Sexy Times – A Most Unreliable Narrator

in flagrante

Dear Internet,
For nearly a year now, I’ve had a PLAN. The plan is an over haul of my person: mind, body, soul. Truthfully, there has been some form of the plan in existence for so long, I’ve lost count of the years. It’s always resolved around: lose weight, fix the brain, be a better person. To be the best Lisa that I can be.
Sounds like a thing for a person of reasonable intelligence to strive for. Enlightenment of the self. A soul not in torment. A mind not turboized. A body, at any weight and shape, I could feel comfortable in.

Saturday night, I had the most vivid sexy times dream. I cannot remember the last time I had a sexy dream; I’ve had a lover for over a year, I was with TEH for six years before that — it didn’t seem necessary when someone’s cock, tongue, and hands were at the ready for my pleasure to self-pleasure except when my lover and I were in flagrante.
I’ve shied away from my own sexual pleasures for fuck knows how long, that even with my lover I struggled to tell them what I wanted. A stark contrast to my youth where everything turned me on and I had no problems announcing what I wanted; fuck you if you couldn’t please me. I once joked I could flirt with a flower and get aroused. There is something to be had for enjoying the sensuality of the material world and of your own (and lover’s) body.
(I told my lover we were destined to be together because they’ve been the only person to ever manually get me off. Twenty odd years of being sexually active and only one who knew how to take me to my knees.)
But things change, as they often do. What used to turn me on, not so much anymore. What I found attractive seemed like I was supposed to be attracted to that thing rather than actually desire it. When TheExHusband and I lived at Throbbing Manor, I would silently cry when watching passion on the screen: I never thought that could ever happen to me. Again. A 1000 times. A million ways. It was/is frustrating when you know that you CAN do and be that person, but you’re paralyzed by what exactly? Sometimes I have all the answers and others, no.
I’m straying from the point.
So sexy dream. It was so intense I woke up, thoughts of my lover in my head as I remembered everything about them from the breadth of their shoulders, the feel of their hair beneath my touch, the grip of their hands on me. Their scent holding me close.
So I would do what any reasonable person would do: I masturbated.
The orgasm was quick and powerful, after all I had created a dream scenario with my lover in my head of such extreme, it was hard not to touch myself. It was hard to not want to feel their phantom body over mine. I caught my breath.
Then I rolled over and went to sleep. (What did you expect? I was alone.)
(I loved the part this morning when I got up and there was my cum all over my panties still. It verified I can be a sexual being when I was alone and not a dried husk.)
I cannot say that I felt like my sins being washed away via masturbation, but I can say something resonated in me, alone and fingers engaged, for the very first time in a long time. My body reacted to someone I did want, that I did desire. It reacted to me desiring me.
Something buried so deep began to breathe, little by little.
I was told recently I am extraordinarily beautiful. I rolled my eyes. In the not too distant past, I was told my body was so primed for my lover’s, they could get an erection sleeping next to me. “Just look at your beautiful body!,” husky words pushing me closer to them so I could indeed feel their physical truth. (We always slept naked. We would joke as we got ready for bed about our 2AM meetings as one or both of us would reach for the other in our sleep at that time every night. It didn’t matter how much sex we had before bed.) Yet another person unrelated to my sex life told me I was classically beautiful. Another eye rolling.
(I’ve also been told I have amazing skin for touch. At least I have that going for me.)
Is it my self-esteem that doubts these words? Yes. There is the confidence that for a fat girl, I can get much desire from many. On the flip, it was always down to, “But WHY do they want me? What could possibly make them want to fuck me, let alone hold my hand?
Silently, over the years the self-doubt grows. I’m too fat for clothes. My bras are beginning to strain. My flexibility is lessening. My hair is getting too grey. My skin is getting blotchy thanks to too much dairy eating, early life sun damage, and age. I worry that as I grow older, I will never feel body love, that if I end up truly single, finding a stable relationship would be near impossible and I would just have a rotating cast of lovers over the years of half-hearted satiation. You can always find someone to fuck, but real body love? Rarely.
I worry the AARP is going to be knocking down my door.
I live too much in the past, I live too much in a future that has yet to happen. I need to live in the present.
I worry about losing the now fragile desire of me.

After that erotic break, back to the plan. The image above is of the notes I took this evening after I meditated. It was typical the plan would live in bullet pointed Times New Roman, 12pt; but I wanted to engrave it on the memory rather than type it out and have it in purgatory on my hard drive.
So I wrote it out, making notes a long the way. Some of it is platitudes, others are sketches. No step by step, just be. Here are the things I want to do. In pen. More has come since I snapped that pic, the red brick covering what is not for public consumption.
Maybe this time it will finally sink in. Maybe this time I can move forward past the pain, the guilt, the self-flagellation for my crimes.
Maybe.
xoxo,
Lisa
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This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2010, 2003, 2001

she who gives

Dear Internet,
We’re rattling around the fancy house like ghosts with Restoration Hardware chains around our waists. We would give Miss Havisham a run for her money with our shenanigans.
On Monday, TheSoonToBeExHusband saw a nurse practitioner who put him on Wellbutrin, which seems to be working. He has an appointment in a few weeks to talk with his own shrink and to start making headway on working on the problems he needs to address. He has finally agreed that we need to be apart while he works on his problems and I work on mine; that the two of us together only hinder the other in our mutual goals of mental happiness. I am making no promises to him, which is why I don’t want to be only separated, I want to be divorced.
Because this is the core truth: Love often isn’t enough. It hurts. It breaks. It shatters, but it is truth.
I’m tired. A Lot.
My sleeping patterns have been fucked for a while because of the unmedicated mania, but now it’s worse. Thursday I napped for a few hours and dreamt I was walking around with lockjaw. No one in my dreams could understand what I was saying, which of course frustrated me even more. My mouth was aching when I woke up; thankfully none of my teeth were broken from the gnashing in my sleep.
On Friday, I posed the following to my Facebook wall,

PSA: Why you should masturbate on a regular basis:
If I had not attempted to masturbate this morning, I would not have found the lump in the left interior wall of my vagina, which turned out to be a filled Bartholin gland. If I had not taken myself to the ER this morning and gotten it checked, the gland could have gotten infected, which would have meant they would have gone in, drain the gland, and there was a mention of 4-6 week catheter and other fun stuff.
Instead, I take drugs, wear a maxi pad, and place a heating pad on my crotch to hope it drains by itself.
Masturbate! And often!

I have to spend a few hours a day with a heating pad on my crotch and take long baths. Good thing I like long baths.
So on top of it all, my vagina is now broken. I used to joke to the TheSoonToBeExHusband if he didn’t fuck me enough, I would get clogged.
And well, here we are.
Or it could be from my chronic masturbation the last few weeks of dreams and fantasies that I can now indulge in that I could not indulge before because it didn’t fit the parameters of my now dead marriage. Am I revealing too much? No, I think that was the problem to begin with: I was not revealing enough.
I have nothing left to lose here, in this world, and I don’t think many of you will understand the freedom that comes from this weight being lifted from my heart and soul. Things are clicking into place that were put on hold for a very long time, and as I reveal those plans slowly, some of you have expressed concern. I get it. I do. It all sounds stupidly overwhelming and incomprehensible. How do I know I’m not in mania right now?
Easy. Mania is about impulse. This is not impulse, this is about righting myself on the path I needed to be on so many years ago. If I was manic, I would be indulging in reckless behaviors and I’m not. It’s just that simple.
I am lucid, clear, and in control of myself.
What I hadn’t expected as the result of the fallout of my marriage? Things like this:

The creeper is a high school boyfriend who dumped me when I wouldn’t put out. I was 15 and still a virgin. He was also fairly instrumental in helping promote my reputation as the high school whore when the swim team attempted to gang rape me at a sleep-away event for our science classes. I escaped by climbing out of the bathroom window when my two female cabin mates couldn’t smash down the cabin door. Of course we never told the adult chaperones on that trip, because hey, I was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Who’d believe me?
I found it intriguing he wanted to be FB BFFs a few years ago. Even more interesting was he never said a word to me until I did a beta readers request a few weeks ago about my new adventures in writing erotica. And then I became his unwilling mother confessor.
As I’ve been working on reclaiming my sensuality for the last couple of months, and have been more public about it. With the collapse of my marriage, he and numerous others have been circling like vultures because apparently being public about my masturbation habits and enjoying sex is an open invitation.
You know, because being blunt about sex means I’m just begging for it.
I started out this piece in a calm but sad space and became so fucking angry that I’m shaking. I have a lot of great support on both coasts, and instead of working with them to keep me in this nice sane place, I have to spend my extraneous energy fighting off sexual predators. Thanks. Much appreciated.
Thursday I’m flying out to the East coast for a much needed mini-break. I want to be somewhere where I won’t get yelled at. Or sued. Or harassed. I’ve got the best possible host lined up who is going to take very good care of me and I plan on being underground for a few days. There are those who know where I will be in case of emergencies but the rest of you? Bye. See you next Sunday afternoon.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day In Lisa Universe: 1999

weekenders on our own, it’s such fun

Dear Internet,
It wasn’t until the day was almost over that I realised today was a pretty perfect day.
I was intent on waking up early this morning, hopefully naturally, so I could spread out my day in larger chunks rather than waking up at noon, zombifying it around the house until I realize it’s almost 5PM and then it’s time to get ready for the week. Nothing ever completed, nothing ever done, not even relaxation. The almost insurmountable stress of trying to do ALL THE THINGS in a short amount of time while feeling strangled with reproach. There is always some residue guilt of not having done laundry, waxed my ‘stache, vacuumed the house, or the million of other chores. Somehow this week I wasn’t feeling that pressed to get much done chore wise other than swap the sheets on our bed and I felt totally okay with that.
I got my wish for an early rising when one of our smoke alarms started chirping it had a dead battery at 730AM. Not too ungodly early, it seemed, and instead of rolling over and hoping it would magically die on its own, I woke up and got ready for the day. And by getting ready for the day, I mean put on my glasses, yoga pants, and stealing one of TheHusband’s hoodies when I took the dog out for a walk in the drizzly mess outside and not taking it off when I came back into the house.
TheHusband, who was grumpily complaining he did not want to wake up at some inhumane hour while the alarm continued to annoyingly chirp, was fixing the broken alarm when I came back from the dog’s morning constitutional. We foraged for breakfast, which was simple since we had thrown boxes of Yummy Mummy and Count Chocula into our grocery basket last night. Coffee percolated, bossa nova on the home stereo, some kind of vanilla concoction candle lit, and I settled on the couch to read the New York Times.
Four hours of near vapid article reading later, coffee was consumed, toast nibbled, and paper tossed into the recycle bin, and it wasn’t even noon.
With my afternoon free, I opted to do some organizing on the site and work on some back-end work, which I did while catching up on podcasts. When was the last time I sat down and really listened to a podcast, more importantly, for longer than say 30 minutes? Months maybe, if not years. I was able to plow through five or six of the BBC History podcasts, putting me firmly now in July 2013.
I had no plan on mind rather thinking I’d start cleaning up some of the broken links, several consisting of near full nude of pics of me from the past when I was getting photographed for my earlier tattoo work and a NSFW pic of my very spanked behind. The images are not going to be easy to find — the content of the pages, tags or titles doesn’t lend itself to the images at hand. Consider them easter eggs linked somewhere in the nearly 700 pages on this site. Happy hunting.
(I remember the spank picture, hysterically so, for it was taken with an analog camera on a roll of film that had everything from pictures of flowers to sexy time pics. The boyfriend at the time was near lunatic thinking the processing place was going to turn in the images for their content or refuse to print them. Neither of course happened and I have both the images, complete with very vivid date stamp, and the negatives still on hand. Ah, the momentary discretions of youth.)
TheHusband had started slow roasting a roast beef dinner this morning (which ended with smashed sweet potato/squash and amazing green beans for sides), which was filling up the house with delicious smells. For the rest of the afternoon until dinner, I plugged away at cleaning up broken links, adding new to the site content, and whatever other miscellany the rabbit hole took me. Including a link to TheHusband’s 1997 Geocities site.
It is becoming increasingly clear I need to set up a plan of what work I’ve got up and how it is formatted as well as a more concrete path. I came across a folder today I had forgotten about, while cleaning the broken links, containing works written for the web but were not blog pieces but more prose and flash fiction. I ended up scrapping a few of these that were already up as blog entries, turning them into pages to make the work consistent, and viola! A new section, Ephemera was born. Stylized as the prose companion to The Lisa Chronicles, this contains pieces that were written as mainly non-fiction creative prose rather than a diary entry as well as some earlier flash fiction I had written for contests and the like. Most of this stuff hasn’t been up for a decade, and a list of the works added will be on this weeks Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes, so please do keep your eye there.
Dinner rolled around, which was delicious as almost always (the one incident of TheHusband adding corn to chili has kept me on guard on his cooking for the last few years), and by 6PM, I was back to finagling some more back-end work on the site and mulling over other ideas.
I did have plans on doing some fiction writing today, but I got so wrapped up on getting the site back-end cleaned, but time just slipped by. And for once I do not feel guilty about losing that time, for finding that trove of written work I had forgotten about was a brilliant replacement. Now the question is – what to do with it?
The day meandered slow and steady, there was no rush, no plan, no agenda. TheHusband and I, and of course the hate-pooping dog, just went our own ways, meeting up in the hallway or in one of our offices for stolen kisses. Neither of us bathed, brushed our teeth, and the bed was only made because I changed the sheets. My desire to treasure the day, even if the day glossed over with the seemingly mundane and the wink of a cliché, was a success.
x0x0,
Lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe in: 2010, 2003, 2003

she-bear

Henry Fuseli - Hamlet and his father's Ghost (1780-1785). Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons — Henry Fuseli – Hamlet and his father’s Ghost (1780-1785). Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Dear Internet,
TheHusband and I were set to go up to Throbbing Cabin last night but opted to stay home to circumvent the potential traffic bomb of travelling on a holiday weekend. Our plan, then, was to leave this morning and stay at Throbbing Cabin for the rest of the weekend, coming home on Monday morning.
This morning, however, had other ideas
When I woke up, I went into a massive panic attack where I refusing to not just not leave the house, but I was not going to leave our bed, or even get dressed or any thing resembling personal care. I became so agitated over the prospect of leaving, moving, interacting with people, I started to get into manic mind mode. TheHusband, who had been out walking the dog when the attack started, returned back to our bedroom to my meltdown.
When I saw him, I immediately burst into tears.
Needless to say, we’re not going anywhere this weekend.
TheHusband has learned to stop asking me what is setting off the panic attacks because I never know. Sometimes it’s mental, sometimes they are physical. Sometimes I can ward them off, and others, like today, I’m overwhelmed by their sheer control over me.
The attacks, or in this instance the need to shelter myself from the world, has become more intense over time. I often feel hyper sensitive to the outside world. People. Situations. In my head, when plotting a set of errands that require me to leave the house for long periods of time, I attempt to sort them to make them least painful and less having to interact with anyone. Sometimes, more often than not, I lie to get out of situations because the thought that I would need to be around other people, or more rightly in places that are not familiar, makes me anxious. My house is my touchstone and if I cannot have things set up the way I need them to be set up to function, then things start to break down.
While my depression in the past has been the cause for decrease in sexy times, the drugs have amplified sexy times, along with everything I have just explained. I’ve always had voracious attitude towards sex and with nearly a year on Lithium, it has dried up like an October leaf. I was telling a friend of mine recently, who was newly diagnosed as bipolar himself, I could have Alexander Skarsgard naked on a chaise reading a book in front of me, and I’d be, “Eh.” I don’t want to touch myself, let alone my own husband, and I could not even summon the desire for a naked Alexander Skarsgard. Or James McAvoy. Or any of my fictitious husbands. I used to be the girl who wanted to have sex every where and with everything, and now I would just like to put the kettle on and have a good pot of tea.
And yes, I have a fairly healthy vibrator and dildo collection that is currently gathering dust. Which is a shame as some of them are expensive and were gifts.
At my last medicating appointment, Dr. H. was absolutely positive that by taking Klonopin at night would help some of my issues. The idea being if I take the drug at night, I will get a sound sleep. If I get a sound sleep, then I will feel rested in the morning and more at ease.
Except that didn’t work. After trying this for a week or two and still feeling exhausted and pent up, I told Dr. P. who suggested I take the Klonopin earlier in the evening, say 7PM instead of 10PM. The reason is that Klonopin releases slowly so if I’m taking it later in the evening, by time I wake up, I’m groggy because the drug is still working. Then I start amping up on caffeine to get over the hump and the cycle begins again.
Dr. H. gave me a prescription for Wellbutrin, and after several weeks of circling it like shark, I bit the bullet and got it filled. Numerous friends of mine with similar brain issues have all reported good things with Wellbutrin and as it was not a SSRI, I figured it was worth a shot.
The first few days of Wellbutrin, I was downright cheery. I didn’t feel the energized pep that several friends reported, but I was honestly okay with all of that. By the end of the first week, the dark clouds started to form and for the entire second week, I was hell on wheels. It was not so bad that other people knew, or commented, but it was so bad that I picked up all the signs that this was not going to end well. My meltdown this morning was the final straw and I stopped taking the drug.
Some medicating therapists will have you push on through these periods because after the drug settles, it is smooth sailing. I can’t do this, emotionally, physically, mentally, or financially. My brain chemistry is such that what takes someone 21 days to metabolize a drug, it takes me 7. I may have a fight on my hands with Dr. H. this week because he’s going to report back to me my lithium levels are still in the therapeutic range and I’m going to tell him that regardless if they are, I need to get off that drug in a safe manner because I’m done with this experiment.
A year ago when I called Dr. P. to get my life on track, I was open to the idea of drug therapy because I wanted the pain to end. I wanted a way to chemically fix what was broken if talk therapy didn’t work enough. and to fix what behaviour modification could not fix. Dr. P. recommended Dr. H., who confirmed the existing diagnosis of ADHD, Bipolar I, Borderline Personality Disorder, with a top up of anxiety.
The idea was to get my mood stabilized with lithium, then start adding in the ADHD drugs to control that. Once we found the combination, everything would be grand!
Well, not so much.
Reading through some of those old entries, a lot of patterns begin to show. The drugs, mood/ADHD, are clearly not working. I can’t afford to emotionally keep putting my life into upheaval every time I go on something new to see if it works.
This nine month experiment, while peppered with good intentions, has crippled me more than I could ever imagine. Feeling myself hit the wall, time and time again, the disappointment I’ve laid on myself when something didn’t work, the guilt I built around me when I couldn’t complete a task, and the friendships I lost because I was not the person they thought I was.
The constant stress of wondering who I was going to be that day when I woke up, and how that affected work and personal relationships.
I’m done. I don’t want to be this girl anymore, who hides in her bedroom afraid of the world. I’m done not living a life because I feel too medically incapacitated to do so.
The new plan is to get weaned off of Lithium, and start a diet and exercise routine because literally, every book on bipolar talks about the lessening symptoms if you do these two things. Continue to see Dr. P. for talk therapy, once a week as current or more if he warrants it.
Anything has to be better then the now.
I want my life back and it looks like, I’m the one whose going to have to go get it.
x0x0,
Lisa (Day #36)

This day in Lisa-Universe in:

hot date

Smashing good day everyone. 🙂 BBQ was fun at C+S’s, though we were still perplexed how majority of the people in the group (‘cept for the baby of the group, sara) are in their late 20s/early 30s and we STILL separated into boy/girl groups. How the hell does that work?
HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOO. There was some group herpes action going around too.
So, I’ll talk about the date last night and since it includes some of my feelings, which are pretty consistent with BPD, I’m sticking it under a LJ-CUT
So IG#4 (his name is Sam) and I had been talking about meeting for a bit and finally agreed yesterday was the big date. We were going to meet at the GR Public Museum at 2pm, walk around and hit the planet-airum, do dinner, and then whatever. But plans kept changing because of the weather. So, I caught him online late yesterday morning and asked if he could bring the Whit Stillman movies with him that I didn’t own so that we could (if things went well), watch them later in the evening. Little did I know finding the movies would take several hours and by the time he hit grand rapids, it was already nearing 4:30pm.
We decided to meet at Barnes and Noble, to be “pretentious elitist asshats” (my words) on books. He had told me what he was wearing, and I had seen him walking down the middle of the parking lot as I was turning in. Since I had told him I was somewhat of a crazy driver, I gunned my engine and went tearing down the parking lot with the intent of stopping a few feet from him. He had gotten to the front of the store before I got close to him, but I did end up getting an awesome parking spot. I walked up, we shook hands, and entered the store.
For dress up, I opted to go super casual. I knew if I got “ho-banged up” (sara’s words), “hooched up” (jen”s words) or “tarted up” (my words), I’d be uncomfortable. I opted for my “Reading is Sexy tshirt,” with a pink camisole peeking underneath with my favorite jeans and these adorable cork wedge sandals I just bought that matched the shirt. My hair I left down (because I’m constantly being told people like it down better than up) and makeup was fairly minimal. I carried my clutch bag, which doubles as my bar purse, since I didn’t want to carry my normal everyday bag.
Things went off to a good start, lots of eye contact, body language was pretty groovy, and he got fairly smartassed which caused him to get smacked by my clutch bag at least once and a jokey argument almost lead to a banging of each other with coffee table books.
We were both getting pretty hungry, but he reallllllllllllly wanted to go to Vertigo (the local indie record store), which I resisted since going to Vertigo usually means I drop several hundreds of dollars and I can’t afford that. He promised to make it a quick trip, which I started twitching as I had already picked out a CD from the used bin that I wanted. I put the CD back and he paid for his purchases. We stopped at the video store next door to Vertigo and perused the foreign flicks since we are both fans and then headed off to Mikado for Sushi.
Mikado’s was closed, so I dropped him off at his car, lead him to my house to park his car and we then drove to Bombay for Indian (cos I’m lazy like that). Food was good, conversation was excellent. We split two dinners, lots of naan and samosas. We headed back to my place, I had him meet part of the posse (Jen, Mindy, and Kate). We walked the pugs, got settled in for movies.
We watched Metropolitan and Heathers, and literally spent the majority of the time separated by three pugs who decided to make it their business to lay all over Sam. No major flirting going on, really, our body language was pretty open but no one initiated anything. I was not about to (trying new theory of being less aggressive upon the first approach). But still, I wasn’t sure. During our last two weeks of conversation, I wasn’t sure if he was interested in me in a friend sort of way or in a romantic sort of way, so I asked him outright and he said romantic. But, he didn’t really flirt with me and I was getting highly self-conscious about it.
When the movies ended, we spent another couple of hours talking. We had been talking all night, even through the movies, and it was highly entertaining. He even commented it was a shame that we watched the second movie because he enjoyed talking to me so much and that he lusts after women he can hold conversations with. My library and musical tastes also rated big points with him as I apparently got cooler by the minute.
I wasn’t nervous. Which was weird, it just seemed we clicked on so many levels before with talking being with him just seemed natural.
So about 2:30a or so, it was getting late and we decided to call it a night. He wasn’t sure about seeing me again today (Monday) as he had to be at his parents later in the afternoon and he made plans for earlier in the day. He did say he wanted to spend next weekend with me as he’ll be in Grand Rapids helping a friend move and we are pseudo going to the Festival together. Apparently.
We walked ThePugKids for their nightly constitutional and brought them back in. We tap danced in my dining room for a bit and I could feel the tension getting tighter, the sexual tension. I wasn’t sure if I should just go lay one on him or what, when he did this swoop thing towards me that looked like he was going to kiss me but didn’t. I walked him down the stairs, as I had to lock up the front door, when he leans in like he’s going to kiss me. I step back and look at him, “Are you going to kiss me this time or are you going to do that swoop thing like you did before?” I eyed him suspiciously. He laughed and said no, he was really going to kiss me this time and we conked our heads as we went the same way. Giggled and went in for the kill.
Before I know it, I’m pinned up against the wall, hands above my head with his leg driven up to my crotch. It went from all friendly polite gentlemanly behaviour to BOOM. You could cut the sexual tension with a Ginsu and it would become dull. We’re throwing each other around my foyer like rag dolls and I’m surprised (literally) and didn’t come and see if I was okay we were THAT loud.
Hand, lips, bites, scratches. It was war and we both wanted to win and lose. I snaked my hand up underneath his tshirt and raked my nails down his back. He arched, moaned and said “I didn’t know I’d like that.” At one point, he was trembling, and I kept remembering saying to him was “Sam, sam, it’s okay, it’s okay.” For awhile we stood wrapped in each others arms in the foyer. I had ripped off his button down (good thing it was snap buttons) and his jacket and backpack were scattered on the floor. We were wrapped in each others arms with my head buried on his chest. He mumbled in my ear, “It feels to good to have you in my arms.” I smiled to myself and told him the only thing I wanted was to lay next to him, cuddled, in bed. No sex. He agreed he wanted that too. We tear back up the stairs and once we hit my dining room, bam, I was thrown up against the wall and we were all over each other again.
I stopped at some point and said, I can’t do this. He kept promising to be a gentlemen and I kept telling him, It’s not you, it’s ME! I can’t have a guy in my bed, whom I like and find myself sexually attracted to and NOT WANT TO RIP HIS CLOTHES OFF AND BAT HIM AROUND MY BEDROOM LIKE A RAGDOLL. Ahem. So there was that. He told me he wanted to see me again, and soon as possible.
Then I made the typical fatal mistake:
“Sam, what’s next.”
He kept going over and over about how much he liked me, and he thought i was incredibly groovy and how much he wanted to see me again. Because he works second shift, weekends were the only option. And he promised he’d see me next weekend for Festival.
But he got the deer caught in the headlights look. Things were getting really intense between us really quickly. Not just sexually (who knew?) but intellectually and mentally as well. While I was “into the moment” when we were all over each other, I kept conscious of how far I was “willing” to go. Like some level of me wanted nothing more then to unzip his pants, with the outside door wide open, and blow him until the sun came up. I wanted to just shed skin and crawl inside him. But we remained clothed.

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.

porn star pussy

Why do are some clitorial orgasms more intense than others? Why do I come with someorgasms and with others, I still remain fairly dry? These are not rhetorical questions!
The other night I was hanging out with the girls at the tattoo shop, we started talking about the size of our labias. We were commenting on whether or not our pussies looked worn out and tired like porn star pussies.
I’ve seen enough porn and genital piercings to notate whether or not that particular pussy was attractive or not. There are some women who are so gappy, you can shove the Eiffel Tower up their cunt and they wouldn’t even know it was up there. Some women have pussies that look beautiful and then their face, you want to throw a bag over it.

talk dirty to me

I should be writing my midterm, which is half-finished and due tomorrow.
I should be doing a lot of things, but i’m not. heh.
Alright, so I’m checking email for the fiftieth time today and I get the following spam:
“I would never have believed that my husband of 4 years would cheat on me.
And he didn’t even tell me – I saw his email was full of messages from girls at XXXDate.com who wanted to fuck him! He had a whole folder full of email from women who had already gone to bed with him and had the nerve to thank him for a great time!
These girls sound like total sluts who will fuck anything with a dick. My husband isn’t even good looking he’s overweight and losing his hair and still these girls are all over him.
XXXdate has turned his life into one big sex-capade and I’m mad as hell! So I joined XXXdate just to show him I can fuck more than he can!”
And I’m sitting there kind of dumbstruck. Not that it’s spam but it’s just, the content. I am no prude, by any stretch of the imagination, but I think it’s the current climate of women that are sort of bugging me? I can’t really explain it, it’s like, I’ve never really found it difficult to get a man (yes, i know you’ve heard me bitch about getting laid etc but let me finish here) but it’s the QUALITY of MEN i’m looking at discussing.
Keth and I had this conversation the other night when she called me to tell me she got accepted to UCSC and we ended up chatting for a few hours. The conversation kind rounded around men and our current lack thereof. Now, me personally, I do have crushes on people and some I would say were not crushes and probably some sort of “liking” going on (haha, this is so jr high) but, the crushes cannot be realised (you know, I TALK about henry rollins being my third husband but you know he isn’t going to be — really. maybe.)

On men, me and goals

It talks about sex. and other stuff. Don’t read if you really don’t want to know.
This is NOT about male-bashing. Sorry to disappoint 😉
It’s going on nearly 3 months since I’ve had sex (it actually maybe longer..), but, It feels like forever. And with all the hoopla with me and Paul, it got even worse when we were living together, where I’d stalk him like a cat and he’d tell me I was too aggressive or whatever, so while having sex was possible it didn’t happen enough for me to be ‘satisfied’. That was a status of our relationship. Sex was a mindgame and after 3 years, I wanted just some nice and easy sexors and I sure as hell wasn’t getting any. and foreplay? HAH! HAH. Paul didn’t believe in foreplay. Paul’s words were, who needed foreplay when I was ‘easy’? Uh, sure buddy. www.blowfish.com is your friend, gf.
I haven’t spoken to the boy-who-lives-across-the-sea in almost a week. To some that may not mean much but consider we talked everyday for nearly a year and then well, he gets a local gf and suddenly we do not speak (hence my comment earlier on lj). And I’m not angry because I have to remind myself that I cannot have him anyways, this is my mantra: I CANNOT HAVE HIM. PERIOD. And there are all these THINGS in my head that I must repeat to myself or else I will go insane because I have to recognize the following:

My promise of no dating for a year. Remember? Part of the reason why I moved back to GR. I’ve even cut Danny (local ex bf for those just tuning in) off at the pass for sex because of 50 million issues with him (my god though he still looks good to me). Because I feel like I’m worth more and you know, yah sorry if i’m a monogamous nympho (my term), but wait, I’m not sorry for being me but, you know just because you hit it once does NOT mean I’m always open. I am NOT 7-11 contrary to popular belief. Then Danny did his whole “but i put my life on hold for you” crap and you know, for someone who supposedly LOVES me stop mother fucking whining. I’ve been home for nearly THREE MONTHS and he’s made very little effort to see me. Next.
None of you cocksuckers are paying my bills. In short, I need to kick this OCD habit of staying online, playing video games or whatever because in the end, I AM 30 and I need to get a life and playing game cube, the sims or chatting with the bitches just aint gonna cut it. Yah, it is fun, yah it’s a great relaxer but i have to learn how to say NO and leave when the time comes.
I’m holding out for something better. Even if i hadn’t put this so called invisible chastiy belt on myself, I’d still say no, because you know what, I’m tired of chasing. I am. I’m tired of being the aggressor. I’d like having the guys chase ME for once and I cannot tell you the last time that happened. Certainly not in recent memory. And I want someone more like me. I do. I am NOT a boring or a static person, I mean obnoxious yes, but boring or static? Not really.
I do not feel sexy. This for some reason surprises people I confide this to (and you guys are my closests and dearest friends, even the ones I do not know!). I feel too fat, too tall, too weird, too something. And then what kills me is people telling me how sexy I am. that I radiate sex. One person (who is a big freak to boot) told me that I was their muse for their new series of erotica. I gave them inspiration. I don’t quite know how to handle that, I mean, it is a compliment. I just wish I felt more comfortable in my skin to feel as sexy as I’ve been told that I am. I do. I really wish I could be more confident with who I am, because I know when I DO feel more confident, strange things happen. But lately, I have been blaming it on the new lip gloss I’ve been wearing called Juicy Tubes. Yes, I bought it based on the name but I happen to like it.
The reason why I like boy-who-lives-across-the-sea so much is that I can I can shut him off if he ever pisses me off (he hasn’t really). I can log out of the xyz chat client we are using and go fuck off. I do not have to worry about him showing up at my door unannounced (though i would probably love it). I want/love/like men who are unattainable. That is my weakness. I can “control” them without having to really DEAL with them. I mean, I have my little Henry Rollins and Colin Firth shrines going on over here and that is OKAY, because I can deal with that.because I know fantasy from reality. I do. (Remember if i keep repeating something it will happen!)
I’m a big old softie at heart. Yes, it’s true. Yet something else people seem surprised at (I’m getting a bit annoyed at this whole bitch-on-wheels persona that still seems to perpetuate even if I’m sweet as sugar. I’m trying here to break old habits people cut me some slack). My favoriest movie in the whole wide world is Bridget Jones’ Diary. I’m telling you at the end when she kisses Colin Firth, I’m all over the couch clutching my chest wishing it were me. I’ve ALWAYS been a big romantic and while the rough and tumble set does turn me on, every time I’ve EVER been kissed with that whole “oh hly shit if i don’t kiss you i’m gonna die” look and the whole cupping of the face, i go weak in the knees. THERE IS A REASON WHY EXES HAVE CALLED ME NIAGRA FALLS (separately of course). I should not have to spell this out but apparently I do have to draw a bloody fucking map (or why I started writing an instruction booklet based on me once, well actually fairly recently). heh.
and finally:
I refuse to kowtow to the bitter and cynicalness that seems to pervade women in my age group. Yes i’ve had a series of long term relationships. Yes they did not work out, but goddamnit, I knew that I was not going to have a typical life and there is a freedom in that direction and I refuse to be in that age group. Cynical? Yah, I was born cynical and sarcastic but bitter comes and goes and I refuse to be chewed up into that grouping.

as an aside, dropped a note to boy-who-lives-across-the-sea:

 From: "princess superstar"
 To:boy-who-lives-across-the-sea
 Sent: Saturday, March 01, 2003 8:15 PM
 Subject: hey
You mentioned that you were going on vacation or something last week and
 I'm assuming this is why I haven't heard from you in awhile.  But if
not, are you upset with me or something?  All my email to @detroit.org is not
 coming through ...  :)
 Lisa
----- Original Message -----
From: boy-who-lives-across-the-sea
To: "princess superstar"
Sent: Saturday, March 01, 2003 8:29 PM
Subject: Re: hey
> yoyo :)
>
> i am not upset at all, i've just been terribly busy that's all. while
lying
> in bed this morning i thought about how i hadnt spoken to you very much
> lately.. i am sorry. i'm not angry or anything, nor am i (unfortunately)
on
> holiday - i DO however have an entire week off :D
>
> i'll check the gettobooty address in a bit.
>
> how are you keeping?
>
> tata
>
>NAMEWITHHELD
> *smooch*

Then he took off to go out.
WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF.
Because American men are highly fucking boring. hah.
over-and-out

pr0n

i finally uploaded the pr0n and pictures pages (no, not the bill cosby kind). DO BE WARNED that these are in THUMBNAILS and there is quite a number of images. if your on a slow connection, this can take some time. I’m on cable — but hey, you slowpokes are just being warned. and please. do not email me bitching about morals, bullshit, and how its degradating to women. the pictures are either funny, disgusting, perverted or just down right “um — okay” type of deals. this is my website, i will put on here what i please. just don’t bother with me with how you feel about pron. i mean, jesus christ, if i can write a chronicle about rimming justin, I’m sure you people can handle pictures. and hey. no one is forcing you to go there. I’m just letting you know.
the above was just necessary because i really don’t want my email box filled with letters about how I’m going to hell, and pr0n is degrading to women and yadda yadda yadda. move along now. there is nothing to see here.
spam
i used to claim that back in the day that i /never/ got spam because i never posted to usenet. hahahaha. okay well anyways, i now do get spam (spam in my aol account doesn’t count btw) and the funny thing is that it’s generally sent to an address that theoretically doesn’t exist (it exists in so much as it’s now an alias pointing to a physical email box) and for the most part i just delete it.
I’ve also gotten complaints from people who have forwarded to me spam that was “generated” from my simunye.com address. which is funny — but hey. hehe.
but I’ve been getting spammed from two persons who have been directed at me. one is from cyberplebe.com. yes, i know, go ahead and laugh at that lame ass moronic page. the issue is that for the last year or so, they’ve been spamming me about their lame book — and got my address from the geek white pages (a little project started in 1995 that i had signed up on in 1996). and the guy claims:
“Sorry about the email. You will not be sent any future mailings, that email was mis-sent. please take your name off the Geek Pages list to stop any email in the future. For your information SPAM is not illegal in any state nor the US on any federal or state statutes. SPAM of course is discouraged. Your were sent this email because your name was on a submitted list.”
Obviously, the idiot didn’t read the last two emails I sent him in regards to federal law:
U.S. law, including Title 47
Sec.227(b)(1)(C) of the U.S. Code, as follows:
US Code Title 47, Sec.227(b)(1)(C):
“It shall be unlawful for any person within the United States to use any telephone facsimile machine, computer, or other device to send an unsolicited advertisement to a telephone facsimile machine”
A “telephone facsimile machine” is defined in Sec.227(a)(2)(B) as:
“equipment which has the capacity to transcribe text or images (or both) from an electronic signal received over a regular telephone line onto paper.” Under this definition, an e-mail account, modem, computer and printer together constitute a fax machine.
The rights of action are as follows. Under Sec.227(b)(3)(B):
“A person or entity may, if otherwise permitted by the laws or rules of court of a State, bring in an appropriate court of that State —
(A) an action based on a violation of this subsection or the regulations prescribed under this subsection to enjoin such violation,
(B) an action to recover for actual monetary loss from such a violation, or to receive $500 in damages for each such violation, whichever is greater, or
(C) both such actions. If the court finds that the defendant willfully or knowingly violated this subsection or the regulations prescribed under this subsection, the court may, in its discretion, increase the amount of the award to an amount equal to not more than 3 times the amount available under subparagraph (B) of this paragraph.”
Now, I’ve been more than polite to this guy and I’ve quote said paragraphs to him above several times. I mean, what is it going to take for people to get the hint that YOU WILL NOT MAKE MILLIONS HAWKING YOUR WARES ON THE NET! jesus. especially some drippy little page done in FrontPage hawking a book called “cyber plebe”? ugh no. Anyways, he hasn’t emailed me back, I suspect he will not. His wife has previously written to my response and told me to fuck off (which he said she apologized for — which she had not). Lets grow up people, shall we?
The next group soulforce.org is an actual legit community. and i can admire what they are trying to do, but for the last TWO years they have been sending me updates on their community. problem is, I’m not interested, i don’t really care and i want to know how they got my email address. The first time i got mail from them, they promised to take me off. The second time i got mail from them, i got an apology from the founders and a gift certificate from amazon.com for my inconvenience. and then it stopped.
well it was raining spam again this evening folks as i got email from BOTH parties at the same time. I’ve also emailed the founders of soulforce again — directly and bitched. but in a nicer way. i never spent the amazon.com certificate (didn’t think it was a big deal) and was told it was an intern error when they were importing addresses (and we know how interns are — just ask Bill Clinton).
I believe in freedom of speech but spam has gone WAY AND ABOVE the call of duty here. it’s distressing because i can’t think of anyone who really reads it (let alone who actually RESPONDS to it), it causes problems with servers (amount of mail vs sever load), people get angry, blood pressure rises, i mean, what of any GOOD that comes out of it?
me personally, i take extra careful steps when I’m registering something on the internet. i always read the fine print (some legit companies will ask if you mind being put on a mailing list — always read the fine print on this) and make sure I’m not receiving extra mail. for instance, i was getting mailing info from companies like Barnes and Noble, Iomega, C|Net, et al. I read the fine print at the bottom and unsubscribe my ass from their mailing lists (if i had inadvertently gotten on). Some mail I do read, like Wired Daily News, my horoscope, and my weekly update from cdnow.com. But for the most part, I’ve realized that I do not have the time and energy to sort through that crap. some companies will put you on a mailing list when purchase something from their website (again, read the fine print, unsubscribe). i never realized just how much junk mail i was on until i was swapping accounts over from simunye.com to geek-haus.org/simunye.org mailing addresses. everyday I’ve been getting something new from something i had purchased/registered for and hell, i was even a founding community member of nerve.com website. (which i had forgotten about until they sent me an anniversary email — hehe).
i just don’t like the fact people can try and hawk their wares to me thinking it’s okay. I’m a resourceful goddess, if i need something, i know where to look for it. i don’t need to be told how.
i guess that is what irritates me the most is that most people will run something because it is under the guise of “free speech” — but you see, free speech (in my opinion) is only worthwhile AS LONG AS IT DOESN’T HURT SOMEONE ELSE. I’m sure someone is going to put the smackdown on me about this in particular, but there are limits to everything — including my patience.
paul and i had a conversation a few weeks ago about internet e-commerce. from his perspective, only 10% of businesses succeed on the Internet today. When someone starts a business, they have a 50% chance of either closing in two years or continuing to run. On the Internet, with so many choices being available — and so many people working from home these days, this has sky rocketed to 90/10 fail/pass percentage — and with the advent of IPOs? It can’t stay like this forever — the market won’t allow it. it’s going to crash and burn sometime.
I saw a wonderful article in modemag.com about how there is just TOO much information — and i totally agree with it. With the advent of portals, my.company.coms, free web hosting, specialized sites/search engines, newsletters, everyone is rushing to be on the information superhighway — and wanting to be a geek in the same time. ITS MADNESS I TELL YOU! i keep two my.company.com ‘s websites running at work with my profiles with my weather, horoscopes, movies and teevee guides and other fun things. i can remember a day when i spent EIGHT freaking hours on yahoo taking advantage of their services — and the suck-me-part is the “FREE” word. hell, even one of my usual rants is about the popularity of online journaling, now made more famous by websites such as diaryland.com with everyone and their brother jumping on the bandwagon.
god, one of the dreams I’ve had for a long time was a complete Internet cleanup. Go through and remove 404 errors, weblogs (lame ass link pages), and dead websites. kind of do a spring cleaning on the whole thing. and especially start requesting that a computer iq be generated when purchasing either a computer or an online account. yah, that’s the ticket.
in short, spam is evil. don’t do it.
addendum to the abortion story
got a lot of responses to the chronicle from 12.12.99 on my experience with being a friend to someone having an abortion. got in several stories of some personal experiences as well as guesses as to who i was speaking about (i will neither confirm nor deny those).
all in all, honestly i didn’t feel like i had written well enough to convey what was going on. the person who i was speaking about thought i had written well on the topic — but my main story running through my head while i was hanging out at the clinic didn’t come out as passionate as i had hoped. which sucks, but there is good days and bad days when writing.
Anywho, i do thank everyone for telling me how they have felt. paul and i were discussing the old “what if i told you i was pregnant” theory — and he said he would quietly freak out and not speak to me for a few days before we talked about our options (which is funny considering that paul was just telling me this morning how we are going to be buying a house within the next year — I’m like dude, just drag that big freckled hard arse of yours up here so that we can start our life!)
I think the thing that freaked me out the most was the fact that laying next to my friend the night before the actual procedure having her tell me how the babies were kicking. to me, that was just too close to home. as i find myself getting older, i keep thinking about little lisa’s (and little paulys i would assume) and i keep thinking about how great it would to be a mom just to clean up the fuckups in my own life. but i don’t have plans for quite some time to do this until I’m older and more able to handle it — as for the fact of being in a stable relationship (married or not).
I’m all for being protected and being safe. again, to me it is a show of utter lack of respect when not doing these precautions — especially in this day and age. you can’t just assume that because the vaginal area/penis area looks clean — it is. get tested regularly (once a year), buy condoms and live a long and healthy life!
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