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The Lisa Diaries by Lisa Carver  
 

Dave and the Hot Dog Donut

February 24, 1999





I seem to have forgotten to leave Dave’s house. I can barely even make it
from the bed to the living room. He’s so lazy he doesn’t even scratch
himself; he tells me where to scratch him. Yet so fierce is he in “the
act,” every pair of earrings I own is broken, my false eyelashes are mangled
and my arms are covered with bruise bracelets. Before
he met me he’d read my article about the dichotomy between sexualists (my
kind) and sensualists (his?), and he’d thought, She thinks she has it all
figured out. I’m going to teach that girl a lesson. He holds my face down and
licks my lips all around really slow, which is something he’d read I don’t like.
Normally I don’t welcome so much attention: I like it quick and I like to be
the one in charge. But with him I am reduced to a collection of body parts. I
lose my personality, I feel like a toy. I feel like saying, “Thanks!”


    

He had also read my book Dancing Queen and thought, This
girl would fall in love with me. “And now it’s coming true,” he said. I told
him that a lot of people think they’re in love with me from reading the book
— they tell me so by email. “No, I’m not in love with you,” he corrected me.
“You’re falling in love with me.” “Well that’s pretty cocky!” I said. “It’s true,
isn’t it?” he said. I just laughed. Of course I’m not in love with him. I don’t
know what our relationship is. He’s still seeing all these other women,
especially Tor. He gives me all the details in bed. Well, I’m not pining. Last
night I came across his bandmate in the bathtub (it was a party). I’d never
seen a grown man with all his clothes on in a tub before, so I got in with him.
We were in there for about twenty minutes making strange sucking noises
with our boots. He said we’d been together in a past life, and I said, “My
goodness!” and got out of the bathtub. In the hallway I found a nice guy
crying. Upon investigation, I learned he was crying for love. I climbed on
top of him and told him a really long joke about Santa Claus. Dave happened
upon us and seemed to enjoy my joke.


    

He took me to bed and slapped my face. Then he stood above me, his
foot between my legs. He said, “You’re pretty reeled in, but I could reel you in
more if I wanted to. I just haven’t decided yet.” He said I’m not beautiful but
my looks are growing on him. He said I’m the sexiest person he’s ever met —
for someone who looks like an animal. (!) He said there’s something about
me that draws him, yet that same thing repels him too. I didn’t feel like
hearing anything else about me being even obliquely repulsive, so I said,
“I’m going to get up and take a shower.” Dave said, “Okay,” and held my body
down. He said I need to be bossed around. He took my Keds and said, “These
have got to go,” and he threw them in the garbage. I guess he thinks Keds are
ugly.


    

The next morning I was dying for a bagel. I hobbled beside Dave in my
uncomfortable high heels, dodging loose pavement, grates, and other dangers,
until he picked me up and bit my shoulder and carried me into an Asian
donut shop. “There are no bagels here!” I said when he put me down. “I
know,” he said, and proceeded to order me a hot dog donut (that’s exactly
what it sounds like). It was cold. It was disgusting. But he made me eat it and
I felt utterly dominated. Dave was wearing lipstick and barrettes that
morning, which normally I would never like, but the combination of his
bossy ways and sweet face were making me susceptible to just about anything.
He’s wiry. He’s mean and quick yet warm and slow (I think I might be in
love).










©1999
Lisa Carver and Nerve.com