, I have no idea. Maybe I’m holding out on the idea that somehow we will work this out. Well, honestly, I don’t know WHY. I’m just an idiot.
More later.

Changing of the Guard and Why women and men cannot really, be friends.

[What’s behind the cut is fairly lengthy. There is a lot of backstory in it as well and anyone who has been around here longer than a year can probably skim quit a bit of it.]
I’ve decided to start shedding this “good girl” image and while many of you are probably choking on a drink as I type that, those who know me best know that I’ve been living a hermit like existence. I don’t go out, I didn’t actively date save for a few brief intense meetings and this has been my life for the last year and some change. Prior to that I was in a dead-end relationship in which save for a few people, I was a hermit fighting to survive living with an asshole for three years. It irritates me I go on about just living life and rocking out when I’m doing nothing to actually promote it. Most of my “bad girl” behavior is from my early 20s.
So There.

Can you keep a secret?

I bought this book tonight when I was at the mall and just finished it. It was MUCH more entertaining then the Shopaholic series, but I like my trash along with my ficiton. I’ve read half a dozen books or so since I’ve back from Denver in March and have yet to finish Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson that Patrick lent me when I was leaving. He’s greatly upset by this, of course, as he feels that it’s one of best books in ages that he’s read. He made this big to do when he gave it and I almost feel guilty for getting chocolate on one of the pages one night.
Maybe not.

Surrealistic Cookie Munching

Should mark down today as first in history as I’m working a paper and it’s not due till next week! I’ve been baking cookies all this early evening and thankfully this batch came out better than the last batch. I’m divvying up the cookies as I’m going to ship some to Patrick, as promised.
The boys are home tonight with their friends, sucking down microbeers while watching the fight on HBO. Because we have vaulted ceilings, everything is amplified. The land line rings and Jeremy (roommate #3) yells t (though I”m about 15′ away in the dining room working on said paper) that it’s for me. I can’t hear due to the echoing and when I ask who it is, I get: “Your boyfriend!”
Oh. My boyfriend. Forgot I had one of those.
Conversation was light and fluffy as I talked about making cookies, writing a paper and the boys drinking while watching the fight. As if I’m in a dream, Patrick starts chatting and there is no tension. In many ways I feel incredulous about whether or not it is simply just me being insane and I’m imagining things. I don’t know. I still believe the bloom to be off, but I find the irony that the more I pull away emotionally and interactively, the more he starts to pursue me.
I will never, ever, figure out relationships.
Ever.

Get Thee to [a] nunnery!

Hamlet is interesting if only for all the nifty quotes that were pulled and used in topical conversation these days. Also found it interesting that Hamlet’s phrase, “Get these to a nunnery” has double meaning: one referring to a convent and another to house of ill repute.
The house is quiet today, as both boys are upstairs taking a nap. Jeff and his friends were up till 3am making “breakfast” and I just cleaned the kitchen of all remains. When I’m done writing this entry, I’m taking a shower and heading to a grocery store to get food stuffs for tomorrow. I’m also going to be baking cookies tonight and hopefully I can make them more cookie like rather than scone like.
I also need to stop flirting with the cute boy who works at my local coffee shop. Megan and I were dancing to “Georgia On My Mind” in the shop one day when I had dipped her and she almost fell into a table containing condiments. He’s been looking at me weirdly ever since.
With FAFSA filed, I checked my credit report the other day to discover that I’m losing points for my student loans. Even though my credit is damn near stellar, points are dropping like flies with the more money added on. No word on when my mother’s SSDI major check will kick in, though her actual SSDI kicks in May 15. She told me over the phone a few days ago that she had hoped it arrived before my trip to Europe so that I could have a “good time” — which is thoughtful of her but considering flight, hotel, transportation and food is taking care of, I’m not sure what I’ll be spending money *on.* Oh, I’m sure I’ll find things, but with the USD dropping like flies, the USD is only worth .82 cents Euro. .54 cents UKP, I’m currently deathly afraid to part with my savings on anything “extra” right now.
My relationship with Patrick, the bloom has fallen off faster than a flan in a cupboard. It’s slowly lingering in purgatory, and it just needs a final “chop” to kill it. While he’s resolved to quit drinking, and I believe he has [too much at stake professionally for him to continue with his meandering ways], the relationship that seemed so promising is off. I don’t think it’s that we were not compatible, rather, it goes back to timing. For once I’m not going to berate myself for walking around with my heart on a sleeve and thrusting it to the first person who has shown real interest. I’m not afraid of being alone. One of these days I’ll change my status from “quirky together” to “quirky alone” and leave it at that. No pomp or circumstance behind it. I already cried my tears and my heart has already been broken. No need to relive it all over again.
I’ve been thinking of doing something drastic, such as chopping all my hair off. My bangs, which were Bettie page length when I moved, are down below my chin. I’ve been playing with my hair a lot recently and liked the way it looked, with the front long and angled up. It would mean 12-14″ cut off and as much as I adore the hair cut I want, I can’t part with cutting my hair yet. I decided to give myself another 6 months and if I still desire the major change, I’ll rethink it again.
I just want it to be known, I’ve never been afraid to be alone.

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.

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.

“Souvenirs are not included in this trip.”

I leave for Denver in two days and everything I had meant to do before the trip — has not been done. Since there is no choice for somethings and others will just have to wait, I’m still lollygagging around in my pj’s. But I am doing laundry — so all is well with the world.
When Patrick and I met up back in November, we had driven around looking for a coffee house to go sit and chat. Since we could not find any in the immediate area, we settled on a Big Boy where we sucked down coffee for about 3 hours. The total of the bill was something like $2.37, which he put down a $10. I took the $10 off and laid down a $5. I’m broke, but I can afford coffee. I told HIM not to give me the $10. I had left to make one of many journeys to the bathroom, came back and noticed nothing amiss. Several weeks later, I was cleaning out my purse and found a $10 dollar bill that had been shoved deep in a corner. Since I’m one of those anal people who almost always put money back in their wallet, I called Patrick on the perchance that he had, indeed, but the $10 dollar bill in my purse. I could hear the sheepishness 1100 miles away, that yah, he DID put the $10 dollar bill in my purse. We argued. Not seriously, but it was funny.
I have issues with people who want to be “generous” or “spoil” me. For all of my adult life, I’ve held a job, and thusly paid for almost everything out of my own pocket. The last few guys I had serious relationships with professed undying love but were pretty cheap when it came to gifts for me. While I would constantly purchase things for them that I thought they would like, that they would want or that they would need, it was almost never returned back to me. I never really saw this as being a “bad thing” because I like making people happy. Same token, it’s difficult for me borrow money unless it’s needed (rare occasions) and I always pay it back, even if it’s minute. I don’t like feeling I “owe” someone anything. I almost always feel that if someone does pay for something for me, it’s not simply because they want to be generous and I get racking guilt if the favor is not returned.
When Christmas time came around, and Patrick and I were unable to get together due to his business stuff, he asked me what I wanted. I told him nothing. I didn’t mean it in that “But yes I want something, but I’m too stubborn to tell you” way, I really did mean “nothing.” Oh sure, I could have asked for lots of things but the price tags were incredibly high (oh say, like a new coach bag). Patrick sent me a dozen roses, and I in turn, sent him a dozen roses. Conversations that followed from Patrick were about how he had to “restrain himself” from shopping too much. It’s not that I felt restraint in shopping for Patrick for Xmas, rather, he makes 32090293840329 trillion dollars a year, and it’s difficult to buy for a man when you don’t know what he already has AND can more than likely buy it himself. So, roses it was.
I’ve known Patrick for many years, and I know how he was with his exes — essentially that he spoils them rotten. I also know that many of his exes (two come to mind) have taken advantage of his generosity and that has bothered me because I don’t want to be like one of them. Patrick and I have had debates about this, including the prospect of putting me up in a hotel for my stay. To me, it seemed like a needless waste BUT then he surprised me that booked rooms at the Denver Omni, some four star hotel. He doesn’t want me to feel pressure and if I want to kick him back to the curb for the night, he’d totally understand and he’s fine with that. And he actually MEANS that. We even argued about the hotel because I told him, “As long as it
‘s not Motel 6, I’m fine.” And finally I gave up and said “You win. No argument from me.” I think he fainted.
But in a lot of ways, it goes back with “who the hell are you kidding?” kind of thing. I’m leaving my last class on Friday early to get home, take the dogs out and tart myself up. I asked Patrick what his favorite perfume on women was, and he said Poeme by Lancome. I’m a huge Lancome fan, and have just about every fragrance they make save for Poeme. Tresor is in fact, my signature fragrence. On an impulse, I bought Poeme, liked it and have been wearing it.
To be honest, I’m completely out of my depth here. This is a new situation that I have no handbook or rules for. Not only is Patrick educated and cultured (he’s travelled fairly extensively and speaks five languages with varying degrees), a geek too boot, enjoys nicer things in life (when I mentioned I needed a pedicure, he said “Me too.” And wasn’t kidding), reads, is within my age range (only three years younger than me, compared to most of the kiddies I date), is taller than me (he’s 6’2-6’3), has a dirty mind and he’s cute. The list is endless. And he knows me, we’ve been friends for years and the timing was never right to hook up (pesky exes and all).
When discussing about staying at the Omni, he quipped something about how he liked the nicer things in life, I said something about “Why are you with ME? I’m ghetto trash just bursting out!” and he said “I knew you were going to say that. It’s a compliment to YOU.”
Completely and utterly out of my depth. Every other relationship, regardless whom with or how it is started, I rush in with firecrackers, and they have always blown up in my face. Now, I’m stalling with my feet with the “You can’t make me do that!” I’ve always thrown myself at men with the “You’ll never know unless you try argument” and with Patrick, I’ve suddenly become this coy and reserved person.
Subconsciously, I’ve always known that previous relationships were not going to last and my brandishing of demands and aggressiveness, perhaps as protection tactics? A ploy? Who knows. It’s like when I kissed Patrick in his mothers driveway, I attacked him with such fury I shocked him — but in a way it was because I knew I can. I had the power of being a female. I said to him later, “When you kissed me, it was like you were holding back.” And he said, “I was.” I was like “oh.” Because I love to kiss, and when we were swapping spit, he did the whole face thing and you know, I can’t be having that as my knees got weak and I kept clutching his leather jacket going “WHY WHY WHY!” with him looking at me amused.
New territory. I’ve always been the one in control and have paid, dearly, for that right. With Patrick, I’m not in control and while he would argue that I was, he’s wrong — I’m not. I think I’m going to go now. 🙂
I need to quietly have a breakdown.