55 Minuts Til X-Files (2015 version)

Dear Internet,

In 1997 I was living with a dominatrix in a dump of a house in El Cerrito, California; a ‘burb of San Francisco. With barely any income, I survived by the generous help of others, my wits, and eating one meal a day.

Every Sunday night my roommates and I, plus circular friends, would get together for pizza and X-Files. This was our ritual, without fail, every Sunday for nearly a year. Even when I moved out with one of my roommates to a house in Oakland, we kept the ritual going. But after awhile, as all things seem to wont to do, X-Files and I parted ways. I was still somewhat of a rabid fan but the magic, and the lure of pizza, were almost gone. Pizza was now saved for video game binges and other special occasions.

I’m excited about the upcoming reboot but also a bit sad as I remember the supposed very last X-Files movie in 2008 where they made it pretty fucking clear that they have tied up all the loose ends, thus no more X-Files. The last shot was of Mulder and Scully in a raft, waving good-bye to the camera.

I was reminded by TheExHusband recently, when the news broke the X-Files were not only coming back but most of the original case (including The Lone Gunmen) would also in attendance, about a piece I wrote one evening before that week’s episode was on.

Here is that piece I wrote 18 years ago (!) about that one particular benign Sunday night, starring a rotating cast of characters in my life, before the night’s episode appeared. I’ve cleaned up the piece for grammar and spell checking but for the most part, it’s as it was when it was published all those years ago.

55 Minuts Til X-Files

The pizza has been ordered.
The seats have been staked out.
Simpsons are on and I am killing time.

My stomach still is grumbling from all the coffee I have had today. Maybe it is still regurgitating from the Taco Hell from last night. I have no idea why in the hell I am going to eat pizza. I should eat I suppose, but, for some reason food hasn’t seemed appealing in the last few weeks. Everyone is telling me how good I look. My mens pajama bottoms keep falling down, showing off my cute little underwear from Victoria’s Secret.

I laugh.

****************************************

Every Sunday, at my house, is brunch day. My housemates and their friends all come over and my job, being miz coffee person, is to make coffee. I can cook, but I tell them I can’t. I just make coffee and swap stories with everyone.

Today I attempted to make bacon.
I burned it to a crisp.
I resolved just setting the table and making coffee.

Rob looks over at me and says “Lisa, I didn’t know you were so domestic.”
“Rob,” I say, “Tell anyone and you will die slowly.”
He laughed.

Brunch has become a tradition here. Every Sunday my two roommates and I prepare from having anywhere from 5-10 people show up. We all crowd around our tiny kitchen table and actually eat a home cooked meal. Eggs, bacon, steak, toast, fresh brewed coffee from yours truly. It sure beats all the frozen and fast food we eat on a daily basis.

A few hours later, we all grab movies and watch the afternoon away. Sleaze tests, teasing, arguments, and scalp massages are all part of the routine. Today, due to one of the guests having their kids with them, the movie selection was trimmed down. We all wanted to see Toy Story which I had on tape. Problem was, so were two other movies. Also on one of my tapes was a video declaration from Danny. Only problem was, I couldn’t remember which tape it was on. I called Danny and left a message. He called me back and told me what tape it was on. Grateful it wasn’t on the one we were planning to watch, I told him I would talk to him later and hung up. He called a few minutes later and said “When you have a few minutes, tape after The Lion King. I don’t want you to see what I said.” Slightly amused, I said okay and hung up.

We ended up watching Trainspotting instead.

****************************************

This is what has been most amusing to me. Danny and I dated on and off for nearly year and a half. We lived together. We were together when my grandfather died and when everything else came tumbling down around me. But for some reason, I can’t conjure up anything but memories of him, and even those, are blanking out. I can’t say I even loved him. I used to think so, but, I can see I never really did. And my “coldness” for him, so apparent, when, not so long ago, when I had resolved that I would never treat him like I had, is something I can’t help.

The person Danny is, is no way related to who I am. It never was. My assertiveness, my aggressiveness, my lust for life, never matched his. He would have been happy living in Grand Rapids for the rest of his life, while I wanted to see the world. If my plans of marrying him, would have been carried out, I would have either cheated on him OR committed suicide within a year. How stifling that was. How limiting. He said, “You’re so special. You have no idea how special you are.” I laughed. I knew how special I was. I did’t need anyone to validate it. I have no remorse for being cold to him, then and now. I used to, but guilt, for being who you are, trying to fix something that isn’t really there, is not me. I no longer think about it. He asked me once, a few weeks ago, how would I feel if he moved and didn’t tell me.

I didn’t answer. I simply didn’t care.

****************************************

35 minutes till X-Files

****************************************

Yesterday, my friend Michael took his wife Beth and I down to the Lick Observatory in San Jose and to the Rosicrucian Temple as well. For over 20 miles we traveled up Mt. Hamilton, talking about various and sundry things, while I looked out the back window and dreamed. How beautiful the area was. How so, un-plastic it seemed from everywhere else I have been in California. It looked so New Englandish, with the leaves changing colors and the air crisp and strong. I wandered around the observatory and wished it wasn’t so foggy.

But I could still see into forever.

****************************************

At the Rosicrucian Temple, I felt so at home. My love for the Templars gave me appreciation for this. Michael and I sat in a little area that had a fountain spilling water into a pool. We talked about various and sundry things. The changes in my life. My flying out to Pennsylvania to see Jeff. Michael’s marriage with Beth. My writing. Michael’s music. I opened up my backpack and took out my wallet. I dug out a penny and pitched it in, and made a wish. Not to be outdone, Michael pitched in a quarter. Not to be outdone, I dumped all my change out (about $5 dollars worth) and pitched it in with glee. I laughed out loud and spun around.

Michael and I walked around the Temple, wishing we could get into the Egyptian Museum, but sadly it was closed. As we stroked the papyrus (Direct from Egypt!) plant (“Looks phallic,” I said) we walked past the fountain again. I stopped short, and ripped off both rings given to me by two different lovers, Michael (a different Michael) and Danny. I tossed them into the water with nary a thought and kept on walking. I suddenly felt more free than ever before. I didn’t feel binded to anything. I didn’t feel as though I was making the past complete. I did not have to apologize to anyone. I didn’t have to make excuses for what I did. I could rid of it all.

I had told Jeff that, today, I was going to do the symbolic thing and burn EVERYTHING ever given to me by an ex-lover. Letters, clothing, stuffed animals, books, video tapes. Thinking of the hug bonfire this could produced, I have resolved just to do letters and stuffed animals. Now it grows late in the day.

X-files will be on in 17 minutes.
After that, I will be watching Leaving Las Vegas.

Hopefully tonight, under the moon, I will dance my ass off and burn it all baby. Just burn it all. What I wanted to do last New Year’s Eve…

Someone just knocked on the door.
Pizza Hut is here.
Time to go.
Till next time.

****************************************

xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2012, 2012, 2003, 2000

Howard Roarke Laughed. Again.

Netherlandish (possibly Jacob Cornelisz. van Oostsanen), circa 1500. Via Wikipedia Commons.
Laughing Fool. Netherlandish (possibly Jacob Cornelisz. van Oostsanen), circa 1500.
Via Wikipedia Commons.

Dear Internet,

The one major hiccup while working on getting my archives back online is I read almost all  of what I put up to check for errors, broken links, broken images and the like which makes the process longer. In the beginning of this project, I was also checking for grammar, but I decided to leave the earlier work alone in its pure form. (AKA, I’m lazy.)

Some years are terrible to read, like 2003, in which I was an emotional wreck of doom and other years are just nostalgic of, “Oh. I did/read/eat/fucked that?” Sometimes I’m not so bright, and others, I am goddamn fucking brilliant.

What always trips me up the most when working on this project is the relationships that died either in a fiery passion of destruction or the ones that could have been, but never kicked off for whatever reason. I get to relive each train wreck, line by line, in slow, agonizing detail.

A few weeks ago while doing some public clean up on various social sites, I came across messages for me from an ex, TheBassist, which were left on his blogs over the course of several years.  One was from 2011 and the other from earlier this year. Finding his messages was happenstance and at first, I could not place who they were from, but then once I saw the message itself I knew exactly who it was. I checked his main blog and saw the 2011 post in which he had apparently stalked me on Facebook but didn’t attempt to contact me.

Not quite sure what I’m supposed to do with this information for:

  1. He splintered my heart the first time that when he came sniffing around the second time,  about six months after our first tussle, I showed him my partially fixed heart which he took a sledgehammer to. Again.
  2. While the connection between us when we were together was insane, he routinely lied to me on just about everything
  3. I could never trust him again, even in a platonic manner

So if he’s wondering if I read them, yes. Yes, I did.

As I skip through most of the naughts, some exes keep coming up over and over. Miguel, who in 2011 decided to Facebook me to find out where I was so we could get married. And if you all recall, I already am married. Happily. What transpired out of that conversation of nearly 20 years of missed connections and opportunities, was finding out he was ALREADY living with a woman who happened to be nearly half his age. So yes, he was attempting to marry his high school sweetheart (who is married to someone else) while still living with his sweetheart who just out of  high school as this is how this man rolls.

A bullet dodged.

I’ve started dipping into some time periods when Patrick and I were together, which if I had not married TheHusband, and the stars were aligned and unicorn blood had not been spilt, he and I might have ended up Mr. and Mrs. Patrick related to me a few years ago the thought process of if he had gotten his emotional shit together, at the time my emotional shit was together, I would be Mrs. Patrick on this day. Instead, he’s now married in Texas and has a step-daughter whom he adores. No animosity between us, we were never one of those couples, but the best recourse for our sanity is to just remain distant friends instead of the half dreaming of what could have beens. Our over protection of the other, truthfully him more so than me, coupled with our long, long interwoven past makes it difficult not to be forever linked.

TheEx occupied most of my thoughts from 2006 – 08, and makes appearances in my brain every six months or so now, basically in the realm of, “Am I still angry enough to want to rip his nuts out and shove them down his throat? Y/N?”. Just as working through the time in 2003 when Miguel and I were plotting to save the world is painful to read, so is the content I’m recovering about TheEx is painful. What’s up right now is just glimpses of what I have, and that pain is as fresh as if you have poured salt on an open wound.

Recently I was hanging out in 1999, where TheHusband and Jeff (known as Lucid) are prominently figured. I mention that,

Of course as I started writing this, I had to google stalk him. Well, let’s not be surprised he has a Twitter account and I made frowny faces as I read back his timeline because – this is not someone I would have ever dated in a million years.  But it should be noted his first wife had emailed me oh five or six years ago because apparently he spent most of his first marriage comparing her to me and wife #2 looks suspiciously like me circa when we were dating.

After the entry that quote came from had been published, I started thinking about what Jeff would have thought of if he did the same (and let us presume at some point he had Google stalked me) – would he have thought he dodged a bullet with me? Would have have thought I had grown and evolved, or was I just peddling the same shit, just a different decade?

Tough, but much needed, questions to ask as I often wonder the same of myself. I think most who know me, and know me well, would have argued that I have moved and expanded my worldview in the last 20 years. That was one of the first things TheHusband remarked on as we started dating again – I maintained all the good things about my youth and seemingly smoothed out all the trouble spots. As I was saying to someone recently, this public naval gazing of the soul is becoming antiquated. I espouse so much, and at the same time so little, I am not entirely sure how to answer my own question.

Here is what I do know: Being here in this space, either alone or with you, has filled me with great joy this last month. There was a long time when I never thought I would write even privately again, and to know that I can do this still gives me so much.

Today is December 2, which means I’ve written AND posted an entry every day for the entire month of November. Crazy. I seriously can’t believe I have pulled that off! Will I continue doing it? Yes. I’m in a groove now and it seems as unusual now to not write something and post it to the world.

Let’s talk stats!

  • November total posts: 31 (Two posts on November 27)
  • November total word count: 28,036
  • November longest entry: I have a vagina, watch me use a computer (1987)
  • November shortest entry: scary house with the wild front yard (175)
  • Site total posts: 611 (including this one)
  • Site total word count: 412,066 (not including this one)

Taking into consideration how much isn’t up yet, whole years missing, there is a very real chance I’ll hit a million words once the archive project is completed.

Astonishing.

x0x0,
Lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2010, 1998

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