Category: The Lisa Chronicles

everything’s gone green

help me, somebody help me.
i wonder what i am…
it seems like I’ve been here before.
– everything’s gone green by new order

Tonight at work, I was reading an email that Wired sends out with updates of late breaking news stories. I was reading some such article that had caught my eye, when it had links to websites that were eerily like mine in context, but just overall better designed. One of them, the Fray was awarded for it’s excellent design, and from there I ended up at other sites that were more or less like it: ego-taking domains that really hosted nothing but twenty-something angst, in this damn digital age. The only difference between my site(s) (I know own THREE domains, so therefore I am better) and theirs were two things:

  • Better designed and pleasing to the eye.
  •  A more regular update of content.

In a sense, this pissed me off. I had copied my files from home and brought them to work to *actually* work on (which, it seems I never have time to do, so I don’t know why I keep torturing myself). I immediately opened up ye olde EditPad and went to work hacking something together. But the more I worked on my site, the more angrier I got, and so I left it in lieu of deproving domains and fixing machines.
It got me thinking about a lot about my ‘writing’, though this is not necessarily a new thing.
See, I have been told since I was a child what an exceptional talent I had for weaving the written word. In college, one of my English profs went so far as to say that I could actually make a living off of satirical writing. While it pleased me (and ye olde ego) at the same time, I’ve always taken my ability to string sentences together for granted. For instance, when I was in school, and I had an article to write for the paper or a paper to write for a class, I would always wait till the last minute before I would pound out my masterpiece. And I would always get A’s.
A few months back, I was asked to write an article for an on-line magazine, and I actually got paid for it (400 smackers!). Justin says that I am now an “official” writer since I’ve actually been published. Sometimes I think he is more distraught over my lack of actually putting pen to paper than I am, but, I know since I was a wee tot that I’ve always wanted to be a writer. You know, sitting in some dingy bar in Paris with my drink while scribbling out my latest and greatest. Somewhere between that dream and now, reality happened.
I think about that a lot.
When I have time to browse the web, and I find things to read, I immediately chastise myself for not having written it, thought of it, or doing it myself. Justin asks me: “What is stopping you?”, and I say to him (and to console myself) “Nothing.” But in reality, I have always felt inferior to others when it comes to what I have to say, because I get cynical enough to say “Well, there are no original ideas and no original thoughts.” Mayhap, in a sense that is true, but dammit! I have a ‘voice’ and I know how to articulate myself, and I don’t know why I keep feeling like time (like sands in an hour glass, so are the days of our lives) is escaping me. Justin says that is how he feels about our relationship: he has to hurry up and love me, or else I will be gone.
Michael always tells me how silly I’m being when I start beating myself up. Words wound deep. For instance, when Jeff and I first met over a year and a half ago, it was my ‘writings’ that brought us together, and it was my writings he took the liberty to pummel when we broke up. blah.
In the movie Dream for an Insomniac, the lead character, Frankie; says something how boring the ordinary is and we should only reach for and live for the extraordinary. And I felt a kinship with her and her spirit. And that is how people see me: this free spirit who really doesn’t give a rats ass about what people think about her, but is super sensitive to criticism against her.
I’ve always hated the word ‘writer’. I think about some schmuck who is sitting at home with her fuzzy slippers and pounding out love stories for some cheesy romance novel. I think about the very stereotypical beret wearing, coffee drinking, all black absorbing poets who roam the world looking to get published. I think about people who actually are bad writers and just call themselves that because it is ‘cool’ or ‘neat’. I seemingly have issues with this. 😉
A few years ago (maybe less, maybe more), I was part of an email listserv that was dedicated to the Beat Generation. Since, at 23 I was one of the youngest people on the list, I would sit back and listen to those who had been friends, lovers with the likes of Ginsberg, Keuroac, Ferenghetti, and that ilk. One man, Leon Tabory, found my writings off of a link I had set up on my .sig file, and wrote me the best letters digizines ever saw. He said my “gift” was comparable to his buddies Keuroac and Ferenghetti and that this gift shouldn’t be wasted. I felt a sense of honor, and perhaps praise getting that from him. I felt, like I would achieve status at some point, though it has yet to happen.
When I was young, I used to say “Okay, this summer you are going to write (quote)The Great American Novel(unquote)” and it would .. never .. happen. I would think “Okay, you are going to get up at 8am and pound out something, no matter what for an hour” and it would .. never .. happen. I chastise myself for what I should of done, instead of what I could be doing! That perhaps pisses me off, for I have all these wonderful ideas in my head, things I want to discuss, things I want to do, and I just don’t!
My therapist says that my depression (I mean, is THAT not irony? Isn’t everyone depressed or borderline psychotic these days?) is the reason why I keep pulling this stunt: never finishing things I should be doing. Like college. Or falling in love. Or finishing my book(s). Or actually making something of myself. I think about all these things.
I think about them a lot.
Mayhap too much.

champagne wishes and caviar dreams

Something felt amiss today.
I wasn’t sure what it was, and I am pretty sure it wasn’t my new schedule. I checked my credit cards, my keys, my smokes. I felt like something was not necessarily missing, but out of place, but, I wasn’t sure what it was.
I flipped through my day planner (what a joke! I last used it back in June), and took a look at birth dates, and realized that Jeff turned 22 a few days ago.
I remember last year, I became totally egotistical and sent him some cheesy e-card, in which I signed it “To Roark (insert crap here), Love Dominique”.
Not only how fast a year goes by, but how endless it seems to feel.
Next weekend is Def Con, and I am not going. My plans with people (who won’t be named) to take down se7en still has not been put into effect yet. Really though, it won’t be that hard. Nothing more than the over 200 emails I saved from our “courtship” (ha!), that pretty much show that everything he’s told me, the world, dc-stuff, was a lie. Reminds me, I have to call UCLA tomorrow.
Justin has a sprained ankle, the poor baby. I’ve been stuffing him with lime sherbert and pineapple juice whilst I do this page. He keeps attempting to hobble to the kitchen, and I won’t let him. 😉 Isn’t that what gf’s are for? 😉
A couple of days ago, I was actually browsing the web aimlessly (I don’t do that much anymore), when I found this article by C/Net about the review of the four big ISP’s. What a fucking joke, because it lists AOL as #1, when AOL is really an OSP (on-line service provider) not an ISP. Gawd!
You are probably wondering, why does this piss you off? Well, it’s pretty simple actually. I’ve been working in the Internet industry for about 3.5 years now, and no matter where I go, and what I do, it seems that there is nothing but miscommunications about what is ‘correct’ and what is ‘incorrect’. For instance, didja know that the Internet actually consists of more then WWW? Yep! I know it’s hard to believe, but the Internet (which was started as ArpaNet), has been around since the late 60’s, and it is actually comprised of seven protocols: IRC, FTP, News, Email, WWW, Telnet and I think Gopher is the last one. I always forget the last one! Anyway, people always assume that the WWW is the Internet, and that is it! And see, it goes without saying, that this is why I was ticked off about C/Net’s article. AOL provides majority of their services in-house, therefore, they are an On-line service provider. It was not till recently that they actually gave out Internet connectivity, and the amazing thing is that their programs (email and ftp) are so arcane and antiquated, that they are worthless. Might as well teach people command line and get it over with.
Which won’t happen, but a girl can dream can’t she?
A few days ago, a friend of mine on the email list, sf-fumblers, wrote about how Random House has put up the 100 best books of the 20th century, inviting readers to also submit their favorites. While the Readers Best constantly changes, I was amused a few days ago when I Want To Blow Monkeys by Ayn Rand was listed as number 6. heh. I hate Any Rand. Geez. The woman stole the plot line of Gone With The Wind from Mitchell. She was not creative at all. 😉
However, since I have been checking the list a few times a day, I decided that my new project (and Justin agreed) was to read all 100 books on the list, and some of the ones off the Readers Pick. It is easier than it looks, as I have already owned or read about 25% of those authors, so I think that since I’m not in school, I might as well edubacate myself.

swimming

Today when I was driving to work, I was having problems with getting across the Bay Bridge. My eye, though seemingly better, was super sensitive to the light, and I kept wanting to swerve as I drove. The more I drove across the bridge, the worse I began to feel.
Suddenly, I saw myself go over the cement embankment and into the cold bay water. In my minds eye, I saw my car go over the bridge, projecting an almost perfect dive. I saw myself rolling up my windows quickly, as to not be engulfed by the cold water, and once my car had gone beneath the waves, I saw myself roll down the windows and swim out to surface. I was still wearing my glasses, and I was still clutching my butt-ugly green purse.
Sometimes, premonitions scare me. And I always feel like either I am really alive when I’m zooming across the bridge, or else I won’t make it across for some reason.

analog girl living in a digital world

It is officially after midnight, and thus it is officially Friday July 17th. I still haven’t gotten used to the Bay weather as of yet.. the fact that right now it is in the mid 50’s and cool in the middle of summer seems preposterous to me. The other day, I was sitting on TJ’s floor and Dave, Drew, TJ and I were discussing where we came from (geographically) and comparison to the Bay area. The irony is that almost everyone there decided we all missed snow.
My eye is feeling a lot better then it was this morning, but it still is tearing up and is red as hell. I ended up falling asleep whilst I was attempting to read Of Human Bondage. Justin came home from work at about 7pm, bearing wild flowers for me. 🙂
God, I wish my eye felt better. I was so ticked off as Justin and I planned on having an official “date” this evening, going to the Fine Arts Museum, and I end up getting pink eye. blah.
The irony of “dating” whilst living together is numerous, to say the least. Neither one of us expected to have this happen all so quickly, but it did, and here we are.
I swore after the charade with Christian and Danny that I wouldn’t live with another lover for a long time, and then I realized that it had been about a year.
One of my biggest fears is this whole relationship ideal: I don’t have a fricken clue as to what I am doing.
What I had realized is that with my introduction to the ‘Net, in 1994, I had not dated anyone, literally anyone locally since Alan. All of my relationships (save a few quickies) were based off of meeting someone from the Internet. Danny (whom I met and dated in 1996) was a failure, and I knew that wasn’t going to work regardless. Thusly I realized that the reason I was “successful” in on-line/LDR and not “day to day” ones was the easiness of control, ability to remove myself and to present the “best” side of me. I had instilled in my brain that I was going to end up being a crotchety old maid, and I was literally living like one. Having Justin look at me, pink eye and all, and telling me how very beautiful I am is scary.
I’m still grappling with my emotions over all of this, and I have attempted to distance myself away from him, but!, something inside of me is telling me not to.
My friend Jane from work has this rad web page, and I was spending a lot of time reading her stuff the other night. In one of her commentaries, she mentions about how this boy she was in love with, Neil, wanted her (paraphrased) safely locked away in America, and he wasn’t able to deal with the reality of her being there in England with him.
She had hit the proverbial nail on the head with that quote (paraphrased), and I realized that is exactly the same situation I had going with Jeff. It made, in my mind, (finally!) good fucking explanation of why Jeff was such a tart to me. Finally, seven months later, I could make some peace with myself and not feel like so insecure about myself and about my body. I have (yes!!!!!!) finally let him go.
It still doesn’t clear up matters about several different things, and I wonder really how much better I am for it. But Justin would say I was obsessing about things again, and I can’t be doing that.
(If you at this point have taken a look at Jane’s website, and notice similarities, yes, I did “steal” ideas from her. She knows about it, so it’s all good. I just love the design as it is clean and easy to read, and since she and I have similar interests, so :P)

great big nature hunt

i am the queen of white socks.
for someone who distastes socks with a passion, a pile of white socks sits on my bedroom floor. i remember having a box (now long since unpacked) that was packed up while i was living at our old place. not remembering that it contain sexy under things, socks and basic junk, i went out and purchased more socks.
which simply doesn’t make sense because i don’t wear socks. ever. okay, tights and maybe the knee socks i found i would wear once in a while, but white socks? and dozens upon dozens of them to boot?
um, okay.
some strange little fetish i was not aware i had.
I’ve got a caffeine headache. cathleen went out and purchased a case of mocha frappichino’s for me. i had three within 15 minutes. these things are like liquid caffeine. driving home from dropping my brother off, i started twitching and freaking out on 80/580 due to the caffeine intake. i felt like some drug user who was itching for a fix. i was so scared while driving, that something was going to happen. i kept floating into other lanes because i couldn’t concentrate on what i was doing. the fact i was able to park my car was a luxury.
next time, i won’t drink three frapp’s within a short time. nor will i do it later on in the day, since it is now going on midnight and i don’t think i am going to go to bed just yet.
so I’m currently having issues. lots of issues. mainly having to deal with who and what i am. i find it absolutely amazing that now we have found a pretty cool place (albeit in Fruit-Fucking-Vale) and I got my new (w00h00) car, that new issues arise.
so how do i fix these problems?
I open up and start reading a book by Jean-Paul Sartre, and think I’m the fucking coolest person on the face of the planet. I still have my Nietzsche books to go through, however, I can only handle so much intellectual discourse in a short period of time.
See, I’m tangenting from my issues, matters and concerns.
let me be frank.
first off, these aren’t “new” issues to begin with. they are the same old schtick that i keep re-hashing over and over again. I’m looking for a resolution to these idea’s and i don’t know quite how to resolve them.
education
this has been the big debate for so long. it’s getting annoying to me.
shit.
time for bed!

everyday is a new beginning

I am sitting outside, under the stars writing. My feet feel the coolness of the grass and for one brief moment, I am happy.
Things went really well today. In fact, truth be told, they went much better than I had anticipated. I left work at 1pm (and feeling frisky after double fraps and flirting with Justin) and came back to my old digs. I wasn’t feeling anxious, amazingly, I felt calm and almost carefree. Rob and his dad Rick had already started packing the U-Haul. My job was very simple: pack the rest of my things.
I had already packed over 10 boxes, mainly having to do with my books (so many!) and cds. My collection since I have been here in San Francisco has grown astronomically, to over double of what I had originally moved with.
I have gotten really lucky! Cathleen and Rob are good people. I have become a part of their group and accepted as being one of them with no muss or fuss. Cathleen and I have gotten closer to being almost sisters. Rob treats me as though our kiss last weekend never happened (a good thing). Rob even went so far as to go and create a space in his office for my bed (which I pilfered from Irene) and now I have security of “mine”. It is indeed a wonderful feeling.
After arranging “my” area, I laid on my bed and didn’t think. God, how long had it been since i have done that? Probably so long that I cannot remember when.. I remember vividly being 8 or 9 years old and sitting on the back porch at the house I grew up in, in Port Huron Michigan. Had it really been that long? Oh my, it cannot be that long!?!?!
Grass.
God, it feels so good against my feet. Though it has gotten chillier here then back in Grand Rapids.
Stars.
I am sitting under the stars. God, what a new exhilarating concept. I pinch myself to feel pain to make it more real.
I think about the events of the past year, and I shudder for a brief moment. Christian. Irene. Danny. Jeff. People who have changed my life in some significant way, but yet insignificant in what I want now.
50 weeks to the day.
I am so damn calm, that it is awe inspiring.
A missive by any other name….
I am going to go relax some more. Lay back down on my bed, with my hands behind my head and not think. Go take a bath and then go curl up back in my bed and read for awhile.
It has been a long day.

I’m an adult now

Cathleen has just left to go to Rob’s and Irene is holed up in her bedroom area on the phone. The afternoon has been mild at the least. I woke up at earlier this afternoon with Cathleen barging into my room. I didn’t blame her. I told her I would get up early to go grocery shopping so that we could do some sort of Easter dinner. But when she had attempted to wake me up earlier in this morning, I think I sort of grumbled and flipped around in my bed. I think it was about 10 a.m., I can’t remember specifically.
Last night I caught a cab home from (I give up forever to touch you) the subway station and I ended up sharing it with a couple and another person. The couple were young (mid 20’s or so) and the guy was sitting next to me. I don’t know what it was about him, he wasn’t all that attractive to me, but his smell just drove me nuts! This is a good thing.
(You bleed just to know you are alive.)
I have this weird thing about smells. It’s not cologne (though Obsession/Eternity/Ferenheit/Davidoff Cool Water tend to get my juices flowing) per se, but it’s like someone’s essence. I can “smell” them before anything else. When I go hang out with my friend Michael, sometimes his smell isn’t pleasant, so i refrain from hugging him. It’s not body odor, it is something else that I’ve never really explained other then it’s an aura type thing. One of my best friends in high school Josh, had this most incredible smell. I used to just hug him all the time to get nearer to it. He didn’t think I was weird, though we both did joke that if by bottling it and selling it, I would have amassed a fortune. Someone mentioned that it was probably pheromones that were playing havoc with my nose. I don’t know what it is, but I can never clarify it enough to give a logical response.
Today is Easter Sunday. I forced Cathleen to go grocery shopping (hence why she came barging into my room earlier today) so that we could get ham, scalloped potatoes, rolls and the like. I’ve tried calling my mom to wish her a Happy Easter, but I got my brother’s voice on the answering machine instead of my mom’s. Odd. He’s been home for a total of three days and he’s already taking over. I wonder if he misses it. I know that he hasn’t been back since August of 1997, so I wonder how he is accepting the changes.
This afternoon, Irene came into the living room (I’m a lucky man, with fire in my hand) while Cathleen and I were talking about Ty. She made a comment about how that we were both out of here, that she’s already rented out our rooms to others. What transpired was this conversation, where we basically were in the right and Irene was in the wrong. It felt good to stand up for myself and not back down. I need to do that more.
Speaking of which, since I told my father that I no longer wanted to be in contact with him anymore, he’s been calling a couple of times a day, every day. Shelly says that in a way, I am being irrational about the whole subject, but, I don’t think so. Both he and my mother have used me as a pawn for the last 25 years and I don’t want to be a chess piece any longer. I’ve got to prove, at least to myself and especially them, that I am an adult and I can provide for myself. I’ve been doing a pretty good thus far, so I think.

early Sunday morning

The whole purpose of this, was that the writers block that had been lasting over two months has finally been cleared. Thanks in part to me writing a 21k file entitled “Celibacy: The New Frontier” and passing it on to jericho/d1s to put into F.U.C.K.. It was the first piece written in over two months, and since then, I have felt this need to release my thoughts again to the world.
I’m fairly sure, except for a few small letters here and there, that the world isn’t dying because I haven’t written anything. However, the thing is, that I have felt a sense of ‘loss’ (for a better word) for -not- doing it. I’ve gotten pretty disgusted in the past, and tore the whole site down, but found out after doing so, that people were upset because it my web pages were no longer accessible. And it wasn’t really about my personal web pages, but my writings page.
In that time period, while surfing the web again, I’ve noticed that I wasn’t the only one who whose the idea of the journal was being used. Many sites show feelings/idea’s/dreams/heart-aches of that person’s life. In a way, it’s a bit daunting, because what makes me so much different then the average Joe Blow?
who cares. it is my life and no one lives it but me.
daily trappings:
Woke up later than planned today (2PM) and realized I had to leave at 4 P.M. to head to my job as a tech engineer (sounds more glamorous than it really is). Walking out of my bedroom, I noticed that psycho-schitzo roommate Irene had posted an addendum to her eviction notice yesterday: “If you plan on staying on after the 1st (of the month), I will require a deposit of 300 dollars to cover bills and such.” I started laughing. I have been living in this shit-hole for nearly a year, and -now- she’s requiring a deposit? I don’t think so. In the past couple of months, Irene has started getting -really- strange (more so than normal, this is California after all). For instance, when she got pissed off for god-knows what, she disconnected the heater for four days. Now, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if it were not early February, and it was never more than 30 degrees outside. She’s pulled asinine stunts such as taking the living room TV into her bedroom, knowing we (Cathleen and I) couldn’t watch television, breaking dishes in angry fits and then turning around and making us presents in happier moments. Cathleen wasn’t as amused as I was. Cathleen had spent the better part of the morning talking to her now ex Ty, and was fairly upset. She and I have been looking for a place to split for a month now. But this being the Bay Area, it’s tougher then a needle in a haystack.
Work was uneventful, except for one thing: I was the only one manning the phone lines tonight.
Again, this wouldn’t be that big of deal, but it is Saturday night (should give you some clue as to my social life if I am working on a Saturday night), and everybody and their damn brother was wanting to get on-line. The calls in the queues were over 40 minutes long, and I was going nuts. Also one of our servers was acting flaky, so I had to speak to the sys admin on duty and attempt to fix it on our end. Not fun.
But, as par usual, since I am so damn charming and talented, I got head hunted on the phone. I should have emailed my resume out to the person, but I haven’t yet, and right now my resume is not up to date. But I will. (I procrastinate so damn much, that I probably won’t get it out till tomorrow at one point.)
I really hate my job. Well, that’s being excessive. I love it because I have plenty of freedom there, but I hate it because I don’t get paid nearly enough NOR am I recognized. For instance, last week I fixed on of the main computers (which was a priority because it was part of the network printer group), and Daniel, my immediate boss says he will email the head honcho’s and bcc me a copy of the letter for thanking me. Has this letter been sent? Hell no! And they wonder why they have such a high turn over rate? Or for that matter, why I’ve been scheduling interviews at other companies?
After work, Deva walked me down 2nd street towards the subway station and I felt somewhat safe. I had just made it in time to catch my train. I was sitting there reading Love in the Time of Cholera, when this guy walks over and sits down in front of me. I’m not sure what station he got on at, but it disturbed me with it being nearly late at night, and that he has to sit by me when there are tons of empty seats around.
He starts talking to me, and I stiffen a bit. It really bothers me when strangers start talking to me about nothing and everything in particular. Some people are nice, but others, well, you really don’t want to meet them after dark.
He introduced himself as Rick, and he asked me my name. I shook his hand and didn’t give him my name, just said “Hello.” I was busily attempting to read my book, and also staring out into the darkened tunnels. He keeps making small talk and I smile and nod and answer a few questions, and attempt to brush him off politely. When he finally gets the point that I’m not going to speak to him, he stops and just sits there. He then starts motioning towards me and moving his lips as if he was speaking to someone. I look up at him and apologizes. I ask sharply “For what?” and he doesn’t say anything at all. A bit disturbed, I get off at the next stop and walk fast to the other train. I turn around and he’s just standing there talking to someone and I’ve been forgotten. Slightly relieved I sit down in a single seat and pick up my book again. I can hear his raunchous laughter wafting in through the open doors. I start panicking and willing the doors to close, but it’s like the train operator isn’t listening to me.
Finally the doors being to close and I notice Rick’s laughter is still coming through the cracks. He’s safe on the platform while I’m safe inside the train. No one suspicious is sitting near me and I breathe a small sense of relief as I begin reading again.