TheExHusband – Page 15 – A Most Unreliable Narrator

the pill vs the springhill mining disaster

My birthday is in five days.
Gifts of luv, money, new life, geeky men can be sent here.
the pill vs the springhill mining disaster
every day my roommate and i have a fight.
i get up, rinse my mouth with plax, plop my contacts in. once my vision is crystal, the first thing i always notice is the case that she keeps her diaphragm in and her damn spermicide. it sits there, so innocent on top of the shelf above the sink. and every day i get this revolting feeling in my stomach. i try not to let it get to me — i mean it’s not like her diaphragm is staring me in the face, winking at me, reminding me that I’m alone. but it’s just the class of the whole idea. i mean, it’s tacky for godsakes. i mean it’s bad enough that no one will go and fix the cracked toilet seat. Cathleens idea was to use duct tape around it the crack. my my my, aren’t we high falutin.
so.
i move the diaphragm and jelly into her bedroom. and that next morning it was back in full force. laying there in its pretty pink case – defying me. taunting me.
it’s annoying the piss out of me.
what jails is like
“I’ll warn you, if cornered
I’ll scartch my way out of the pen
wired, an animal, the claustrophobia begins.”
it’s approximently 3:57am and insomnia is taking over.
again.
it’s a never ending battle it seems. today i was so proud of myself. all of the stuff i had planned on doing i got done (oh yeah, fighting with justin was on the list of priorities, don’t lemme forget that): i updated the site. i did laundry. i biored. i cleaned the house. put the clean laundry away. called the car pool people. it was going swell. so at 11:something, when i laid down to read before i went to sleep, and i check the clock an it’s 12:16, and then 1:26 and then it’s 2:27am. Justin is back to working days now at PBI, so he’s up at the crack of dawn. He decided, at 11pm, to watch Party Girl. I rented it for him, on the basis that there was nothing else at the vid store. And Danny always said i reminded him of Parker Posey. She’s got MOXY! I luv her.
An anonymous email I just sent out:

“It’s 4:16am and I’m still awake.
It’s freezing here.
And i’ve decided that I’m unbearably lonely.
Lisa”

you know, I’m tired of being strong.
Mike and i had this killer conversation yesterday (being Sunday — lets not fuck up my sleeping habits enough).
And I like him.
I like the fact that that I can be something of myself around him. I thought he was being pretty spacey sometimes — you know always good for a few laughs — he’s a funny guy. every time we are on the phone, I’m laughing so hard my stomach aches. but today was different.
and i think it was because when the fun and games were done, we got down to some serious talking. he always pesters me to ask him questions (i hate when people do that btw) about himself. and it’s hard, when i’ve lived in my head for so damn long. almost 27 years worth.
and we talked.
and it felt good — it didn’t feel contrived or that i was using one of my sparkingly personalities to do something. I’m grasping for the words to describe it — but I’m afraid I’ll sully it with some trite description. and this wasn’t really about you know, a rehash of our life — but it was more a telling of stories. about ourselves. and i felt utterly comfortable discussing things with him. it was strange — it was like something had changed. i just felt — me. and talking about my moxy vs insecurities. it was just normal.
i’ve been striving for normalcy for the last few years. a few days ago, i went to Jeff’s website and found that i was a tad green with jealousy. newly married, new loft in downtown Pittsburgh. i don’t know — i just felt sick that i didn’t have that. it’s like a part of me won’t allow that to happen. and i don’t know why. well, yesh i do know why. I know precisely why.
i can trace it all back to specific events in my life of why i am the way i am. i can explain it so clear. maybe you should work on it — i keep hearing that. but damnit. it’s like, mike is so totally the guy that i would love dating on a daily basis (well you know what i mean). not textual. just — you know beers somewhere. a movie. hiking somewhere. where i can give him a kiss on the cheek good night, shut the door and go sit on my bed for hours whispering to my teddy bear, telling him how great mike is.
real.
in your face.
i need that as bad as i need to be whipped sometimes. don’t get me wrong, i love my mind f00ks as much as the next sadist/masochist, but there is something about reality. smelling and breathing. and touching that is just so appealing. it just seems in the last five years i’ve meet guys i’ve liked on-line, we meet and it ends up somewhere has to move somewhere to date. and it’s not even that anymore. it’s like assumed we will automatically start living together. i wouldn’t give up that for anything — it’s experience, i want to be able to say i’ve done it, but the last time i was on an actual “date” was with danny back in 96.
and that makes me sad.
i get so disgusted with the pick of men in SF — hell — i know totally part of it is my attitude since i’ve gotten here — how i feel like it’s tainted and sullied with bad memories. that things shouldn’t be the way they are — that my dreams got dashed by things that i couldn’t control.
now, don’t get me wrong, geeking out is great. it’s fun. i love being online, but there is so much more to me than just what you see here, in this medium. it’s like the whole email disaster — people email me, but i don’t think they really want to know “me” — cos i might say or do something that will totally disrupt them and any illusion they have of me. and that annoys me. or they think I’m so fscking cool. cool about what? I’m just me damnit! That’s all I have ever wanted to be — was me.
Jaffo once told me I was the most complicated woman he ever met. he’s a net.legend, this must be true. he has this thing for grapefruit — Lisa get back on track!
yesh ma’am!
i just think that maybe, I’m growing up. things defiently don’t seem like they used to be when i was younger. things seem more clear — or — just more focused. and that feels like a lie, partly because well, I’m feeling vulnerable right now. and it seemed like a good thing to say.
it’s 5:31 am. Justin is up and told me i was beautiful. i keep staring at the picture to your left — and i can’t believe that’s me. that’s just one of me’s. so it’s been said.
I’ll leave you from a few words from my boy Greg Dulli:
When We Two Parted
baby, i see you’ve made yourself all sick again
didn’t i do a good job of pretending?
You’re saying that the victim doesn’t want it to end
Good. I get to dress up and play the assassin again.
It’s my favorite.
It’s got personality.
I should have seen this shit coming down the hall.
Every night I spent in that bed
with you facing the wall
If I could have only once heard you scream
To feel you were alive instead of watching you abandoning yourself
baby, you can open your eyes now
And please allow me to present you with a clue,br>
If i inflict the pain then baby only I can comfort you
Out of the night we come into the night we go
If it starts to hurt you then you have to say so.

finis
x0x0x0x0x0x,
moi

Countdown

My birthday is in 6 days.
I turn the ripe old age of 27.
beauty is only skindeep
this is a crock of shit.
When Justin and I were dating, we would constantly get into big arguments because his style of dress was anything that was clean: ratty old tshirts and crotchless shorts. When we would go out, it was a long never ending argument that I wanted him to DO SOMETHING with himself. And he would, eventually, begrudgingly put on a pair of dress shorts and decent shirt. and by this time, after i had primped and gotten beautified, i was pissed.
Justin and I spent so much time arguing about this. I couldn’t make him understand that part of having confidence was just the fact that you feel that you look your best. His argument was that if I loved him, I would love him regardless of what he wore. And i wanted that to be true, but lets face it, I’m a snobby bitch. I want someone who looks good, at least in my eyes. I want someone that when I look at, I want to pounce. I want someone who /cares/ about how they look. i tried, really, really hard to not make this an issue, but I couldn’t help it. I felt guilty because it felt like i was being shallow — but when i talked to other people about this little problem, they assured me I wasn’t. Part of feeling good about yourself is how you dress and thus how you present yourself to the world. I’ve always made the correlation that on days when I’m feeling less than good about myself, it’s mainly having to do with how i look. Now honestly, no ones other opinions do matter other than your own — and this was justins biggest argument to me. That if he was comfortable and felt comfortable with himself, why was I making a big deal? The problem was that I knew (because he told me often enough) that he wasn’t comfortable with himself. He would bitch about the weight he gained and then go eat. Or lie on the couch. His lack of motivation, passion and drive drove me nuts. (Intoxicated by your aggression, I offer you my one possession). The arguments would subside and sooner or later would start all over again. This is one of the reasons why I never wanted to do anything with him: he didn’t feel the need to put on anything other than this icky orange t-shirt that was nearly a rag and icky shorts. I would spend the time getting beautiful and I felt like I was going out with my brother. Hell, even my brother had style. He loves Nautica. He takes somewhat good care of himself. He has pride in how he looks.
And i don’t want to hear about how being prideful is sinful or whatever lame argument that is presented. Cos you know what bub? No one is gonna give a shit but yourself. It’s true. Only you and you alone can make the changes and become what you are.
okay, i diverting from the subject.
back on track lisa! whip!
and so it’s much later.
today consisted of me bolstering peoples ego, helping friends out and sitting on my fat ass all damn day. justin and i had gotten into a huge argument earlier this afternoon because i had wanted him to help around the house. many may remember months ago when i had spoken of this very same subject: the plan was devised of a chart of which days on who does chores. This helped out for awhile and then we broke up and we both slide down the hill. For awhile I hadn’t cared much because the house wasn’t falling into the pit of despair it once was — but looking back now i realize i just accepted it for what it was. But I’m fucking annoyed with it. I’m tired of picking things up. So i attempted to rouse Justin’s ass off the couch and he picked a fight with me. And we were arguing in the bathroom and he backed me up against the wall and yelling at me — and i told him he was scaring me. he knows not to yell at me and he commented “don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you” — and even if it WERE true — I just felt so damn defenseless standing there.
living with men suck.
i had this long diatribe in my head about beauty and how we appreciate it and i find that now that the day is gone, so am i.
for your amusement however, you may download one of the following:
new pics of me
cartoon pron
x0x0x0x
moi

404 Not Found

From Greg: “OK, either you’re being subtle, or you have a bad link. Either way, you have to admit that the answer to “what do you want” being “Not Found” is kinda funny in a Janeane Garofalo-ish web-savvy kind of way. :)”
Uh, well, I went to upload the file what i want and my connection died last night. I dialed into three ISPs and I couldn’t route for the life of me. However, amusingly enough I could route in Linux. But the file is in winders. I’ll fix it tonight. 🙂
99% accurate
I’m not pregnant.
you are probably wondering “what?” but for the last few weeks, the only thing on my mind has been the fact that I “may” or “may not” be carrying another life within me. i was conscious of this as i sat drinking all day Sunday and i was conscious of this every time i lit up a cigarette and smoked.
but I’m jumping ahead.
As many of you who know me fairly intimately know that I haven’t been “right” with menstruation since, well, forever. I was one of those weird kids that got their period at the age of 8 (and had to deal with Mrs. Bruntrock (real name) calling me a liar and forcing my mother to come down to St. Josephs to verify my claims of having to change my damn pad) and got it again at the tender age of 13. I was regular for like a minute and then I stopped getting it. I got examined at the age of 15 where the doctor proclaimed I “may” or “may not” have juvenile endometriosis. he suggested however that i start taking the pill to regulate my periods and take things from there on in.
i think i was the only virgin who has ever been on the pill.
this worked well on and off for the last 11 years, but there has been times where the choice between getting my prescription refilled and eating and eating came out to be a winner.
when i moved to SF, I had my doctor write out a prescription for me for a years worth and diligently took the pill with no problems, however my prescription ran out last July and I haven’t been back to get it refilled since.
In the interim, I was sleeping with Justin, who was by far the only person I was sleeping with, and we were double bagging condoms on top of the pill. When the prescription ran out, I didn’t really think anything about it and just kept screwing Justin and using those damn condoms but kicking myself internally for being too lazy to get the prescription refilled. there has never been any worry of me getting pregnant as we were taking extra caution since i went off the pill.
i haven’t had my period since January.
living with another alpha she bitch (ie: Cathleen) in the house has caused, when even on the pill, disruption in my cycle. Cathleen and i would joke about who was “large and in charge” based on who was forcing the other person to go with their others cycle. it was damn annoying. then i went off the pill. and I didn’t have my period for a few months and then i got cramps from hell and got it in December and January. and i took out my Dilbert planner and marked the days so that i could finally start tracking my period to see who really was large and in charge.
for months I would get “symptoms” that i was all too familiar with: some cramping, craving of chocolate/salt for a day or so. moodiness. and then Cathleen would tell me that she just finished her cycle and it suddenly make sense. so I started jotting down my moods and they completely corresponded with when she was on her cycle.
but no blood.
I kept telling myself that it was just my fucked up body doing it’s thing, but then march turned into April turned into may turned into June.
and then I started feeling “funny”.
Ever since James went back to England a week or so back, my stomach has been acting weird. a combination of cramps and acid and major gas. i felt like someone had shoved an air pump up my butt and just filled me with 10lbs of air. my stomach hurt, i couldn’t drink anything more than milk and sometimes even that was too hard. and i couldn’t take it anymore. i hadn’t told anyone what had been going on. i was in complete denial about what was going on. and when James and I talked about it the other day, found out that both of us were having the exact same symptoms for the exact same of time (since he left). and if i was “maybe” pregnant, did that mean james was too?
so i told Justin what i was feeling.
and he said “you’re not pregnant” and i asked him how did he know? and he said that he had been through this with his ex and he did research on getting pregnant and turns out it’s harder than it seems. yeah sure, i mean if you have real respect for your body, you’ll always use protection, but even so, he kept telling me that there was like a zillion and one chance that i was pregnant (go back to the: ALWAYS using protection and double bagging at that). He said he wasn’t worried. I was worried. I kept talking about going and buying a pregnancy test and never got around to it. I kept putting it off and putting it off. and i had gotten my horoscope on Saturday for Sunday and it said something like “the news you have to tell people will be taken with more sense then you have” or some shit and i freaked out. I had planned, on Sunday to go and get the test and interpreted THAT to mean that if I WAS pregnant that people would be cool with it. So i skipped out buying the test.
But i couldn’t deal with NOT knowing absolutely for sure.
So last night, after dropping Cat off at my house, I screwed up the nerve and drove to longs. I lit up a cigarette even though I knew that it was a 2 minute drive. I parked the car and walked right in with determination in my back and my head held high.
I was so scared.
I walked down the baby aisle and just stared at all that BABY crap and a million things went through my head about abortions and having kids and my friends who had all been done this path before me. i thought about my immaturity (i can’t even take care of a damn cat hello!) and the fact that if i ever got pregnant i wanted to be married or at least very much in love with someone.
and then i couldn’t find the damn tests.
i looked to my right and saw something that said “early testing”
But of course.
Pregnancy tests are located next to the condoms. How silly of me not to have thought of that.
I grabbed the first package and read the instructions. It sounded simple enough and walked towards the cash register. I sat there, shoving the box underneath my armpit. I felt ashamed as i watched the people ahead of me buying Mt. Dew and their damn dr scholls foot deodorant. I stood there with my mind running in a million different directions. I twitched and put the box face down on the conveyor belt and started reading the Enquirer. I kept telling myself “there is ABSOLUTELY nothing to be ashamed of. No one is going to make fun of me for buying a pregnancy test.” But I couldn’t help swallowing hard as Tariq the counter guy asked me how i was doing as he examined the box a little more closely. I said fine thanks and kept my head held high and attempting not to look scared..
I drove home and read the instructions. Now all I had to do was wait to pee.
And I waited.
And I waited.
By the time i went to bed some 6 hours later (and drank enough water to kill a horse), i still couldn’t pee.
I went to bed after working out determined that regardless of what, i was taking the test the next morning even if it killed me.
as par usual, i woke up late.
I had the most delicious dream that I was dating Henry Rollins and had been screwing him in an apartment we shared. I heard the alarm go off and looked at the clock. i was determined to do this. i grabbed a plastic cub and went to the bathroom. ripped open both packages (two tests came in one package). dipped the sticks into the urine. jumped in the shower for five minutes (test takes 1-3 minutes), jumped back out. pulled the sticks out. looked that the information sheet. looked at the sticks. looked at the package. looked back at the sticks.
went out and said “hey Justin!”
got a muffled “wha?” from under the covers.
“I’m not pregnant.”
a “woohoo!” comes through loud and clear. then a “i told you so.”
As to be expected, i can’t but help feeling a tad bit disappointed. i had it all in my head that if i was pregnant i was going to have an abortion. i wasn’t in love with Justin, i was single, i wasn’t making enough money, i wasn’t in love, i wasn’t married. a thousand different thoughts went through my head of the reason “why” i wouldn’t have a child right now. but as i grow older, I’ve noticed that the more i look at some little girl with big brown eyes and dark hair and think “she could be mine”. and i can’t help feeling that all the promises i made in my head to a god i didn’t believe in were not only empty but somewhat full of some meaning. i start stressing out about how now that I’m getting older I’ll soon be too old to have kids.
the irony is that five years ago, i thought i was pregnant with Alan’s child (another “oh shit haven’t had my period in 5 months deal). and i had thought THEN there was no problems in my head with being young and having a baby. now five years later, i found that my expectations of what i want from life are completely different then they were then. i always thought i was strong then, but i was so immature. and i realize now that if i sat here and think about it, i could have handled having a little girl (or boy) NOW as I’m older than when i was young and stupid. maybe I’m not in the right situation right now, and i know there is a lot i want to do before i get married or live in sin again or whatever, but just thinking about the reasons then of wanting to have a child and now —
please god.
let me not turn into Ally McBeal.

sex/purity/soul

in the past, a snappy title is what it takes for me to get going on writing a chronicle. sometimes it will be something that I’ve seen or something that i have read. other times it will be something that will just pop in my head when I’m doing something mindless.
tonights title came from the fact i was zipping up my mozerella cheese when i started singing the ziplock commercial song.
now how lame is that?
so here i am. hurriedly approaching my 27th birthday and in many ways, i don’t feel like i have accomplished a whole hell of a lot in my life. for many of you know, I’ve been in a constant state of flux with what i wanted to do with my life. my first set of stress was Justin. Well, I took care of that by breaking it off with him. So now I’m single. Well, lets enter some other problems here:

We live together.
See, my plan was to stay with him till i felt that he was capable of taking care of himself. And NO he didn’t move to SF to be with me, however it took a lot of push/pull on my side to get him motivated to get a decent job and earn a living for himself. Now he is, but then I was in school and I wasn’t making enough to sneeze at. So I dropped out of school. But the stress is still there cos now we are broken up, i quit school and are living together. He gets depressed when I start mentioning about anything about the breakup. And that throws me off. I have not had time to heal damnit. And I really resent that. I need my space. But I cannot be a cruel person and kick him out on the streets. He has no financial obligations to me anymore (not that he should, however). But his lack of motivation drives me insane. I can’t force myself into doing that.
New Roommates.
Well it finally happened: Charlie “officially” moved in. Charlie is Cathleen’s bf, whom she’s been dating for the last 6 or so months. I finally put my foot down the other week and said “Look, he’s here /every night/, either he coughs up rent or he doesn’t come over anymore.” Well, the other day I was told that Charlie was officially moving in. Good because now everything is split in fours. Bad, because I still gets no privacy damnit. We have a two bedroom house, but it’s not like it’s spacious. and i still am in a snit about the fact that i haven’t slept alone since I last went back to Michigan and visited my family. god, back on my shitty twin size bed. it was lumpy, it was crappy, but oh so worth it. i miss that bed, out of pure instinct that i haven’t slept alone in nearly a year. no one knows how much that bugs me. I am, by nature a private person. I like my space. I like being alone. Really. I’m not chiding people here nor do I expect people to understand, but I’ve lived with three bf’s in the last four years and I’m tired of it. I want my own fucking space. I cannot stress this enough.Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my roommates, but my lifestyle and theirs just don’t match. You know I’ve never owned my own bed? it was either parental given or bf-owned.
Verk.Oh this should be a fun one.

(If there is a hell, I’ll see you there.)
That should sum it up. I’m BORED. BORED I TELL YOU!
I feel absolutely uncreative and un-anything at work. All i do is IRC all damn day, because that is mildly amusing.
This is one rant i don’t want to go on about right now.
sex/purity/soul
(you make me perfect)
I’ve been sl00ting around on irc for the last few hours, looking for something anything that will get me going. something that would take me away from all of this. something that will make me spark and make my world appear in clarity. what i got was a topic war in #after_dark and being beaten with a zuicinni by snowdrake.
this isn’t a bad thing — but there is something missing, a part of me. a part of something else. i don’t know.
So I’ll start at the beginning.
I’ve always dreamed of a life of being the perfect sub to the perfect male. more or less he would be my perfect counterpoint in so many ways. he didn’t have to be perfect, he just had to be perfect for me. and along the way, i ran into a lot of people i thought i loved. and maybe i did, but there was so much missing from them that i made compromises for. that i accepted it as such because i didn’t think anyone would want me. in my own ways, I’m too messed up for a relationship. along with me comes a lot of baggage that no one deserves to have.
and then there was shame.
shame came along when potential dates would exclaim about my fantasies as sick of perverted or that i had too much experience and since i enjoyed anal sex, i was a whore. i lost my ideals as they mocked my purity saying that someone like me wasn’t pure. my soul kept getting raped by gangbusters of things i do not understand or care to know about. and i let it happen. i wasn’t protective enough to not let it happen. i gave in. i wanted someone to fucking love me and along the way i was abused and used by (it seems) every male in my life.
and i have to be strong.
and so future potential dates would be aghast and would proclaim that i was damaged goods. “How could you!” they would yell at me. “How could you let him do that to you?” How could you have said that you loved him? How could I let him fuck me 90000 different ways. How could I become his willing whore? And after they fucked me, they would laugh and say how much this didn’t happen. I didn’t have enough respect for myself to NOT let it happen.
I always exclaimed I was the one women men would fuck while they married my friends. They wanted this ultra-pure girl who would proclaim, honestly or not, that he was the best they ever had. but she wouldn’t fuck like i do. they would get bored with their wives/gf’s and they would call me on the sly and tell me they loved me. and i would play the denial game and deny them, making me stronger in so many ways. they would come back to me. hiding out watching me. “She doesn’t fuck like you do lisa?” But what about fucking me. that’s my question.
What the fuck about me.
After Jeff, I lost all hope. No, I lost hope before that. It’s been so long since I have liked someone. Really liked someone for themselves. But I can’t talk about me because that would be too fucking painful. And they would only use it later on me when they touted to their friends that they fucked me and I was a whore. And they would laugh as I cried after we had sex because they didn’t get it. Or they would try and play the sympathy act, telling me that they loved me. my perversions didn’t mean jack shit but in the end, it did. “Hurt me.” I would say. “I can’t” they would say. OR else it’s the guys who love me and want to hurt me, but they smack me or pinch/claw/bite me and get frightened by my response.
Everyone goes away in the end.
I try to be so brave and pretend I’m something that they want. i would do things that they “thought” they knew me as, and not ONE of them had the balls to look past that and tell me to knock it off. They don’t want me. They think I”m the whore i truly am. Nothing matters anymore.
What have i become.
I’m angry right now, but it’s the anger that doesn’t matter. because i like someone right now. i like them a lot. first person in god knows how long I’ve actually liked. and i find myself sitting there just thinking about random and sundry things because i know i could fall in love with him. and he says he understands. i think he does. but…
but I’m over-reacting. i see myself in him and vice versa. and i think my obsession with him will drive him away. how my own lack of security about the fact that this person likes me will drive him away. i should be happy, right? i have something to look forward to. and i find that I’m not happy about anything because finding him right now was the worse fucking luck. why couldn’t it have been when i was settled somewhere new and not have so much fucking baggage wrapped around my neck? why couldn’t it have been when I felt i made something of myself. or in any a 100 different ways or situations?
the other day we were on the phone and he said he felt i was it. you know, THE ONE. first time someone admitted that to me without my prompting (men are so fucking easy to fuck in the mind). and in the spur of the moment, i wanted to say “i love you” because in that moment i did. i loved like i never loved before. however, there was a fork in my tongue and i didn’t say it. the problem is that, when i find someone i like, i start thinking the wonderful person they are. and i get possessive about them. and i get obsessed about them. they get scared. and they don’t understand. and i find that i jinx it by talking about talking about them. that i might make it worse. and i don’t want to be stress to anyone. or a burden. just pet me a few times a day. throw some luvin’ my way, and I’m set. let me be free. i don’t want to hurt anyone, god, i don’t. i don’t want to be hurt, but liking him means that maybe, one day, i’ll be hurt or he’ll be hurt. and I’ve been thought hat scenario so many times in my life. how much more pain do i have to go through? i don’t understand that.
hold me like this for a hundred thousand million days.
i always end up saying the wrong thing and they will get angry at me. and then i get scared and i cry and i don’t know what to do. and he’s not a stress to me. no. that’s not it. i know that, I’ve thought about that. finding him right now was good luck because i don’t have to think with him i just be. but i miss him. more than anything.
but i always feel like there is something missing in me.
or that something is evil. that i will never get anything that i feel is richly mine. that i will always end up being someone’s whore, because it feels like every man i meet wants to fuck? fine. i can play that act so well. i don’t know what it feels like to have sex and WANT it. all I now is the motions. I now how to fuck someone and fuck them good. i know how to move and moan in the right motions. and when they aren’t looking, i turn and cry.
I wish i could just stop.
too many years I’ve cried for you.
head in pain, holded in shame.
different name. same old game.
so i can’t take it anymore.
my friend James left to go back to Florida yesterday. a few weeks ago i had the bright idea that i would pack up everything that was holding me down and just go. leave. vamoose. adios, i ain’t looking back. but i didn’t. i couldn’t. i should have. I’m kicking myself for not doing that. i didn’t care about what happened. i knew what i wouldn’t. i didn’t have the balls to do it. i wanted to feel free. take a few weeks off, enjoy his company, see the US.
I’m feeling non-sequential right now. i have so much to say. and i read this and it smells like tripe.
and i hate myself even more.
i wish i had the energy to die. you know, suicide. but I’m too strong for that. i don’t have the guts to complete anything it seems. i just waste my hours on thing that make no sense. people anger me. i don’t want to deal. just don’t want to deal anymore.
I’m broken.
used goods.
there is a tiny sliver inside of me that has hope, but I’m guarding that. holding it close. i know this game all to well. i know now how to play it with the best instinct. i know how this goes. i now what to do. this is my mantra. i know what I’m going to do.
I WANT MY LIFE BACK!
so i sit here with my head cocked to one side and i realize that i don’t care. i don’t care at all. Justin is next to me, he’ll do anything for my attention and i get repulsed by his constant greediness and i can’t deny him because it’s all my fault. it’s all my fault. and i want to hurt myself. pain. that’s all it i think about these last few days is pain. because i can let it go. i can let it go.
i need to find something pure. something worthwhile to believe in. something worthwhile to hope for. i need to have something(someone?) who i can hold and not feel like it’s fake. not feel like it’s going to disappear on me. i need something i call my own. i need something that won’t mock me, shame me or make me feel dirty inside. i need to find something that i can hold in my life that once i have that everything else will click into place.
I’m not as strong as you think i am.
i may pretend, but that’s a game I’ve fabricated all to well.
i just don’t want no more lies.
i just don’t want to lie to myself or to them or to anyone. i want to carve out the person known as lisa and fuck them all. i want to curl up and die sometimes. i want to hold hold hold hold hold hold.
no more lies.
my life is a sham. it is. everyone wants a piece of me and they all want this piece of something. and I’m not worth having. because once they get the person known as lisa, they decide this is the time they don’t want it, so they discard it. they don’t understand.
one person.
not fake.
to understand.
who fucking gets this shit in my head and i don’t have to explain. i don’t want to explain anymore. I’m so tired of explaining to everyone.
and what I’m sick of is these tripey emails from people who tell me how brave i am. i ain’t fucking shit. I’m just a person who sits down and writes what the rest of you don’t have the fucking balls to admit to anyone, not even to yourself. you have no fucking clue what it’s like being me. everyone wants a piece when I’m high, cuz when I’m high i fucking rock and when I’m slumming to new lows they all vamoose quicker than a prom dress. and you fucking sit there and tell me how much you admire me? Admire what? My pain? Admire what? My view on things? because i can see things you are too fucking ignorant to even comprehend. I’m so sick of the nearly 100 emails in my box of people telling me they understand. no, you don’t understand. how do i know you don’t understand? because i know that you want to feel like me. this is my gift. i fucking rip my heart out for the whole fucking world to read and you sit there and think you are like me and you’re not. you don’t have the balls to do what i do. very few people do. you just sit there smug with satisfaction thinking that this is nothing more then something you understand and then you try and hold a conversation with me and you don’t get it. i have to explain even the same thing over and over to you again. and I’m sick of explaining. if you so fucking understand you wouldn’t have me fucking explain the most simplest concepts to you. you don’t get me. see, that’s what I’m saying. you think that this webpage is a mirror of me. no. it’s a mirror of a part of me. it’s everything I’ve been dying to say to the fucking world since i was old enough to fucking talk.
yeah and I’m fucking pissed right now.
and the word fuck gets sprinkled in my language a lot.
and i’ll tell you why I’m fucking pissed. I’m pissed because people are fucking whores. I’m a whore. i sold my fucking body for a plane ticket and three months of hell to move to california thinking i could escape my demons. hell is living with a gay male pretending he’s straight. someone telling you over and over that he loves you and understands you but has no clue to who you are. someone who publically humiliated me at a conference over some two bit trick. i’ll tell you what being me means, it means sitting there listening to people talking about their fucking life and wishing for one fucking moment the fact that i chipped a nail was the least of my problems. i’ll tell you what fucking being means. flying to Pennsylvania on the fucking HOPE that you found someone that had a clue only to get there and try to kiss him and have him reject you AND then to top it off, tell you that he doesn’t find you sexually attractive and sit there smug as a fucking ass while you cry. i’ll tell you what being me is, it’s sitting there waiting hope against hope that someone that you once dated turned himself into the image of something you wanted and once he did that, you didn’t want them anymore. i’ll tell you what it is, it’s sitting here shoving clothespins everywhere because that pain is real.
you want to know the big joke is?
it’s that the people who read this will take this abuse.
that’s the fucking joke.
did i hurt your feelings?
too fucking bad. I’ve been too fucking careful about what i say. fuck’em. every last one. the minor points of my stress is this facade people put around themselves. What the fuck are you afraid of? I don’t get that. They all sit there smug when i rant and rave (She’s nuts, they say.) but you know what, this is ME. mememememememememmeme. ME. This i WHO i am. I’m fucking angry. I enjoy giving pain. I enjoy pushing myself to the limits. You don’t get it, you never will. You see something I do, and suddenly it becomes the new euphanism. I snarfle, you all snarfle. I burp you burp. I make asinine comments and you laugh. god you’re stupid.
one person.
to stand up to me and tell me I’m full of shit.
I’m revoking the right for you to abuse me with your lame ass emails. Who gives a fuck if you understand me. If you understood me, you would know perfectly well that by impressing me is not by emailing me some lame ass tripe shit about how cool i am.
duh.
i despise you. i despise the fucking lot of you. i despise the fact that you’ll read this and go back to your safe little life and have no imagination or creation. i despise your ability to mock me and what i say. and secretly you want to be like me.
i despise you for imitating me. get your own schtick. now i get sick when i do something because you want to be like me so bad. i want something different.
one person.
different.
someone.
just one person.
that’s all i ask.
i want to fuck them and feel it. no more blue dots for me. i want to regain everything you parasites took from me. every single last thing.
i want to love like there is no tomorrow and i want to be my own person.
i want to.
kinda i want to.
because my curse. hysop in your perfume.
and he knows i love him.
and i won’t be afraid to admit it next time he asks.
x0x0x0x0x0x
moi

short but sweet

I broke up with Justin.
For good.
I had this long diatribe written in my head about things with him, and about what i wanted to be/go/do/see, but right now it’s currently 1:47am in the morning. Tomorrow I am “supposedly” driving to Clovis to go fix computers (3hr trip one way) and to be honest, I’m too fucking tired. To top it all off, my fucking zip drive is dying and i almost lost /all/ my webpage stuff.
Ick.
Let’s just say today’s theme song is “I’m Free” by the Soup Dragons.
I’ll get into the gory details tomorrow.
To amuse yourself, check out a few things:
-LisaLandCam. All Lisa All The Time(tm). I got this wild idea up my ass (um, thanks Paul 😉 that having a cam at work was a good thing. So I took mine into work and played around with it and finally got it working. Then I buggered Justin to use his cam at home on my pc, so NOW you can watch me either at home or at work. I still don’t “get” cams. Why anyone would want to watch me sit there with biore on my face is beyond me, however, it’s been pretty neat. I’ve been having a lot of fun with it. Within it’s birth, I’ve gotten over 2000 unique hits and over 10000 hits. In three days. Cheap lazy buggers, won’t read about me but will sit there and stare at my face. heh.
-Finally uploaded Lisa 2000. heh. Missing some links, but it sure bets that crappy old page I had.
Now, you know and can SEE everything about me.
I have no shame.
Love,
exhibitionist extraordinaire
x0x0x0x0x

voices trapped in yearning

after i had gotten home last night (exulted in the few hours of freedom of being both cathleen and justin-less), i had started reading old email while waiting for shelly to come on-line so that she and I could play backgammon.
i found an email sent to me from an “admirer” of sorts who was responding to both my page and the wired article that had appeared back in early February. and for some reason, that email tugged a cord at my heart. the person basically had said: make a concrete decision: either leave justin or accept the situation.
for the last three months, congruently, I’ve been struggling with the idea of what is right and what i want. for many people, as i have learned, their life is fairly mapped out for them and they have a basic sense of what they want and need. for instance, i had met a few girls from my political theory class. both girls are 20 and 21 respectively and are dating men who are older than me (27). both girls are ambitious enough to finish college within a short time period and get on with their life, however, they had both told their BFs that “they are done being children”. while i had admired their perseverance and energy, it bothered me that they were in such a hurry to grow up. at 26, i still find myself floundering in what course i want to take. Some days I want to be this organized and methodical person who desires a truly academic life. On the other hand, I want to be completely wild and crazy like Zelda Fitzgerald and live for the moment. both sides are true and both sides are untrue.
i was beginning (natch — being solitary) to wonder if i was the only one — but part of felt drawn to these girls because many of their fears and desires corresponded to my wants and desires. i could empathize and sympathize with getting ahead and doing something “more” with their life — but on the flip side, i had felt (and always felt) that there had to be time enough for love and life. so many opportunities i have let by — on the context (and pretext) that similar ones would come again. for the better part of my adult life — this has been true.
does this make me lucky or unlucky?
some would say, that in my aspects, i live a charmed life. i live in a great area (by someone’s standards), i have a decent job. i have a lot of friends who do care about me (michael 🙂 and i have many outside interests that help define me much more than me is being defined now (new obsessions: sarah again, henry rollins, zelda fitzgerald, unconventional philosophy, pentel r.s.v.p. pens in blue fine point). i still feel like I’m always this undercurrent of emotion. that my desires keep changing — thus while it makes ‘me’ me, but it also destroys any thing that could lead some sort of happiness for a brief time.
last week justin and i had another long talk (in fact several within the last few weeks). i finally told him point blank that i wasn’t in love with him. he knew! don’t get me wrong — for months I’ve been saying that he knew — and he did know. maybe he thought he could push it under the rug and it would go away. But as many of you who have been reading know I harp and harp on many of the same subjects for hours 🙂 hehe (literally — days worth of entries).
It was painful — but it still didn’t make my convictions “clear”. I still feel this overwhelming need to STAY with him. I don’t know what for — financially? emotionally? maybe I’m giving up?

still breathing

I saw the most amazing film this weekend.
still breathing.
Justin, as always, fell asleep and snored through it. I’m attempting to find words to describe the movie. But the thoughts are escaping me at this moment. The movie is defientely lush in it’s cinematography. It almost made me want to move to San Antonio, Texas because the scenery was so fantastic. It’s the story of two hard-headed pessimists who fall in love. not just any type of love, but true love. you know, the kind i’m sort of desentized to now. 😉
I don’t know what it is about that movie, but I feel ‘hopeful’. I can’t quite explain how I feel other than things feel, taste and smell different to me. I’ve been a strange mood all day. One of neither hyperness, excitable, or anything that would convey some sort of “happy” emotion. I just feel “hopeful” about things now. Maybe it’s the fact I’m heading back to school (and it’s already started! wooo!) or maybe because jeff s. emailed me today out of the blue to show me his cam. or maybe because while people are sneering at my short hair, i’m absolutely loving it. I have no idea what it is that is making me feel so damn happy, i just am!
I felt, watching that movie, that i was missing a lot of out my life. It wasn’t really about who I was with (Justin) or what I was doing, it was internal. completely. strange how movies make you feel sometimes. I remember when I had seen Map of the Human Heart a few years ago, I felt the same thing: hopeful.

When I wake up, in my makeup

*yawn*
Waking up at 5am has got to go!
I feel drained and exhausted by 3pm everyday, and I want to go to bed when I get home from work. I keep hoping Justin will get another shift at work so that he can go in later, but nothing as of yet. He says they are trying to mandate a new set of shifts so that more people can work the 8-5 or 9-6 hours, but it’s not happening as of yet. I can’t believe I get up at 5am as it is. I love this time of morning. It is so surreal.
The following is not approved for children under 18
As many people know or have rightly guessed, my sex life is pretty open. There seemingly isn’t anything I have done or have yet to do (save me and two men, but I’m holding out for the right guy). One of the things that I like doing occasionally, is having anal sex with my lover. Now, I’m not speaking of him having anal sex with me, but the other way around. (If I need to draw you a picture, it would probably be best bet to go ask your parents about the birds and the bees).
I enjoy sex. I enjoy making love to my partner and I also enjoy being rough and rowdy. Missionary is okay, but not for long periods of time. The more rough it is, the better I like it.
Justin likes being sweet and sensual, so after over 6 months of being lovers, we are still finding a perfect middle ground. A friend of mine telling me about his nine year relationship with his boyfriend tells me that the middle ground take awhile to get to. I’ve initiated Justin in being more open about his likes/dislikes and also finding common ground when we are in bed together.
So the other night, we are getting all sexual and I let slip that I really want to fuck him. I was in the mood for being aggressive/dominating, and having him on his knees. He cringed and said something like “if you really really want to…”. And I said “I do.” But instead of making it more passionate, or working up towards it, it became more of a clinical procedure. First he had to go clean his anal area. Then the lights came on and the candles blown out so that he could see what I was doing. next was watching me put lube on the dildo because he wanted to make sure that I put enough lube on the damn thing.
So there we are, justin on his knees with his ass in the air, cringing like a school boy. I couldn’t stop laughing because obviously by this time I was feeling as passionate as a cat on a hot tin roof. he goes in telling me about how a few years back, he had to have an anal probe due to a serious gallstone problem he had. And that experience left him pretty anal (snicker) about his ass. He said the procedure was painful and he couldn’t sit for an extended period of time.
So i’m attempting to do shove a dildo up his ass, and he’s cringing and making sarcastic remarks. I can’t stop laughing because the whole scene was absurd. Finally, I smacked him on the ass and told him to get up. I put everything away and got dressed. There was no point in continuing our little experiment because i was no longer interested. He thankfully got up and ran to the bathroom for more cleansing.
My ex-lover Alan turned me on to this when we were dating. I had taken a very well lubed finger and shoved it up his anus one night and he screamed in passion. The man was writhing around like a two cent whore begging for more. It’s all about power, for me, to be in control. Of course the whole world knows that se7en (aka Christian Valor Ansieres) was into getting his ass fucked. He told me stories of how he used to jerry-rig dildos so he could back up into them and fuck them himself.
Other lovers that have come and gone from my life were pretty open about it. I found out via extended phonesex/netsex sessions with Jeff that he would have gone for it (never attempted, and don’t really want that image in my head). It’s not something that I require, but if the person wants x and I want z, we should be able to communicate on how to find it. But Justin’s whole behavior was a turnoff, so I wasn’t interested in finding out if he liked it or not.
Of course now, it’s perfect teasing material.

Last night we were sitting on the couch watching “Frasier” or something and he kept attempting on putting his feet on my lap. Justin has big feet (size 14/15’s), and even though he has pretty blue toenails, his feet are pretty calloused from all the exercise he does. I started shrieking about his “nasty” feet (I don’t know why they gross me out, they just do). He finds it damn funny I have ‘issues’ with his fucking feet. he says I should be able to let him put them on me when he wants to. I countered that with “Then you should let me fuck you when I want to.” He agreed to the point and suggested we buy one of those mini-dildos (about the size of a finger) to get him started.
Now that will be interesting, don’tcha think?

keep right

For the most part yesterday, I walked around in this almost hazy existence. There were several minor issues, not including my own personal mental health almost jonesing every five minutes. Somehow I made it through the day, but when I got home from work, I realize “what am I going to do now?” i had made no plans, no questions, no idea of what to do with my free time. I opted for climbing into bed in my pjs and eating ice cream, but when justin bounded in and hopped (literally) on top of me, i could only smirk.
he asked me if i wanted to talk, and i said “no.”
but when he left, i started yelling through the door and he came back in. i talked about how “boring” my life was, and how “dissatisfied” i was with everything. everything that i have already said and rehashed a million times in my head. this stuff isn’t new, by far, however the holiday time is when it hits the most.
justin says living with me is exciting because he never knows whom he is going to “meet” sorta speak in a period of a day. my personality and mood range from up high to down below. in fact, i feel like there are at least three of us who reside in my body (talk about a major oopsie. i almost said “our body”). (i said oops up side the head.) my cats are sneaky. they keep thinking they are going to get outside. but I won’t let them! muhahahahaha.
The word I is a curious thing. Is it even just a word or is it a just a letter? not to be confused with the word eye which is obviously a noun, for it describes a thing. wouldn’t that be horrible if someone emailed me and said that I was wrong? That it was a verb, and adjective or even a proposition? (according to after against around at. before behind below beneath by. down during except for from in into in front of.) For try as they might, they will always be wrong.
A few weeks ago, I was reading a book or watching a movie. I remember now, it was a scene from a movie about Walter Winchell who for something like 30 years did a radio show. One of the characters had commented that you can’t bastardize the English language because English in and of itself is already bastardized. The words we use (at least me, maybe you, sometimes them) come from other languages. Spanish, French, German, Dutch, Portuguese. English is the white trash of languages. God, we Americans are so damn smug. We think the world revolves around ourselves. I don’t see why people bitch about Ebonics. It’s only natural that some sort of mutant language pops up after years of being taught about double negatives, infinitives, proper nouns and the like. I ASKED YOUSE A QUESTION! Dammit girl, youse knows that youse get on my last nerve. For real? For real.
I always wondered what it would be like to go insane. Truly, madly, deeply insane. My reality would obviously not correspond with your reality. My perception of the world would not correspond with your perception of the world. Just call me Queen of Sheba. Or better yet, Cleopatra. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but damn was she a strong bitch! I wonder if Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind using Cleopatra as a role model. I’ve already raved how Ayn Rand stole most of the ideas in GWTW in The Fountainhead. Ever see the movie? God it stunk. Insert melodramatic music HERE!
Just finished reading Contact by Carl Sagan. Yes, it’s the same book after the movie. Or more properly, it’s the movie that came after the book. Or some such. Anyway, the book rages differently then the movie. In the book, when Ellie is on Vega, she does speak with her father, but, she is given the message that there is a deeper meaning inside of pi. Think about it. Wouldn’t that be cool? That a message is buried beneath all those digits. One friend of mine knows pi to the 6th place. I only know it to the 2nd place. I once asked Michael why pi was so freaking important (really, it’s elementary geometry). Now I know. The whole damn world is revolves around pi. Maybe I should become a “performance artist” and call myself pi. Or call myself “the artist formally known as pi” and have that little symbol action going on. That would be coool.(extra o’s permitted. please step through.)
Or maybe I should just do what I wanted to do in the first place. Be a porn star. Now that would rock. In fact, when I brought this up to several people last week, they all commented they would purchase my movies. That both frightens and disgusts me at the same time.
I haven’t thought up a good name yet. Lusty Lisa or basically anything that begins with the letter “L” (not to be confused with “Elle” which is french) is lame. Any idea’s? You oughta be in pictures.

defrost

every morning it’s the same thing.
i get up at 5am while justin flips on the coffee maker to make the coffee i’ve prepared the night before. I fall out of bed to go to the bathroom and put my contacts in. I grab whatever purse i am using at the moment, grab my car keys and a cup of coffee in my Starbucks/LilithFair coffee cup. I start the car and let it warm up. I drive 2.1 miles to the bart, drop justin off and come back home.
Once home, my options of what to do for the next hour or so vary. I either do a chronicle (such as I am doing now), jump in the shower, or write in my journal (the “jezzusican’tbelievesonsodidthat” type of thing). After such, I pick up Darryl in Lake Merrit, spend 1/2 hour cursing the bridge traffic and go to work.
After work, I generally drop of Daniel & Darryl at their respective places, come home at about 6pm. My schedule at night varies on what’s on the tube. Tuesday’s were saved for Felicity, Wednesday’s for 90210 and SouthPark. Weekends are saved for whatever is going on at the moment. Generally if there is a part-tay (we make part-tay) or some such event. This past Sunday, my friend Jason was having an ArtyFarty show. I had wanted to go because I knew Jason did incredible stuff, BUT, I had promised Justin to go play tennis with him. In 40 degree weather, he and I tossed the ball around for about 45 minutes. It felt like hours.
My passion for Tennis had been waylaid by something bigger. I used to love playing tennis when I was younger and even went so far as to take lessons as well as tryout for the hs team. But now, I don’t have the passion I once did when I played. In all honesty, I could care less.
The new rise in price in cigarettes (from about $2.50 a pack to between $3.00 and $3.50 depending on where you go) as well as my own general health is what prompts me to play now. Justin sucks. I’m not so bad. I feel like I spend half my time chasing after the balls he volleys in my general direction. He says that if we don’t play more, he won’t get better. I agree, but in the interim, it sucks playing. I can akin it to going to the dentist: you bitch, whine and complain when it’s not all that painful. At least for me. First I would stall playing. my ankle I would say. sudden flurry of activity causes it to swell and hurt. So we dropped 10 bucks for a slip on brace and that is taking care of. The new bitching on my side? Shoes. My tennis shoes (actually, could be considered platform tennis shoes. they have a 2-inch sole). I need a pair of cross trainers. And this is what I asked for Christmas.
Sometime ago, I had posted to a list I’m on a survey: What do you keep in/on your purse/backpack, nightstand, desk? The answers raged from everything from candles to books to condoms (my nightstand). While it is always interesting on what people kept, i envied the stuff they did have. Candles, doo-dads, night lights: just regular old junk. stuff I would never think of purchasing in a million years. Me? I spend my money on cds, books, purses and shoes. I never think to buy pictures, candles, anything that would make a place more homey. I don’t think of new ways to do things, or creative ways to do things. I don’t write, save for the chronicles, anymore. And I don’t read the books that I want to read. My own passion has been slowly dying due to Justin’s lack of one. This is one of our biggest arguments: he isn’t passionate about anything save football and me. But i feel foreshadowed my own lack of passion now. I don’t want to do -anything- that would constitute making the plunge like I felt oh so long ago. Truth be told, I don’t know why.
I recently asked several friends of mine that got married recently, why they married whom they married. The top answer from both was “the ability to grow” and “they make me want to be a better person”. I don’t see that (anymore) with Justin. His own lack of enthusiasm/passion/drive drowns out my own. I no longer give a fuck about this that or then some.
To be sure, this isn’t something new. I’ve discussed, cajoled, pleaded and begged him on this. he recognizes there is a problem, but isn’t willing to do anything about it. When recently I had asked him about his job at PBI, his answer was “I hate the job, but it’s the best one around”. His answer for everything is that “he knows he’s going to be a great person some day and doesn’t see why he has to hurry”.
To be continued…