Lisamas – A Most Unreliable Narrator

Towel Birthday: Now I am 42

Dear Internet,
Today is my birthday, which is both a bizarre and wonderful thing.
42!
Fjörutíu og tvær.
Pedwar deg dau.
Daichead a dó.¹

FORTY TWO.

(It apparently does not get any better when not said in English.)
If this was 1514, I’d probably most assuredly be dead, probably from childbirth. And probably would have owned no property of my own. Or been educated Or would have been considered a full fledged human. But hey!
It’s not 1514.
It really is the little things. Like clean water, soap, and science.
Where was I?
I’ve been thinking about how to document this year and since it happens to be Throwback Thursday (#tbt), a trip down Lisa memory lane seems like a good idea. Below is a sample of the pictures I started curating a few years ago to document how I aged. You can see the rest over at Flickr.

1972. I’m the one in the middle with my maternal grandparents and my two older cousins. They were 4 and 2, and I was 4 months old or so.

Christmas, 1975. I would be about 3.5.

Spring 1979 right after Jeff, my brother, was born. Yes. I am a little Catholic school girl with ribbons in her pigtails.

Sometime in 1989. The eyes? Violet contacts that I rocked for about a year or two. The lipstick? Frosted. I tended to rock punk rock hair and preppy clothes — a style that has not changed two decades later.

1998. Pictures, taken with a B&W webcam, of me and TheHusband from 1998. The images were tiny enough that I just put them together in a single image. Our secret to staying so young? Virgin’s blood – duh.

2005. Taken before my undergrad graduation, but right after one of the most expensive hair cuts/colors I ever paid — about $350 dollars. My hair was bad ass.

2014. Taken last week.
And remember: 42 is the new 28.
xoxo,
Lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2012, 1999

1. “Forty two” in Icelandic, Welsh, and Irish.

A Husband’s Lament To His WIfe On Her Birthday

[Ed. It is tradition that TheHusband and I exchange prose or some kind of creative work on various holidays. This is his contribution for my birthday this year.]
Oh Pookie Bear! As your trusty squire, shall I regale you with adulation of your bravery, your honor and your conquests of wanton maidens?
Nay?
Shall I exalt your victories to the filthy commoners? Perhaps the tale of how you tamed the Nemean Lion, convincing it to perch upon your head for eternity, its mane becoming your mane! Or, your legendary slaying of the Hydra Aunt. Luring it out of the swamp with the promise of Thanksgiving leftovers and nickel slots. Only to charge it on your trusty steed Pugacles, lopping both heads off with your sword and bathing in the sanguine maelstrom of victory!
No?
That isn’t doing if for you?
Shall I sing the bardic anthems elucidating your great beauty? The Song of the Resplendent Cheekiepoo is always a favorite among the grunge infested plebian mobs. Or, perhaps, one of favorites from the Primevalvision Song Contest? How did that Yotvingian tune go?

Something
I have to tell you something
It’s been on my mind so long

Then he mentions something about the greaves he is wearing today, oned call love and the other called Hispania? It never made any sense to me; but you sure seemed to enjoy it.
Absolutely Not?
Must you be so curt?
Shall I order up a doxy with a socially acceptable level of feculence to rub your weary shoulders? To massage your mystery lump? Your lone vulnerable ounce of flesh. Covered by a leaf just before you were bathed in dragon’s blood as an infant. No one knows about it but, I, your trusty squire, and, uh maybe the strumpet I’d hire as a masseuse.
Go to hell and die?
Really? That type of language is unbecoming of one so noble, one so fabled, one so grand, so….
Leave you the fuck alone? May I ask why?
Cat gifs.

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2012, 1999

38::39

To celebrate my turning 29 for the 11th time, we held a small party here at Throbbing Manor last Saturday in which I invited close friends and new neighbors. The turn out was good, last person was kicked out shortly before 4 AM, we ate party left overs for days and I did not, unfortunately, wake up in my own puke as I have been known to do before.
TheHusband, who is not so much socially awkward but that he hates people, wanted “TheHusband time” on Sunday, the actual day of my birth, to balance out all the socializing he did the night before. With TheHusband off doing whatever it is he does when he’s alone (namely, reading the interwebs, listen to podcasts and watching sports), I figured it was a good time to start unpacking boxes of books and journals for my office that I had not seen in years. Our living room bookcases finally arrived a few days before and in the process of unpacking and organizing those, I discovered more stuff for my office and I knew, likewise, that more items would be in the boxes marked the office that belong downstairs.
[In contrast to the recently arrived living room bookcases, my office bookcases have been here for months and I’ve not done a thing with them. Boxes in the guest room have been silently waiting for me to unpack them. The glare of the unpacked boxes is much like the glare of the pug when she thinks you’re up to no good.]
officebookcases-small For the better part of that Sunday afternoon, I spent time reading old journals dating back to my teens and 20s. Some entries were difficult because it was clear I thought of myself as being this sophisticated teenager when I was obviously so wholly naive. Other pieces were just sad in that back of hand to the forehead type of way and others were painful just for the memories they stirred. In addition, I also ended up reading some of the short stories I wrote through high school and it seemed that a lot of them ended the same way: someone dies a violent death. It’s pretty clear some things never change.
As I was reading, sorting and unboxing, I thought of these papers in several ways:

As an archivist and with that in mind, how future generations are going to look at my work and attempt to figure out chronological order and such. Also how to preserve these materials in their current state AND move them digitally? Seventeen year old Lisa did not think to buy everything on acid-free paper. Seventeen year old Lisa was also hugely romantic.
Collection fodder for story telling and telling of stories. I’ve long known I have had a habit of writing down bits and bobs on scraps of paper, which I’ve now collected into a folder with hopes to turn them into something solid instead of just collecting random bits of paper.

Re-reading these old tomes of mine sent me into two equal, but separate, trains of thoughts: I have accomplished much, have had experience and seen much of the world that most do not. Go team Lisa! On the flip side: Jesus Christ, I’ve pissed away a lot of opportunities, I’m soon to be officially old and there is still so much work to be done. Will I be able to get it all completed? Recently, my lovely friend John wrote an interesting spec on his own life plans and the fluidity of his life plans (from game Reindeer to game Caribou) as things in his own life have changed. This got me thinking about my own life and how I plan for the short term, not the long term. I have game ThinkAboutItTomorrow! TheHusband gets on me about this quite a bit whenever we talk about moving to Europe. He points out that if we go abroad every year, as I want to do, our chances of getting a home across the pond will either take longer or cost us more. Logic does not bode well with my own reasoning. I’m about instant gratification, I could be dead next year from a car accident and where will my savings get me then?
Since we’ve moved into Throbbing Manor, I’ve been having this minor existential crisis, of sorts, on a near weekly basis. But after reading John’s post, I began to wonder: If I spent more time living and less time wondering about this life I think I am supposed to be living, how different would my life really be?
Interesting thought.

Birthday Cards

There are no limits to to put on the cards. Use your immagination! (says she who is immitating spongebob squarepants right now)
Make it anything you want, what you think i like or what you like. Use any kind of media. It’s your art.
Dont’ sweat getting it to me in time for my birthday. I’m a slacker, let us not forget 🙂
I’m just putting my address here. Just send them along. If you have any questions, do let me know
2730 Woodlake Road SW
#4
Wyoming, MI 49509

i dream of you

do i look like a cartoon freak to you?
no?
didn’t think so.
so imagine my surprise (and delight) when i got hooked on Strangers in Paradise.
One of the first emails that Mike sent me, he recommended that I read SIP, and when I first looked at it via Amazon.com site, I thought “comics? ugh no.”
Then Mike and I started recommending movies* and books to each other and he kept bugging me to read SIP. And so, I ordered it Friday from Amazon and it got delivered today.
I sat at my desk and read the whole book within an hour.
“It’s comics for people who don’t like comics” — it just fucking rocks! I ADORE the characters — and I feel like such a mix between Katchoo and Francie. I’m defiently Francie’s body type with Katchoo’s attitude. I was SOOO all over the official site like white on rice. I just spent 25 bucks ordering back issues to start catching up. I fell in love with the characters and was simply amazed at how much like both Katchoo and Francine I was. On the website, Terry Moore (the artist) put up their specs and even my measurements match Francine’s. My personality is more like Katchoo’s though — long ugly past including my own trip into hell with the mafia. (True story. One I will NOT repeat.)
Upon reflection, I was surprised to realize how much of me was given back to me. Really. There is this scene where Francie’s old bf Chuck is talking to Freddie (another one of her exes) and Chuck’s description of Francie described me to a damn T. I got so enamored, I down loaded the desktop theme and made it mine.
The more I searched, the more I found I was glad to have found that the series was NOT discontinued (it always works that way doesn’t it? You find something you really like and then it’s gone!).
So I sent Mike a SIPCard and spent money on the back issues. I’m so there on buying them every month. The really cool part is that Mike is going to a comic con in Chicago in July. Terry Moore is going to be there. Mike is going to try and get something signed for me. I feel so damn cool! I know famous people! 🙂 WOOO!!
Someone mentioned i’ve been in a fairly good mood these last four weeks or so — and I tell you, reflecting back on it, I realize that most of it has to do with talking to mike. really. mike and i talk all damn day at work and when we get home from work. your looking at easily 8-10 hours PER DAY. And i’m not sick of him yet. I asked him if he was sick of me, and he said “Yeah, sure. :)”. Men, I tell you 🙂
okay, the one thing that is trepidatious out ‘us’ (whatever the fuck you call us) is that he’s frightened somewhat by my website. well, not frightened per se, but just that he’s a private person and well — i’m not. 🙂 (Gee Lisa, who would have thunk that!). In a lot of aspects, I am really very private. Again, I must say that what you see here is not all of me, put a part of me. A lot of things I’ve communicated to Mike (and others) would never make it to this website. Why? Because my whole life is not up for show and tell — it’s that simple. But I can’t help talking about Mike. He’s just so damn keen. You know, he’s the first person who really asks the right questions in god knows how long? And he’s funny. And he’s cute. And he’s tall. And he’s creative. And he’s Mike. 🙂 I like Mike. 🙂
Ohh! wanna see something cool?
Unflattering — but — 🙂
imhotep.
darthmaul.
mike.
(chant one chant all!)
As many of you who know me in a day to day basis, i’ve become obsessed with Darth Maul. first it started with the 8″ figurine that i ordered from the Mos Espay “store” on star wars official website. Then I bought the poster. Then I found darth maul legos. Then Cat bought me Darth Maul body wash and a clock for my birthday. Then I bought another poster. Will the madness ever end?!?!
Probably not. The sad truth is that Ray Park, the actor who plays him, is only 5’6″!!!!!!!
and BLONDE! to boot.
SOB
Life sucks sometimes, I tell ya.
new do
Since December, I’ve been slowly cutting my hair shorter. a few weeks back, I went to a high falutin salon that my friend Roxy suggested and had Mark Anthony (no joke, that is his name. there is a joke in there but i’m not going touch it) do my hair. I arrived on time and ended up waiting for over a 1/2 hour for his highness, i mean hairdresser, to get to me. after he pulled and looked and chopped, i was done. the funny thing was though, is that he put in like 10 different hair care products in my hair. he blew dry my hair into this big hair helmet and i felt like i had stuck my fingers in the light socket. i shelled out close to $40 bucks for said hair care products and left. I looked in the mirror and felt like i should have been wearing blue eye shadow, pink lipstick and become Ms. Texas. When Rob, Roxy’s bf, showed up the next day, he proclaimed me to be gorgeous and said that when Roxy comes home, she ALWAYS has to re-wash and re-do her hair. And Roxy is beautiful.
but my hair is my hair. it’s thick, it’s wavy. it’s colorized. it sucks when long and it’s sucking when cut certain lengths. so i decided to say “fuck it” and went shorter. i called up SuperCuts in Rockridge and went this past Sunday afternoon to have my hair cut again. it was funny, sitting there having this little Asian woman cutting so effortlessly at my hair — thinking about Mark Anthony’s work going down the tube (if you would have seen how he sat there scrutinizing my hair like it was art — you’d get that). But the end result was much shorter hair. It didn’t dawn on me till I was looking at myself in the mirror glass that is on the first floor of my office that i looked — BUTCHY! I screamed, I cried, I cursed my impulsiveness. i went in and pouted to mike. he asked for his daily picture — i said no. and he pouted and i caved in. and he called me gorgeous. i was like “shush your mouth boy. you’ve been smoking too much crack.” he said “no really, your cute but this is the best pic of you yet.” i was like “What!?!? my hair is fucked up and i have no makeup on.” He said he didn’t matter. I started blushing wildly. The bastard. 🙂 They can be so insensitive.
so, check out the picture to your left. that’s my new do. i’ll be coloring it this weekend. again. haven’t decided on WHAT color as of yet. probably dark brown or red again. we’ll see. i’m awfully pale. next thing you know i’ll be pissing black and farting bats.
oh la mour
i actually have a lot on my mind other than seemingly superficial stuff. justin. well, justin is sleeping on the floor now. finally made the move to prepare him for when i do actually leave this joint. i didn’t mind it at first with us sleeping in the same bed together after we broke up — but after awhile it started becoming more uncomfortable. there were a few instances where his hands went where they shouldn’t — but he’s in love with me and i felt bad. guilt almost. but it’s defiently not what i wanted.
it takes a lot to push me to do something sometimes. like the length of time it took me to break it off with him (again — i reiterate — he knew since October i wasn’t in love with him) — and going back to school — and moving — and work.
i’m trying really hard to struggle beneath everything.
the other night at my quasi-birthday party, everyone wondered why justin was there. well i invited him and he showed up cos it was my birthday. but that didn’t stop me from having fun. i’m single goddamnit. i can do whatever the fuck i want. there are no rings on these fingers. but i got teased and ragged on for the simple fact that:
a.) we live together still
b.) we sleep in the same bed
And the more I thought about it — how it LOOKED to actual reality and i haven’t been single in years. i want time for fun. and i like other people (well — one person in particular). i didn’t need this shit from my friends. 🙂 Well, they mean well. The whole bit about when I am going to start dating again — but it’s funny — people yell at you to get out of a bad situation and then rag on you for being single. You can’t win.
i’m doing the best i can considering the circumstances i’m in right now. so back off, please 🙂
(this is a much nicer note then what i had in my head the other day — but heck, whatever works.)
past comes back to haunt you
i got really drunk on saturday night. i don’t remember much, but this is what i do remember:

flitting around with a purple feather boa wrapped around my neck (must have been thinking of greg dulli — mmmm).
Biting and being bitten.
being the kissing bandit.
doing tequila shots with TJ.
Jason likes having his hair pulled.
Scott likes me to verbally abuse him.
i look damn good in black.
propositioning john.

the rest they say, is history.
x0x0x0x0x,
SIPGirl
*Movies I recommend:
Dream For An Insomniac
Clay Pigeons
Buffalo ’66
Opposite of Sex
Pecker

Happy Birthday To Me

Seems pretty self-explanatory to me.
Strangers in Paradise
I can either write a really happy “OH GOD IT’S LISA-MAS DAY” type of chronicle or I can be utterly depressing.
Let’s do both.
I haven’t been feeling too hot as of late. Other than the usual melee of crap running around in my head, there really isn’t nothing that is driving me nuts but maybe the onslaught of my birthday. Everything is coming up Lisa recently but, the problem is that I cannot stop obsessing about the fact that I am getting older. It’s a part of life and i have accepted it as such. as i told Chuck last night on AIM, I’ll always feel 17 in my head. He said he felt 22. It works out perfect.
Anyway, last night I got home and there was a package from my mother in the mail. I was surprised actually that she sent me something because lately I’ve been thinking that I wouldn’t receive even a phone call from her or my dad. So Cat, Justin and I were talking when I opened up the package. Inside I found the following items:

The deed to the house on Paris St that my mother bought for 70k in 1990. The house is being sold as part of her bankruptcy.
Original marriage license dated July 2, 1971 for Marietta K. Preiss and Edison K. Rabey
Immigration and naturalization papers for one Lisa M. Rabey dated February 14, 1973.
Photocopy for a “Complaint of Divorce” between one Marietta K. Rabey and Edison K. Rabey dated January 22, 1974.
Original copy of above.
Certificate of baptism for one Lisa M. Rabey dated July 7th, 1973.
Birth Certificate for one Edison K. Rabey, born May 22, 1927 in Gaspe Bay North, Quebec Canada to Thomas M. Rabey and Sarah McFee.
Certificate of my first communion dated May 4th, 1980.
Certificate of my confirmation dated April 13th, 1986.
One “child identification card” for Lisa M. Rabey, dated 4.12.86. I stood 5’10 and 160lbs.
Copy of baptismal certificate.
“Deans List” honor award, dated May 1, 1988 while i was in high school.Mixed along that list was a cartoon my mom sent me (any cartoon she finds that seemingly is high tech or applicable to me, she sends to me) and a letter. Her beautiful handwriting on pink paper.

i read the letter to cat and justin. parts that i couldn’t read, i handed to cat to decipher for us. i joked that in high school her handwriting made it damn hard to copy for “excused absences” when i was off skipping. her letter pretty much said the same thing her letters have been saying as of late. she’s broke. she needs money. an itinerary of her complaints. cat almost cried when i put the letter down. we couldn’t figure out as a collective why she would send me the above stuff and that letter. dated June 2, 1999. arrived June 11, 1999. she didn’t even acknowledge or wished me a happy birthday.
there are about three people in the world that i’m in contact with who know of me from when I was living in Michigan: Sherry, Shelly, Jenni and Danny. Since I communicate with Jenni, Danny and Shelly on-line now, they know (or rather verify) that my mother is nucking futs. or fucking nuts. I emailed Shelly last night right before I watched Swingers with cat and justin.

We’re gonna spend half the night driving around the Hills looking for one party and then leaving ’cause it sucks, then we’re gonna look for this other party you heard about. But, Trent, all the parties and bars, they all suck. I spend half the night trying to talk to some girl who’s eyes are darting around to see if there’s someone more important she should be talking to. And it’s like I’m supposed to be happy ’cause she’s wearing a backpack? Half of them are nasty skanks who wouldn’t be shit if they weren’t surrounded by a bunch of drunken horny assholes. I’m not gonna be one of those assholes. I want to throw up. Some fuckin’ skank who is half the woman my girlfriend is is gonna front me? It makes me want to fuckin’ puke!

vinegette
yesterday was d-day at work. i had to have Y2K crap ready to go for FirstWorld and since all the idiots didn’t get it on time, I didn’t have it finished. And my own stuff wasn’t finished. I was running around like a chicken with her head cut off pulling systems apart. one of the jacks was dead and i couldn’t repatch it via the hub. two computers died on me. otto ripped apart four machines and dumped them in my cubicle to get finished. i said fuck it and left at 8pm. i’ll deal with the shit on Sunday.

Mike has been pushing me to write my book. i started getting all defensive about it and said something really nasty about his cartoons. i couldn’t believe i said it. after i said it, i opened mouth and inserted foot. i kept apologizing up and down to him and i still felt aghast at what i had said. and he said, “yeah i understand, it’s only my lifes work.” all i kept thinking about last night when i got home from work was how awful i felt for saying it. so in conversation last night, he asks me if i had purchased Strangers in Paradise yet. I said no. So I hurried off to amazon.com and bought it. i think it’s important to him that i ‘get’ why he loves cartoons (yeah he’s a kick ass artist. i got two Mikey comix for my birthday signed. i suddenly became cool in my office for his rendition of me looking at flowers).
I’ve never gotten into comix because, well, i dunno. just never thought about it before. in turn, he asked me to recommend a book to him for him to read. we went through a few possibilities and i hit the nail on the head with Heinlein. Since my turn on to Heinlein was by Jeff who thought I would dig it, I suggested Time Enough For Love as a good intro to his work. Mike agreed it seemed good, so as a surprise I ordered it for him. Hey, i’ve been feeling down the last few days and shop when i’m depressed. Thus explains the two new CDs, darth maul poster and other crap I’ve bought on-line. I didn’t think anything about it. So when I told him what I had done, he said he felt uncomfortable with it. I understood that and cancelled the order. Mike even mentioned it in his journal.
even though I understood it, i felt worse. I had insulted him twice. i wasn’t doing anything right, it felt like. it wasn’t me talking, it was the depression i was feeling.
mike kept turning the conversation around and we started talking about my book.
i sent him the two possible starter chapters i had worked on a year ago and he liked them.
now all i have to do is write it, he says. he wants me to send chapter by chapter as i go along. giving objective opinion.
jaffo said to be prepared to say “fuck you” to anyone who says anything to me about writing.
he’s on page 200 and something into his novel.
he’s my hero.

internet luv
From a TLC reader:

“you know, it’s weird you should write about ICQ random searches… Nov. of 97,
Crystal did a random search, found me… I lived in FL, she in MO, to make a
long story short (as I figured that’s the kind you’d like, if you like them at
all 🙂 ) I came up to MO to visit my grandfather the day after Christmas of
97, met Crystal on the 28th, we were engaged on Jan 1st 98, I moved here Jan.
12, 98, and we’re getting married two weeks from today…
BTW… happy birthday :)”

it’s 5:11pm and it’s my birthday. it seemed the more i sat here writing the more depressed i got. i went and did a few shots of liquid courage (ie: Skyy Vodka) and i feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I need to shake myself out of this.
Sonya just called and said that i had to bring girls over for the party tonight as only a few females are confirmed for showing up. All my female friends that I have invited couldn’t make it. I said “who cares” — let me make an ass out of myself tonight. It’s my fscking birthday!
I want to thank everyone for the flowers, books, cd’s, chocolates, cards and other goodies that I have gotten for my birthday. Every present was as unique as the person who sent them. You guys rock. I love you all.
x0x0x0x0x0x0x,
Lisa