(TW: rape, sexual abuse, sexual harassment)

Dear Internet,

I know! Two daily entries right next to each other. What in the fuck is the world coming to?

This morning on Facebook I said:

In the “2AM Bad Decision Hour” a few nights ago, I enabled my OKCupid account which consists of a few questions and a pic. That’s it. No lengthy intros, outros, what have you. In less than an hour, my profile had been liked over 20 times and I had 5 generic “hey baby” messages in my account. I immediately disabled the account and look forward to ten glorious months of being date-less. So while Hume is on point with inductive reasoning, I can say with the utmost sincerity and respect he’s never been on a dating site where without a shadow of a doubt there will be some twat who thinks sending dick pics is a good introduction idea.

Alright then.

I’ve come to some reasons, with personal introspection natch, why my romantic relationships tend to have my lover dump me rather than the other way around. In fact, of all the adulting relationships I’ve had since I was 19, I’ve only dumped one person — every one else dumped me (and came back with the “You’re the love of my life!” routine). This is not to say I went out with everyone who was interested in me or I was throwing myself into promiscuous behaviour at every chance I got (which goes against the typical hyper sexuality of the bipolar) but I did shoot down those I wasn’t in the mood for and typically cut the dumpers out of my life pretty quick. (Which is why they always come back, right? People typically want what they can’t have. Then I want them to want them just as bad and the cycle repeats itself.)

Between not having a father figure or any positive male role model in my life (my father left when I was 5 months old), traumatic experiences with sex (I’ve been date raped at least twice, attempted gang rape once, and of course the ongoing sexual harassment), I see nearly every man as a threat to my personhood. And I see nearly every man as a thing and not a person — my mother’s mantra was, “Don’t let a man run your life.” Which is WHY when I lose control in the relationship, which pushes the person to dump me (usually), I cut them hard out of my life. Because not all men ™.

My Connecticut therapist noted my sexual behaviour is to be the one in control (I fuck like a stereotyped man — I always make the first moves in relationships or I always initiate sex in those relationships). By being in control, I can direct where it’s going and how it will work without having the conscious effort of someone else being in control or letting them see my vulnerability (which explains why I always need to be the dominate one — which unsurprisingly frightens some of my past lovers. On the flip side, I crave to be dominated by a man and have rarely met one who can dominate me. I have a strong will.).

As long as I can be the best fuck they’ve ever had, they won’t leave. Right? (And my assertive and aggressiveness is why I hear over and over again through the ages I WAS their best fuck. Yay me?)

Literally the moment she said this, a huge weight came off my shoulders and I could enjoy sex without treating it as a means to and end and be my assertive self without the weight of the bullshit. (Women can’t like sex, be aggressive, or want to get fucked 10 ways to Sunday so to like sex was a BAD THING, amirite?)

When I was 15 or 16, my mother pushed me to ask my father as to why he, allegedly, sexually abused me. As one might assume, he was incredulous. For most of my adult life I’ve carried around this thought there was “something” happened but exactly what was never clear. Either something did not happen and my mother merely planted the seed or something did happen with someone and I’ll never know who.

One night, a few years ago, a revelation hit me. Why would my mother push me to ask my father about this particular topic? And if he HAD sexually molested me, and she knew what was going on, why was she continuing to send me to see him every summer? What kind of mother does that to their child? (And if you ever wondered why I’ve divorced my mother four or five years ago, this was the topping on the proverbial cake. )

There’s a lot under the hood in regards to my romantic and sexual life. A lot coming to the surface after years of not discussing it and ignoring it. Thus if I want to have a healthy relationship in the future, discussing it NOW in this place will allow me to forgive what has happened, forgive myself, and finally move the fuck on with my life.

(As an aside: I have no memory of my childhood up until the age of 13. Seriously. I have bits and pieces of “things” like learning how to ride a bike or kissing Jeff what’s his name against a tree when we were 7 but other than that? Not a goddamned thing. This contributes why I loathe people with normalesque families and my desperation to have one of my own verses shunning all blood familia.)

Another behaviour I’m aware of is the tattooing and remaining fat keeps (supposedly) potential suitors at bay as societal norms dictate a fat, tattooed woman cannot find love or sex. A weeding technique for potential future lovers is if your perceived notion of me is I’m a “prison bitch” with all 17 of my tattoos, then I don’t want to date you and I can block you out of my life. If you can see beyond the fat and think I’m beautiful, then you’re someone I want to be with. Being fat and tattooed keeps me safe or so I’ve trained myself to believe. (But obviously it hasn’t or else I wouldn’t be confessing all of this to you.)

This is the antecedent to my reality: I’m called beautiful/pretty/attractive or whatever by scores of different people on a regular basis. Despite the fat, I’m told I have an awesome bod and men want to fuck me, also on a regular basis. THIS is where my arrogance (and also conflicting) behaviour comes in: If I can get dick (as Amy Schumer so succinctly states), then I’m not a typical “fat girl” (yes, I’m fat shaming myself here and others — but it is to make a point), and I can have anyone I want (which tends to also be true). And I’ve been told over and over again my arrogance (or confidence) is what is most attractive about me: If you don’t want me, then fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Someone else will come along who will take your place (as long as I can fuck them into a happy relationship and they never leave says my internal monologue. Joke’s on you Lisa!).

This is cemented with commentary made my ex-lovers and street harassment:

  • “If you lose weight, you could model.”
  • “You’re really pretty – for a fat girl.”
  • “You don’t want to date me? Fuck you fat ugly bitch.”
  • “You should smile more, you’d be a lot prettier.”
  • “Nice rack/body/legs/shoulders (?!?).”
  • “You’re too pretty to wear makeup.”
  • “You don’t wear enough makeup.”

And so on. (See why I have a complicated relationship with my image?)

There is the exterior dialogue (I know why I behave this way), interior dialogue (I hate myself and no one will ever love me), and the reality (I can get dick anytime I want and 95% of the time always come back. They leave again but they always keep coming back). It’s conflicting because all of it is true.

The self-awareness of all of this, something I’m frequently told from therapists and TheExHusband alike, is rare. When you’re judged for what you are (or who people think you are or how you think people see you), bullied, and what have you — you spend a lot of time analyzing why you do the things you do. You look for the patterns. You muse on the whats / hows / and whys. You see how other people handle their own relationships and you model the good stuff (as you see it) into your own. In short, you psycho-analyze yourself into submission because it is ALL YOUR FAULT, you are the only person you have who can tell you the brutal and honest truth (with commentary from the peanut gallery to confirm or dismiss your findings as either quantitative or qualitative or neither. Or both.)

I stumble as I am human, something I keep reiterating for a very long time as I didn’t believe I was. I also think others think this about themselves as well. It bookends my loathing for the term “stable” as no one is ever REALLY stable. We have our stable moments that could last for months or years, but we all fall at one point or another – often more often than we care to.

This is where the forgiveness comes in: This is not a woe is me type of confession, it’s to clarify and map out those patterns that keep repeating themselves so I can break them. An ongoing theme for the last few years here at EPbaB is to break those patterns so future endeavors can begin, maintain, and end in a healthy way. There are things I cannot control (rape, harassment, my mother) and things I can control (how I react, how I present myself to future lovers, how I treat myself). The goal here is stop trying to control the things I cannot or ever will control.

Once I can work past those barriers that seem to plague me, take responsibility for my own actions (that I can control), is when the healing begins.


P.S. I forgot to mention my half-year birthday the other day (December 12), so it’s with a small reminder my birthday is in 181 days.

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2014, 2013, 2012, 1999, 1998

she’s got looks that kill

the setting:
I’m currently sitting on my crappy ass couch in a pair of grey yoga pants + grey tshirt, with all three pugs sleeping on my extended legs. VH1 Classic is on, and right now Motley Crue is rocking out (lita ford was on a few minutes ago and i was rocking out to “kiss me deadly”). It’s 2am.


You’re probably wondering “Lisa, why are you sitting in your grey yoga pants watching vh1 classic on a Sunday night at 2am, using Paul’s laptop (which was yours to being with)?”

BECAUSE in the space of a week the following has occurred:

  • Gas lines were cut and we were without heat or hot water for nearly two days, and gas was restored a few hours before the big storm.
  • The tivo has comatosed and is on life support. Thanks to the beautiful Kara, who is uploading an ISO of the backup for v3 for me to download and screw with, it should be off of life support this week. You don’t understand, Tivo IS MY BOYFRIEND. I will skip a car payment to get another one if i have to (and wring Paul’s nuts out in case it doesn’t work).
  • So Paul says to me today “Oh Lisa *lashes fluttering*, we have to use YOUR PC to fix the tivo. I run NTFS on my drives and we need fat32 to do the backup and go ahead and do XYZ and we’ll get this puppy working.” Well, XYZ doesn’t work and what started out as something simple, ends with Paul going “Oh me!” *gasping O face* “I don’t have special torque screwdriver wrench hatchet to take off primary drive so we can divorce the drives” which means my PC is now in parts (which you can view me and the dogs having a good old time at). I plug everything back in and double check all connections, make sure everything is grounded, etc. Boot up. Bios does not recognize either of my cdrom drives or neither of my drives. Hrm. Take out, remove, reinstall, double and triple check. Nothing. I’m so pissed I’m gritting my teeth and shooting daggers at Paul. He does this big ‘sigh’, I tell him to fix it or else I’m going to plant foot into arse and not remove until done so. I go and fuck off. Do laundry. Vacuum. Feed the dogs. Do dishes. Wax the eyebrows. Start on dinner. I come and find him standing up playing GTA4:Vice City and he says super flirtatiously “OH sweetie, I can’t get it to work”. I glare daggers. He pauses game and goes back into the office. As dinner finishes, he comes back out and says “Oh i got one drive working and one cdrw working. You don’t need two cdroms.” I speak through my teeth “Who are you to say if i need two or not?” He just looks at me, blinking like an epileptic watching video games, “Oh we’ll fix it later sweetie. Don’t worry.”


ahem, so YAH. So i decide while I’m making dinner, that I want to write a faq about dating myself. Not me dating me, but for others to read to date me. Get it got it? Good. Because I need to come w/ a large warning label in hot pink that says PLEASE READ BEFORE OPENING.

Smashing Pumpkins doing the Fleetwood Mac song “landslide” was bad. Dixie Chix doing the “landslide” makes me want to stick hot pokers in my eyes. Though the one chick has this super cool hair going on.
But i digress.

Btw, I talk to the tv. and the radio. Just so you know.

So, it’s going on later, the Soprano’s are ending (holy shit!) and Paul and I are watching some Real Sex episode on HBO about the Moonlight Bunny Ranch in Nevada. I’m like, woah that is fucking cool. They make some crazy ass money and they are so comfortable with their sexuality and I so admire that. I have such a Madonna/Whore complex going on in my head sometimes it’s disgusting. I was telling Alisha about this the other night, that I admire people who are really so comfortable with their sexuality. I’m comfortable with my sexuality but i have this titch of exhibitionism going on and I really want to let her out.

Which is neither here nor there. So we are watching the Real Sex special and I’m saying “cool!” or “wow!” every five minutes, jamming away at my faq (and I just had gotten to the section and me and sex, which was getting REALLY interesting and I was getting supremely horny) when i put my feet down on the rug and i feel something wet. I thought I had spilled my beer (err Ben, I found a lone beer in the back of the fridge :o) and then I think “Oh fuck, what dog pissed on the carpet.” And i step gingerly around and the whole damn carpet is sopped! I scream and jump up *squish squish squish* and go grab towels and the towels are getting soaked quickly and the water is heading towards my pc. I make Paul unplug it and hand it to me and I run with it like it’s my baby to the kitchen and lay it gently on the counter. I also make him unplug everything in that vicinity. The carpet is fastly getting more soaked and it’s also now heading into the hall. I call the after-hours line and the security guy shows up and he’s like ‘yep you have a leak’ (thanks genius) and he says he’s going to get the maintance guy to come and fix it.

We retreated back to the office. I sat in my chair which is now parked behind Paul, Pugsley had jumped up and drapped himself across my chest (I guess he knows a great pair of tits when he lays on them) and I’m burning holes in the back of Paul’s head. He’s like “What did i do NOW.”

Well gee, I have no laptops (both were shipped back to Toshiba to get repaired on Saturday, and this is the one thing i don’t blame him for). My pc is in the kitchen and only half works. I can’t watch tv because when we took the tivo out of the entertainment center he could not be bothered to put things back together. He is sitting there flanked by two PCs and a laptop not giving a shit that I HAVE NOTHING. All my shit is either pieced apart or broken or something.

I continue glaring. Apparently I look the devil incarnate when i do this.

And I kid you not, the first thing I thought about when the idea of turning the water off was “Fuck. I can’t masturbate tonight, because then I can’t wash my hands.”

ahahahaha. Yes well. I have an active imagination. I refuse to apologize for it.

Paul gets off his ass and hooks the satellite box back to the tv so I can watch tv and I click on VH1 Classic as they were doing 80s special and I’m bopping around with the dogs drapped around me watching old def leppard, twisted sister, and new order. Hence why all the music references. Sammy Haggar, still cannot drive 55.

But I’m LAUGHING. I’m laughing because everything is so absurd. I’m grossing myself out because I did not shower today and now i have NO WATER. Paul’s like “oh we’ll just do the ghetto showering (using the water stored in the fridge) tomorrow and you’ll live” and I’m making faces because I’m grossed out by it. I won’t even be able to make CAWFEE tomorrow morning. Fuck, I’m gonna die.

But I’m laughing because the water being turned off till it’s repaired tomorrow is the least of all the shit that is going on THIS WEEK. Even having no heat for nearly two days didn’t top this one.

I’m laughing because in a week my brother has back stabbed me on various things and I had to remove him from my mailing list and now I’m looking for a one bedroom apartment which might be sketchy but I’ve never ever lived alone. I’m laughing because my lawyer calls me and tells me on Saturday that he was unable to sell stocks to put cash into my account and he’s going on vacation on 12/10 and will not be able to get money into the account until 12/20, which was the day I was planning on leaving, which would not be too terrible if it were not for the fact how much stuff gets pulled out from my debit before then. Paul has offered me cash but I refuse to take it because as he said tonight “YOU ARE NOT LEAVING UNTIL I HAVE A CAR”. Oh the fuck I am not! I will be out of here before January 1st and no later and even if that means I go without anything but a car full of goods. You had THREE YEARS to get a car. Not. My. Problem. Kiss. My. Ghetto. Ass. Don’t ask. In my head it sounded like a good idea to stay at the time.

I’ll be spending Christmas alone due to reorganization issues. Again. Paul did this whole spiel Saturday night about how “OH we can stay together for Christmas and XYZ” and then drops this bomb on me while I’m orgasming eating at this awesome restaurant that night that ‘Oh, i HAVE to go home for Christmas blah blah blah’. I wanted to take the coffee I was drinking and toss it in his face. Then he comes back with oh you have to stay through the New Year so that we can have our departing sex. Right. This coming from someone who has believed/accepted or said I was a gold digging whore, that i’ve ruined his life, used him, abused him, drove away all our friends, held grudges, was rude crude and mean. And he wants to still fuck me… Sure. Whatever you say.


I’m laughing because I’m dying right now. I’m dying because I’m watching this video for Santana called “Game of Love” and people are smooching and if you gave me a choice between having okay sex or awesome kissing, I’m taking kissing hands down. I’d probably take kissing over most anything actually. It’s everything about the act, the hands, the whole caressing of the face. The whole burning look, hands in the hair. I’m so tired of dating guys who are crap ass kissers and are under this delusion that they are gods in bed. And it’s not just one ex it’s like majority of them. As TLC says “Girls Talk”. So back to this whole kissing thing, it’s a fetsih or something but whatever it is, the whole ritual gets me hot. Especially if the guy has good lips. mmmmmmmmmm. I can go for hours on this little fantasy alone. days even. Hell months even. 😉

and as it’s going on 6am, final note is that i need something answered. I have an online journal. This is my place. My space. My feelings. No regrets. So riddle me this batman, why is it when I start dating someone they are like “OH LISA, you are so UNLIKE anyone else. You are so (insert tired cliche). I’ve learned so much about you via your journal.” But when the breakup happens, as it tends to do, why is it their FIRST offense is this damn journal? ALWAYS. Without fail. Always. Always.

I’ll leave you with my horoscope for today:
Dear lisa, here is your Horoscope for December 09, 2002

People around you might think that you have never matured, lisa, and that you still have the mind of a child. It might not seem obvious at first, but your light-hearted attitude is also a symbol of great wisdom. As others, who have committed to long-term romances, you will find out that you will never lose your light-heartedness.

leuke schoenen, gaan we neuken?

fire woman

I was having a post-coital moment after sex tonight sitting on the toilet reading stuff (the august 2001 issue) when the article on “how to stratify her to tears…of joy!” caught my eye.

Apparently, in this article, the journalist(s) dis on everything from different positions and tantric and kama sutra saying that in short, none of it works. They blamed Sting for how bad tantric is because part of the exercises is that you have to stare into your lovers eyes for hours before even engaging sex. Also, apparently, ‘dirty talk’ (72%) and ‘anal sex’ (41%) were on the list of ‘kinky things’ people have tried. In the category of ‘kinky things we have tried and didn’t like’, group sex (38%) and anal sex (38%) were the top two things people would never try again. Also listed were bondage, role play and voting for a democrat.

Aha. They polled 1200 Cosmo readers. NOW it makes sense.

In any regard, this recent backlash of going to an almost puritanical stint in the terms of human sexuality is all wrong. Women should be gathering and empowering their sexiness, not turning into boring little boards with boobs. it angers me. yes missionary is fine. Vanilla sex is fine. But even after awhile you start to count the threads in the sheets you are so bored.

I’ve been in this mood lately, since i arbitrarily changed my meds to 75mg of Effexor and 150mg of Serzone. When I was on the 350mg EFfexor and 50mg of Serzone, i was thinking clearly but my sex drive was low. Since mid-july (due to when I was in Michigan and having to ration out my crack), I’ve been on this new cocktail, I’ve been feeling more sensual and sexual. It’s like taking a hot bath after days of having no hot water. It’s a wonderful feeling. I can tell by the change in drugs how my mood has changed and how more confident I feel (Don’t worry Dr. B, I’ll be making an appointment again, I haven’t forgotten) both naked and when wearing clothes. I feel more alive, as it were.

This is of course, bothering Paul, to some extent. I took the initiative and put a personals ad on to meet people (no, not just for sex but to just make friends with hello) in the area that i hadn’t already met via work or some geeky type of thing. I wanted to meet people that were of my interest and not just the geeky-types. I was getting pretty fed up with how our social life was resulting in meeting people and Paul chubbing a wood because of all the toys everyone has. Not to say our local friends aren’t great, they are, i just need more.

Which is the story of my life.

At any rate, I’ve been striking up conversations with people via nerve and having a damn fine time. I plan on meeting one in October when both of our schedules are free and another longtime ‘net friend this weekend (i hope) since he is finally getting a divorce from his wife and we can hang out without her getting feisty about it. I’m also going to start taking dance classes next week (adult tap/jazz/ballet) as I haven’t danced in years (not including clubbing) and i don’t want to look like a big dork when I DO go clubbing (thanks alisha!).

So sex is on my mind and today i had shaved every hair on my body i could find, even down to my cunt making it as bald as i could with a bread trimmer and my Venus razor. I get so turned on by shaving, I instantly masturbated after my shower thinking of a lisa sammich. Afterwards, wrapped in a towel and a bathrobe, i walked out to the computer room, grabbing Paul’s hand to feel my hairless cunt, telling him, lets go make some noise. As per usual, he was more interested in Tony Hawk than fulfilling my needs and immediately got upset when I had told him I had masturbated. He accused me of cheating. When I asked whom was I cheating with (we were standing in our bedroom at the time), he said Aaron Lewis (lead singer of Staind, my lust for bald tattoo’d pierced men has come to the forefront again). I laughed. At any rate, I attempted to pin him down this evening for some quality pussy time when he kept giving me the jibe of ‘not right now’, and I’m thinking to myself “you know, fuck this, he always put his computers in front of me and I’m sick of it’, so i said ‘are you turning me down?’ and he said ‘no, just not right now I’m busy (playing a video game)’. so i begged and i pleaded and finally we went to the bedroom and started snuggling.

Paul now has this new habit of where he no longer feels ‘dominant’ or ‘aggressive’ cos he’s not in the mood to be. To preface this, we both have ‘issues/matters/concerns’ with our sex life, which has lead heavy discussion with Dr. B on what to do next. Primarily “was it me or is it him or what the fuck is going on”. Partly, he is scared because anything that is beyond vanilla i tend to get upset at. Riguse anything that is beyond episodes within the last few years and now that I’m on crack, i feel so much the better for it. I learned how to deal with my anger and my depression (as it were), and i want to have more. Nothing so far, is seemingly, working. It’s a huge issue between us, as you have probably guessed.

So by this time tonight, I’m hot and horny again (i have no idea what’s been setting me off lately — my trigger points usually are smells and music, but this time everything seems to be setting me off), and I’m rubbing up and down Paul in my grey little nightie and thong looking at him adorably and telling him I want to go make love (I’m changing tactics here, I’m infamous for wanting to just ‘fuck’). I beg and plead some more and we go off to the bedroom where Paul climbs under the covers and starts being passive. I’m trying hard not to get angry, I’m trying hard to be different in approaching him in anticipation he see’s i really do want him. This continues for a few minutes while I snuggle and kiss him and I feel like I’m ‘forcing’ myself on him. I get his shirt and underwear off and climb on top of him, 69 style, driving my cunt into his face with only my thong to keep him from tasting me. Usually, this works. Usually, he is such a cunt-eater, that even the smell just gets him going. I’m giving him head, notating how I give it and paying a lot of attention to his cock, all the while I’m driving and grinding down hard on his face and he is just …. laying there. He is hard and he is moaning, but he is just laying there. So I reach around, pull my thong to the side and shove my cunt deeper in his face. He finally starts reciprocating. After awhile, I get naked, grab a condom, sit on him and place his hands on my breast. I start just moving my hips only slowly, very very very slowly and Paul is like ‘come here and give m a kiss’ and I’m not in the mood to be kissed, i just want to feel his cock inside of me. I’m grinding away and he comes but at the same time i keep mashing his hands against my breasts and he sighs this content of relief.

I roll over on the bed still hornier than fuck (i have only been able to cum vaginally once, maybe twice in my life) and start to masturbate. Paul has referred me to being male as I roll over and just sleep when I’m satiated.

Sex has been figuring heavily in my mind lately as I’m watching friends of mine divorce or break-up and one of the biggest reasons why is “lack of affection/lack of sex” (besides cheating, but I won’t go into that). I value having a relationship with Paul, but this putzy way we are having sex is driving me crazy. We used to have fun in the begriming (as I refer to as the “Atlanta time”) and now i feel like we are an old married couple. We seriously need to start working on this issue before I stab him or something because I do not want to spend my life with someone who isn’t sexually compatible with me. People get married for all the wrong reasons, and while I may love someone deeply or am in love with someone deeply, i DO however see sex and love as being together and not separate. I never thought, in a million years, of being with someone I wasn’t sexually attracted to, had that intense feeling with, etc and staying with them because i loved them. Physical love needs to grow as well as spiritual love. No more compromises and no more ‘another times’.
the time is now.


I’ve moved a lot in my relatively young life. When is started thinking about all the places I’ve moved to, I wanted to draw up a list:

  • 1972 – Born in Toronto, Ontario, Canada
  • 1972 – Moved from Toronto to Port Huron, MI
  • 1985 – Port Huron MI to Grand Rapids MI – apartment complex
  • 1989 – GR: Apartment complex to my mothers lovers (Chuck) house
  • 1990 – GR: Mothers lovers house to her own house on Paris Ave
  • 1990 – GR back to Toronto, Canada
  • 1991 – Toronto back to Grand Rapids, MI
  • 1996 – GR: Moved from my mothers house in with Danny
  • 1997 – GR: Moved back to Mothers house
  • 1997 – Grand Rapids, MI to San Francisco, CA
  • 1997 – SF: Changes apartments
  • 1998 – Moved to Oakland, CA
  • 1999 – Moved from Oakland, CA to Virginia Beach, VA
  • 1999 – Moved from VB to Fairfax
  • 2001 – Moved from Fairfax to Herndon, VA
  • 2001 – Herndon: Moved across the complex to a smaller apartment