Tag: Patrick

a music historiography of boyfriends past

Dear Internet,
Sirius/XM 1st Wave was rocking out today with their hour long Halloween mix, which I then was pumping through my stereo and singing along badly. Somehow this pushed me down the rabbit hole to generate a Spotify holiday playlist of (mostly) punk, pop, rap, ska, and other non Michael Buble artists. Tada! So below is 12.5 hours of holiday music to get you in the mood.

When TheExHusband and I returned to the cabin from our errand running this afternoon, and I had finished building the holiday playlist, this seemed like a damn fine time to import 100g (not including new stuff I’ve picked up recently) into iTunes so I can play my own shit at home without necessarily relying on Spotify or Amazon. It’s been so long since I’ve looked into this dark corner of my nas, I was truly clueless to what was hiding in there.
The lack of playing music at home  has nothing to do with not wanting to listen but the relative ease of using Spotify, Pandora, YouTube, and buying mp3s from Amazon/iTunes. Why should I pull up my mp3s of Elbow when I can stream all of their albums in Spotify? Why should I track down a CD when I can buy the digital album via Amazon?
Long live physical media. Physical media is dead.  (Except for vinyl. Shaun Cassidy for the win!)
When I was packing my stuff within the recent years, I found one of my old mix tapes (yes, on cassette), from 1992 or so? I would have been driving at that point (I got my license at 19) and more than likely driving the inherited mumsy’s old Cadillac Cimarron. So about ’92 or ’94ish? One side of the tape was “Manic” and the other was “Depressive.” Aren’t I clever? The tape is packed somewhere amongst the ruins of my material life thus the track listing is escaping me. That is probably the only physical evidence I have of my early music mixing youth.

Making mixed tapes, from cassette to CD to Spotify playlists, is part of my DNA. If I love you, platonically or romantically, you’re getting a mixed tape. I became more active in making said tapes when I made one for TheBassist in ’05:
lisamix
(TheBassist confessed when we started dating last year that over time, as he swapped from computer to computer, he made sure a copy of that mix was always with him and he played it constantly during the last 10 years. You can imagine I was flattered like hell.)
TheEx and I would exchange mix tapes  during the course of our relationship:
jonsmix
For the first holiday with TheEx, I created a holiday mix, which I also gave to people who wanted a copy:
lmmfx

I know I’m definitely not alone in using music to convey my feelings. I once read somewhere those who use music to pontificate their emotions was due to their inability to vocally articulate said feelings themselves. Articulating feelings is not a problem for me as I have nearly 20 years of my life on the internet, but I use music to manage those feelings and it’s freeing. It’s much more satisfying to dance manically in one’s living room to a pounding beat over chewing thoughtfully on a pen after you scribe. Amirite?
Roping back to listening to 1stWave (or any station really), it’s been particularly hard these last few weeks and years. While I’m driving, I often find it difficult to listen to a particular tune without wanting to flip everything off or pound the steering wheel in fury or having tears well up. It’s not necessarily just the recent string of my lovers but how I associate music with people, places, and times.
(It doesn’t help TheEx and TheBassist are the same age so of course I bonded with them on the music of our youths, which is primarily played on 1stWave. The dicks.)

I was just outside. The stars are shining bright and the gods are talking to me through the tree tops again. I thought writing this would exorcise some of the feelings associated with these songs and I think I was wrong. It’s hard when nearly every memory is easily accessible via music and it all feels like yesterday. It’s been nearly 20 years when TheExHusband and I first dated, 10 years since I met TheBassist. Nine years since I met TheEx. Those three were, in various incarnations, my heart for a very long time. And now, now, all of that music is just a burning bright reminder of where I’m at now. I feel like I’ve been handed a big bag of memories and it’s up to me to sort through it all, donate some to charity and keep others. I forget at times they may be going through the same thing themselves, but fuck’em.

For the last ten years, I’ve been banging on about my life is High Fidelity. I am the female Rob, something I had in my dating profile long ago and what wooed TheEx to contact me. The following fourth wall monologue by Rob resonates how I often feel:

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?

This post has been sitting in my drafts for a while I thought it would interesting to pull up the music from my exes and talk about the influence the songs (and them) had on my life. Memories at the push of a button.
TheExHusband (1997-1999, 2008-2014)
TheExHusband and I reconnected earlier in 2008 right after TheEx and I broke up. Seven to eight months later, we planned a get away weekend which we refer to as The Great Bang of 2008. We were glued to each other’s hip for nearly seven years and it’s hard to narrow just a few songs to encapsulate our relationship.
After we got married, I created a wedding mixtape and here is why those songs still resonate with me, about him, today:

Every couple has an “official” song, usually some Michael Buble remix or regurgitated emo bullshit. We have Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros, a band we both gravitated to after hearing them on All Songs Considered. Lyrics can be found here and YouTube is here.

Granted, this is not a typical love song by a long shot but Idiot Wind is off of TheExHusband’s favorite Dylan album, Blood on the Tracks. This album was one we listened to on repeat on one of our second first dates back in 2008 and it is also one of our mutual favorite tracks.

“Intergalactic,” the single off of Hello Nasty by the Beastie Boys, was released in the summer of 1998, right when TheExHusband and I started dating the first time. According to him, I listened to Beastie Boys, Lords of Acid, Sarah Mclachlan, and Afghan Whigs nonstop during that period. Since I was not, for the sake of the story, sober for most of that period, I’ll take his word. In 2009, Justin bequeathed me an art poster based off of “Intergalactic.” I knew based on the first few lines of the song, and the history behind it in regards to us, had to go into the mix. Video is available here.

In the world of pop and rock music, one of the definitive albums that is still seen as the holy grail of influence is the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds. Any kind of music critic, if apparently worth his or her salt, will name check this album in their review at least ONCE, regardless of the song/album/band/genre they are reviewing. Most of my die-hard music friends also name check this album and agreed that yes, one should at least have Pet Sounds in their repertoire. For Christmas 2008, I indeed received Pet Sounds as a present from TheExHusband. “God Only Knows,” in stereo not analog, is included in the mix. Again, with the stupid still photos with musical background only available on YouTube or terribly edited live version, there is only lyrics, which are available here.


“The Sausage” is an obscure track sung by an obscure calypso artist, Baldhead Growler. It’s become an in-joke of sorts, where one of us will randomly start singing this song for no particular reason other than it’s fun and raunchy.
TheBassist (2004-2005, 2014-2015)
When TheBassist and I got back together, he gave me a run down of all the songs he had compiled over the years to express how he felt for me. This seemed like a good time to put together a playlist of songs that resonated and represented how we presently felt about the other.

Interpol’s second album, Antics, had just been released and we were both ga-ga for the band. We quickly proclaimed a particular Interpol song for the other. Mine is Slow Hands about him, his is Obstacle 1 about me. I once had a t-shirt that said, “She can read, she’s bad.”  Both songs come up, still, frequently on alternative stations and it should be no surprise they drag up a lot of feelings.
We thought the ultimate pinnacle of our relationship would be to see Interpol live. We never did go.

This song, by Elbow, is the tale of a female drug addict, but to me the song represents/ed what a twat TheBassist had been when he dumped me back in 2005. It still resonates today.

This song, and another one that is not on the list and is escaping my memory right now, is the best description of how he felt about me during all of those years. The yearning, the love, the everything broke my damned heart when I heard them for the first time.

Doves was/is a band that came along the same time as Elbow (they know each other in Madchester) and this song, which is apparently about nothing, was heavily played when TheBassist and I met the first go-round. It was also included on his 2005 mix tape.
TheEx (2006-2008)

If Interpol was TheBassist’s and I band, Bloc Party was mine and TheEx’s. We traveled often to see shows across Michigan and to Chicago. A Weekend In The City came out a month or two after we started dating and we caught their tour that summer and I still stand by my declaration it is one of the best concerts I have ever been to.
This particular song was chosen because there is a Brighton, MI, a city you pass on  I-96 as you travel to Detroit. We would crank this song up on high as we roared past because we were, more often than not, driving to Brighton for the weekend.

I’m a big fan of shoegaze and apparently I missed out on a lot of American bands who were the forefront of the movement during the early ’90s. The American Analog Set is one such band and this song was on one of the first CDs he made for me.

Snowden is a relatively little known indie band comprising of one guy but who has a backing band when he tours. TheEx got me hooked on him and when I was one of two up for a gig at AMG, I interviewed Snowden as my assignment for my interview. As you may have noticed, I did not get the job.

Another single TheEx put on of his earlier mix tapes. He must have known one day I was going to become a librarian.
Derrick (2004ish)
Derrick was an old co-worker of mine at UUNet, who I found out a few years after I left, had a big crush on me. That crush turned into a romance that didn’t last terribly long (six months or so?), but we parted on good terms. Within the last year or so, Derrick got in touch and mentioned he thought of me fondly and has been slightly kicking himself for letting me go after he was diagnosed with MS. We are super friendly with the other, BFFs on Facebook and all that rot.

Derrick is a huge ska/punk fan and every time I hear this song, I think of him.
Patrick (1996ish-2004ish)

Patrick and I knew each other forever (hence the 1996ish start date) but didn’t really start to date until around 2003 or so. We split for a number of reasons but still remain(ed) friendly. He’s married now. Within the last few years he said something along the lines that while he still loved me, he found it too hard to be friends. I get a happy birthday from him every year and that’s about it.
ExFiance #2 (1999-2002)

ExFiance #2 and I parted on good terms and were friendly for a number of years after the breakup. BUT since he’s been married (and has a family of his own), he’s been talking shit about me across the Internet. Why? I have no reason but I’ve had several of our mutual friends confess that what he was saying didn’t match up with how I actually was. Men.

Relationships may come and go, but I will always have my music. Just press play.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2013, 2001, 2001

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

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.

love, actually

I’ve been living alone for exactly one year and one day. How nuts is that?
Go lisa, get your groove on! It’s your birthday!
I want to fall in love.
I’m ready to fall in love.
I couldn’t think of a good segue into this, but it’s true. I spent a lot of time with my maiden aunts recently, and I really don’t want to end up like them: bitter, desperate, clinging to the past. I want to love and be loved. I want to feel close with someone and feel their closeness. I want to rip apart the facades we put up as we approach people and feel their need for me as such as I need them.
It’s a very scary thought, thinking about allowing myself to be vulnerable — to willingly strip away all the barriers and just let it go. On the same hand, it’s also powerful feeling.
Makes me feel invincible.
I just want to be seriously and insanely in love. I learned a lot of lessons this year living alone. I learned I could do it by myself and I learned I could handle living alone without getting lonely. I learned I could love my friends and keep them close to me and I had great tolerance for my family. I learned how to let go of people who were not good for me.
I also learned that I like to take care of people. This was not something to be ashamed of, as I once thought it to be, but it’s actually a strength. The tricky part is when to know the difference between taking care of someone and mothering them to death: a problem I had with Paul. I think that because Paul was not responsive to return this in kind, I started to regret doing it. That regret became resentment. But when I’m with my mom and I help her, and I worry about her, I realise that I genuinely like doing this for her. She appreciates me, she’s proud of me, and she loves me. This is a step with my mother I never in a million years I thought I would see, but it happened. It did. I’m glad that our relationship is taking such leaps and bounds and that I no longer feel the resentment i used to feel towards her. There is always some strain, but it’s over ridiculously minute shit that it’s not even worth the bother anymore.
The year was spent in a lot of retrospection, a lot of people watching and a lot of getting to know who and what I am. It’s very tough to learn who
and what you are, but one of the biggest lessons I learned this year:
Don’t let the career goals overtake personal goals.
Very important is this one. Ironically (or shamefully enough), I was watching Charmed and one of the minor characters said to Phoebe something about how her generation of women were so focused on being independent and career orientated that they forgot about their personal relationships. Here were all these women in their 40s/50s who had no one to celebrate lifes things with them. I got choked up about that one. Really. No lie. I really don’t want to be like my aunts. Ages 60, 59 and 46. All bitter and desperate. Every single one of them. Two of them had the gall to tell me that I was too old to have babies at the age of 31. Can you believe this shit? Too damn old to have babies. I do want kids, someday. Just not right this second.
Love.
It’s a powerful word. Is there anyone in mind I’m thinking of as I write this? If I say yes, then someone will think I’m going too far, pushing boundaries we never really explored before. If I say no, then I could be lying. So I’ll say maybe. I’m not saying I’m in love with someone NOW, I am saying that if it happens, I won’t push it away, like I have so many times before.
Patrick and I were talking about sex the other night and he asked me, “When was the last time you had great sex?” I replied, “If I was being a bitch, 1992 or 1993.” “Damn,” he said, “That’s cold.” Even though we were on the phone, I nodded almost violently. One part of me felt like it was the truth, the other part of me felt like it was a lie. I HAVE had good sex since then, but, there was something always missing.
Things I didn’t think about then, that I realise now. Parts of me that wish that I could turn back the clock to repair those moments, be more attentive to my ex-lovers, instead of being hateful or mean as I was wont to do. Communicate more to them my own needs instead of expecting them to take charge and know what I want. Many mistakes were made on both sides. I do not put the blame solely on them, however, they do have their faults.
So then this leads me to thinking about sex, and what my sexual needs are. I think a lot of it has to do that I often find myself at odds with how I want to feel as compared to as how I really feel. I don’t have a problem being assertive towards someone, I have a problem when the person EXPECTS it always to be me to lead the way. I don’t have a problem being kinky, I do have a problem when it’s always that way. I don’t have a problem with lack foreplay, but I do have a problem if that is all I want and the person isn’t willing to do even that. I do believe in the tit-for-tat love life: If I go down on you, you return the favour. I just don’t get why so many guys are hung up on simply not returning the favour.
Sensuality, that’s a big. A huge one. In my early twenties, I thought it was all about hard, head banging against the wall kind of sex. Instant gratification now. Damned their needs, mine had to be taken care of first. But then I was so about control during the sexual relationship, my needs never really got met. Orgasms? Hrm. Good question. One person has been able to give me clitoral orgasms other than myself, one other gave me vaginal orgasms. A minute percentage of my lovers, isn’t that sickening? The irony about the one person who gave me vaginal orgasms, is that I didn’t really particularly care for him. We were dating, we were even living together, but it was a bad relationship and bad times. He also had a fetish for getting fucked up the ass with a dildo, so much so, he preferred that to actually having intercourse with me.
But I digress.
I realised I’m not a casual sex kind of person. If I’m going to sleep with you, it has to mean something. It has to denote something. A beginning of something, hopefully not an end. I can’t just sleep with random men to fulfil my needs because part of my needs is that I have to be attracted both physically AND mentally. I’ve said this nine hundred times before: you want to get into my pants, engage my mind. Yet no one listens. This is why I prefer being talked dirty to or having dirty stories read to me in bed rather than seeing porn — I’m not a visual person to get turned on sexually. This is one of the reasons why I’ve always been a big fan of phone sex.
I need all my senses on fire.
I also realised I’m not a dating kind of person. This means, I can’t just casually date someone. I’ve tried that and it doesn’t work. I want to crawl under the skin and get to know them and what makes them tick. That’s the challenge. I need to have their attention on me and my attention on them. It’s fearful isn’t? Almost intimidating, but, this works for me. I need to meet someone and know that if we are “talking” that they are talking to me and no one else. Monogamous from the start. It’s not that I’m jealous or insecure, it’s just that it takes so much damned energy to get to know someone, to spread it out over several someones just seems ridiculous to me.
It’s been said that men are logical creatures, romance goes out the window a lot of the times. In conversations with my brother and his friend tonight seem to mark that as being true. My brother said he never saw me as the getting married type, and while I can see where he is coming from to say that, I feel that he is wrong. I just don’t think I’m the type for a
“conventional” marriage. Not in the white picket fence, 2.5 kids and 3 dogs way. That is not me. Is marriage? Yes, it is.
My dating experiences this year were minute, at best. But they were powerful. I was able to find a lot about what I wanted from these few experiences. Will I jump back in the dating ring again? Not in the tractional sense, no.
I’m braver, stronger and more assured now. Something I could not say a year ago. Not even six months ago. I’m not willing to be with someone for the sake of being someone and I’m not willing to be with someone if they do not feel the same as I do. I’m not willing to risk my life with someone who isn’t willing to risk themselves for me. Because it will never work out.
A lot has changed over the this past year, internally, with me. I was able to face a lot of fears, take risks romantically and pull out when it wasn’t working. I was able to look at someone I loved for 15 years and tell him I was not going to sleep with him even when it was offered. Can you imagine, how incredibly hard and painful that was to do that? But I knew he wasn’t going to fuck me because it was “me,” he was going to fuck me because I was available pussy. I cried and cried and cried. When the end came, and he wanted to do the friendship with benefits routine, I told him on the phone I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be this person who randomly was available for quick and easy sex, because it would be, to me, just meaningless and empty sex.
I hung up on him. Never heard from him again. Never slept with him either. The only saving grace to my ego is that all he has to remember me is one of my internationally known blow jobs, ones that he remembered after all these years. He received two from me recently. Frightening isn’t it when your memory is reduced to a blow job?
Regardless of how that relationship worked out, it was needed, no matter what my friends said. I had to see him and confront him and gamble. I learned by my interaction with him just what kind of woman I was. I liked who I have became, that I was willing to risk it all for love and to walk away with no regrets when I wasn’t the person for him. That will be something I want to teach my children, to take risks. Take that chance. You never know what could happen.
I want to be with someone who is a risk taker, who is willing to gamble. Who isn’t afraid of being with me and knowing that being with me is not something entirely simple. I want someone who has goals, dreams and energy. Who, sexually, isn’t afraid of being sensual/passionate one night and slutty the next.
I always argued that I was a simple person, and I still think that is true. I just think my simplicity is different because I have so many layers. I used to think they were barriers or walls, Throw up so many, become defensive when accosted on something, toss it away and walk away being called a cold-hearted bitch. But, in retrospect, that isn’t true. We are often scared of what we do not understand, and I think much of the bad juju I got from exes is that they could not understand me and or they were frustrated when they thought they could “read me” and it was wrong. Or I did something that was different from previous interaction with me. But that, my dears, is part of my charm.
I do not feel like the bitter old lady that I often portray, I feel brave and hopeful. More hopeful than I had in years. I was able to get rid of a lot of demons this year, ones that I never knew existed and I’m able to be more up front about what I want and what I want.
Yeah.
PS: Masturbation lately has been in overtime. Self-realization has kicked my libido into over gear even more so and it’s driving me bat shit. Marathon masturbation sessions lasting over an hour have been common in this house. I’m telling you, I feel mightily sorry for the next guy I date because he is NOT going to know what has hit him.
x0x0xx

under construction

i apologize if you have been attempting to access this page within the last few days and unable to do so.
bryan, the head cheese who owns this server, has been upgrading the kernel and what not. i completely forgot he was doing so and emailed him a letter bitching. aww well.
things should be back to normal by now. i think.
check out bryan’s page. when he’s not being an obnoxious idiot grin, he is kinda handsome don’tcha think.
bryan and i were an item a few years back. i was in my “need to be controlling because my life is careening out of control” stage and he was in his “slowly getting over being burned by a psycho path” stage. it probably would have lasted if both of us didn’t freak out at our brains always thinking so much.
bryan and I don’t chit-chat much, but last i heard he was going to a shrink to stop analyzing his life so damn much.
i remember the first time had met bryan, back in ’96. I was finished with classes for the summer and was working full time at a video store. i decided i was going to take a week off and careen around Michigan and Ontario. i drove from grand rapids to port huron and then took off to detroit to see my friend patrick. patrick, unix systems guru that he is, was currently in between jobs, so at 1am, he and i took off from Toronto.
gads, we had so much fun. we drove in the middle of the night talking and smoking all the way. it was so poetic. as we drove up the Michigan coastline, we stopped at his fathers grave and at my grandmothers grave before heading across the bridge to Toronto.
wired, laden down with smoke and fueled by diet coke, we drove to bryan’s house in central Toronto.
when i first saw bryan, i thought “damn, what a hunka hunka burning love.” turned out he liked me too. god it was hard. patrick had a crush on me and so did bryan. i didn’t know what the hell to do. patrick was getting over patty his gf and i didn’t think he and i would even be remotely good together and bryan i barely knew.
but the point is, those days were fucking fun as hell. not knowing what i would be doing or where i was going. driving to toronto at a moments notice. calling bryan on the phone because i forgot something. laughing with patrick in the car on the way back. teasing both of them.
friday night, i got an icq message from my friend adam. adam and i go way back for a few years, when i started listening to his radio show on wyce. wyce is a public radio station and everyone there volunteers their time for the programming->disk jockying->whatever needs to be done. adam and sloth have a show every friday night from 12am-6am, which a better part of it was called the razor blade hour. i would stumble in at around 2am drunk as a skunk and sit up with adam for the better part of the night talking and giggling on air.
so adam icq’s me, and I haven’t heard from him in a long time. he tells me he’s doing another rendition of the razor blade hour and that it’s in memory of me. i have nothing else better to do on a friday night but get movies and order pizza, so i pop open real audio and listen for a bit to see if/when adam is on. adam starts yacking and i call the station. adam answers and he sounds happy to hear from me and i tell him i’m coming home for Christmas from December 24th – 30th. We make plans, I icq him my mom’s number and i get off the phone. when adam gets back on the air, he dedicates a song i picked (Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen) to Miss Lisa, his number one groupie, in San Francisco.
And when I hear that, I realize how badly I miss home.
Things have changed since I’ve left, and I realize that. And I know I’ve changed a lot since then as well.
Within the last week, I received an email from my friend Dan in Texas. Now Dan rocks my world (Dan’s comments are either the single > or the non > spaces). See I did his website for him and helped him when things were getting tough between his ex-partner Chris. I told Danny that I would never charge him for what I did nor would I expect payment. But this past Friday, he sent me a check (which I feel is way too much) and he wouldn’t take it back. So Danny, I haven’t emailed you this yet, but, if you feel you need to make a donation to me cos I did your pages, please give it to a charity in my name. :)) Thanks!
So I read the letter and I almost start to cry.
Dan’s right in a way: I have a lot of things NOW that i didn’t have then. namely: brand new spankin’ 98 black Saturn, a job i’ve been with for almost a year, a place where my name is on the lease, and justin.
and maybe to some people, they would say “hey, that’s a lot! you’re doing pretty good” (especially if i can flash my IS title around), but to me, it’s settling. and it hurts.
there is a distance i have wondered
(reaching out, reaching in. holding out, holding in)
fuck, another sarah induced depression.
HELLALUHIA!
You know, for nearly a year, I have fretted, stressed and worried that everything that has gone wrong with my life resolved around the fact that it was because of  jeff.
And the startling realization I made was that it wasn’t about the fucker at all but about me!! I don’t miss what we had, I miss the person I was! I miss that sparky personality i used to have. where i didn’t care and where i lived life as fully as i knew how. it may not have been the best way or the right way, but it was my way.
i’m being slight unfair because i can’t blame him, but i can blame things have changed significantly in me since i’ve moved to California, and the person I was and the person i’ve become don’t mesh. and when someone takes your heart and smashes it to a trillion pieces and then tells you to get over it, you get fucking angry. and i learned, somewhere along the line, it wasn’t okay to get angry. holding in all this crap for nearly a year.
(but um, lisa, your constantly analyzing the situation)
sneeze
True. But read what I say and read that goddamn email. Can you NOT detect the difference between how I speak here and in that stupid fucking letter?
(insert about an hour later)
So i’ve spent some time reading my old letters i’ve written to people in the last few years. And i cried and I smiled and I laughed out loud when I read this:
“And food for thought, king bee, I would have never have emailed you unless you provoked it. If you want no comment from me, then you should have done, what I warned you to do oh so long ago, stay the fuck away. 🙂 Have a nice day!” (This little tidbit came from one of the most articulate emails i feel i’ve written in eons.)
“King Bee.” That just slays me. I started laughing so hard, I couldn’t sniffle from my damn cold.
And suddenly, I feel okay again. Sure, I was getting depressed reading all those old emails, and I miss the old Lisa, but I realized that with that much passion and fire, she was never really gone. She was just hibernating somewhere.
And my arguments with Justin early this evening seemed benign and trite. I went from a complete 180 degree course from wanting to break up with him to wanting to hold him tight and loving him forever.
And I think I will go do that.