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June 8, 2000
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The Biggest Sausage
Atlanta, Georgia
June 2, 2000
Lately my whole body feels rubbery, like my lips when I try to blow up a ninety-nine-cent beach ball. I'm in a chair, alone all day, typing, practically fleshless. I try to picture what's between my legs, under my pants. Is it a comma? A spiral? A Spanish exclamation point? No — it's just negative space. I don't want Dave to find out I lost my flesh. When he grabs me I say, "Get out of there!" I think he must be thinking of someone else's crotch, since I don't have one. The light goes off and I sink into the bedding that hasn't been changed in a while. Dave bravely makes a second attempt and I say: "Get off me, you ape!" I'd rather look mean than pathetic.
I yank off one of the blankets and go watch TV. It's a Reba McEntire special. At one a.m., Reba seems enviable. She barrel jumps; she acts with Kenny Rogers; she's pretty. She sings that song about a friend with AIDS that everyone in the country community said was "taking a chance." I feel absolutely certain that Reba McEntire never misplaced her body. I am the only, lonely one. I can't wait to leave.
June 3
A strange man's arm hair tickles me all the way to Atlanta. It sure is irritating, but I refuse to give up my half of the armrest. I start picturing how hairy other parts of his body might be, and, against my better judgement, I get turned on. Where his arm is touching mine, the flesh has returned.
I step off the plane, and the ladies look like they're coated with hairspray from head to toe. Airport lights pick up the microscopic metals in their face powder. Gold earrings, gold necklaces, gold bracelets (emerald and diamond accents), anklets if they're young enough, and rings. As if you could pile on attraction. Or maybe they, too, feel like they have balloons for bones, and the jewelry is there to hold them down. The black ladies are fine. Attitude is a ramrod in their spine. They are thin; their necks are long. Sharp teeth under soft lips.
I step out of the airport and into the humidity to find my shuttle bus. I am helpless under this enormous weather. It's a body-sized tulip petal enfolding me. No, it's a fat landlord in a wifebeater . . . sweat drops off his forehead onto mine . . . the jarring scent of his cologne . . . I shake off the landlord as the bus arrives. Down south, I think I could learn to luxuriate, to wait.
One of the tight black ladies boards the bus first. She must be a model. Or a TV weathergirl. She's wearing a black skirt that goes to the floor, but it has slits so high she might as well have on a bikini — I know her legs that well. She spills orange juice in her pocketbook and her cellphone stops working, so she demands to use the driver's phone. She is very annoyed when he says no. I stare straight ahead, keeping (I think) a vaguely friendly expression on my face. "Hello," I venture. Silence. Finally she answers, not looking at me: "It's freezing in here." It is. Going from the air-conditioned airport to the heavy outdoors to the freezing shuttle bus, I feel sick. The driver makes a turn and I smell sweat rising from under his arms.
June 4
Of course I'm stereotyping everybody — the whites, the blacks, the weather. That's what you do when you're a traveler — look around wide-eyed and believe everything you see is it. You are nobody you used to be. You are only a traveler. You could be anyone — probably a sexy anyone.
Last time I was in Atlanta, ten years ago, I saw the biggest sausage in the world. Right there on the deli counter for sale; it must've been forty feet long, all coiled up. When I told people about it, they didn't believe me. I'm here on a writing assignment, but at one a.m. I decide to take my new friends on a Sausage Hunt. One of my fellow hunters keeps doing coke off a key. I call Dave on Coke Guy's cell phone to ask for permission to take a little jaunt on the white pony (Dave says no). I call back to keep him updated on the Sausage Search, then to talk about how wide open the sky looks here. I hold the phone out so he can hear the whippoorwill. It's more than I've talked to Dave the entire last week. Coke Guy's car is a convertible; I pull the humid night into my mouth. Dave tells me he reached a new level in Donkey Kong and had pasta for dinner. Hearing about my old life over the crackly line that keeps going dead, I am filled with such a longing.
June 5
Tired and in my own bed, I am on my back in an anchor configuration, my heels up against my thighs. I'm on top of Dave, who is on his back (penis in), and I shimmy from side to side. I'm one of the Indian dancers I saw on the airport TV. When you're home too long, you think so much about "What is me?" And Me becomes less and less the rest of the world; it gets smaller and lighter until it's nothing at all. It's not that my same old flesh returned to me in Atlanta, it's that my skeleton separated and shot out and speared new, funny trees and pickled meats and kerosene lights with soft halos of insects . . . When I gathered myself back up to fit in my airplane seat, I was soaked through with everything I saw and tasted; it is Atlanta who has come home to have sex with my husband. I press my newfound weight first on one set of toes blistered from strappy sandals, and then the other.
Lisa Carver and Nerve.com, Inc.
Commentarium (34 Comments)
Lisa~
Whenever you need Atlanta to help you find your flesh again, Coke Guy & I welcome you with open arms...
We'll have the biggest sausage (found at Sam's Club or Harris Teeter) and the weirdest sausage (Thai Sausage Salad! at Surin) waiting for you...
xoxox
What? Hey Lisa, I read nerve to "Think about sex" You should have trashed this one and tried another angle. Like, you might have told us what you did in Atlanta that you should not have. Like, who the girl was and what effect that is having on your relationship with Dave. You don't generally hide so much, so the problem must be sharp and current. If you are going to bore us with bland musings about the present, don't. Tell more stories from the past, until this is your past. OK?
What the matter Lisa? Dave can't handle the truth about you and Vulpine Girl. Since he has big hots for her too, why don't you let him take a little trip to Atlanta? Why pretend? Or have even you gone too far, to the point where you are endangering your marriage? Very unpleasant read Lisa. Find another subject...
OK guys, OK! I had a pretty unsexual week. Haven't you ever? I could always go bi-weekly. That way it'll always be good, because I definitely have an interesting sexual experience at least twice a month. Four times a month sometimes pushes it. I mean, some sex is good but just the same as most other sex, you know? Tough crowd in here tonight.
Wow, everybody sure is in a bad mood. Lisa, I thought this entry was fantastic. I guess part of that could be because I am from Georgia and I, too, have felt the fat flowerpetal of humidity freak my life out the second I step outside my air-conditioned apartment. (But I don't wear gold jewelry -- doesn't go well with the yellow tones in my skin -- and most of the time it seems too hot for makeup.) I'm glad that the capital of my fair state could inspire you to zip back into your skin.
To date, this was my least favorite "lisa" entry. I felt like we weren't told half of what happened in Atlanta. It sounds like information is being hidden which is not the usual style for Lisa. Well, it's not the perceived style of Lisa.
Try again. Give us more information if you're going to tell us about your travels.
Wow, I don't *always* need to read about sex. It seems like most people need a lurid detail to be happy...watch a "Wild On...St. Louis" or whatever on E! to get your weekly fix. Sometimes it's nice to hear about motivations, feelings, and other gummy stuff. The missing flesh reminds me of those institutional personality surveys with questions like, "Did you ever feel like your arms were floating away?" Now I know that some people actually answer "yes" and mean it.
I feel just awful for all these people that rushed to the latest diary, jar of vasaline or dildo in hand, and ended up disappointed. I think a class action lawsuit is a real possibility here. It's obvious that sex is only about the body, and does not include the mind, or getting a sense of someone. I prefer my fantasies about lisa to be manniquin like, no dimension or personality. This entry has no business being here and from now on should contain explicit references to hot wet pussies, rock hard jutting cocks, and contain sound files of bad elevator music interspersed with Lisa moaning and groaning in an obviously real orgasm. Get with it Lisa!!! This feedback obviously contains no sarcasm and is not poorly hidden ridicule of the unimaginative.
P.S. Next time I want a diary entry of you on your hands and knee's, naked, complaining about your blisters while being spanked rather hard with a strappy sandal. Thanks in advance
Yeah!!! What XXX said!!
I loved that piece and always love it when you get to the deeper emotional levels of your sexuality Lisa. No one person is capable of a 100% 24 hours a day lusty personality. If you are that way that then there may be a problem, something else in your life you are frightened to look at... but that is for another discussion. Right now I want to say thank you Lisa, for another peek into your soul.
lisa- this was terrific. you are such a good writer, in style, and you really seem to be coming into your voice. when you veer from the lurid (meant in the nicest way possible) and can still be this good, it means you truly do kick ass as a writer. you are one of my favorites - thank you!
You agree that lisa should be spanked soundly with a strappy sandal? cool :D
I stuck my ET finger inside her and it accidentally lit up and burned her most tender of all tender parts; she had to go to the hospital. I was so ashamed of hurting another human being so irrepairably, I didn't want to tell you all. But you could see, you could see...
Looking at the big picture, (lets say above the crotch, hypothetically) creative people need space. I
personally I agree with the comments of a couple months ago about all the gab in this diary and decreasing sex. Here we go again. I'm sick of Lisa's identity cirsis laiden Borderline personality diatribes. Lisa complains more than an Ann Rice heroine about her self image as expressed through sex. Well the little Shaman's journey to Atlanta is over with so maybe Dave can have a regular relationship for awhile.
OK, so the next diary needs to be all things to all people. I'd like to first read about a lusty, horny encounter with xxx's strappy sandal. Then we can all get together and emote about the humiliation and meaning of a woman being flogged by her own sexuality (captured in that strappy sandal, of course).
Dear Lisa,
What did you feel when you asked Dave if you could "take a little jaunt on the white pony" and he said "No"?
And once he said no, were you tempted to ignore him and do it anyway? What stopped you? You could have done it and no one would have known.
I think Lisa went to Atlanta to have a little soiree with V.G. Good for you Lisa, too bad you couldn't have told us what REALLY happened......Better luck next week.
Wow. I am filled with shame. Not because I was ET fingered by Lisa and had to go to the hospital...but because of the reaction lots of you are giving in response to this entry. Please, all of you who feel so terribly wronged by the not-so-sexual diary entry this week: start a Nervecenter homepage diary of your own and type out the intimate details of your sexlife weekly-- bear your soul... make it entertaining and exciting and sexy. Every time. Tell everyone about it and let everyone pick you apart. Then bitch. Have a little respect, would you?By the way, "sausage" is not a euphemism. This time.Now back to your regularly scheduled VG niceities...xoxox,
ALthough I adore you Lisa I cannot stand the fact that you are giving VG a spotligt each and every week. Can't stand her, can stand you. What a conundrum. No Initials
Let me amend that last statement. It is not you Lisa who is giving her the spotlight. It is VG who has once again manipulated her way into being in front of it. Conundrum solved. Still adore Lisa. No Initials.
Dearest Lisa: ignore the negative response from the sexual frustrates in the peanut gallery; your kind poetry continues to move me. Follow the mundane; you unconsciously reveal the sexual, and much more. As with orgasm, no need to think about it, it will come: and, *it* comes. Keep up the good work.
To the contrary, No Initials. I spent two days with VG and didn't even mention her name in the entry. Previously, she and my husband flirted so bad, I had to go drag him away from his work computer and he was fuzzy and tripped on his own feet into a bush! And yet LANETTE got all the attention in that entry! VG is the sweetest person in the whole world, I wonder what it is you could not like about her. She certainly hasn't "manipulated" any "spotlight." As for the person wondering about the coke... It's really stupid for me to lie, because I have such a big mouth I always give myself away, so it's useless to try to hide anything. If I did the coke, I would have had to tell Dave right away, and then he'd give me an even HARDER time whenever I go someplace without him. Not only do I talk all day long, but I even talk in my sleep! I agree with that person who said I'm worse than an Anne Rice character!
I should clarify: the naked chat, in which Lanette got all the attention when I described it in my diary, was the one AFTER the chat where Dave bumped into a bush. VG says stuff like "much love." She is full of love, and really funny. I am really perplexed why you would feel so aggressive about her.
I think it is possible that the VG you have met is quite different from the VG she shows the rest of us. VG can at times be funny and darn right nice, but she can also be rude, overly aggressive and mean spirited. I think she may be manipulating you as well as the rest of us. But then again I guess it does not really matter, just part of the fun and games, right? No Initials.
I still wanna see a picture of lanette.
Lisa, this must not be very plesant. As someone who generally appreciates your writing and who admires your spirit and honesty, I can say that the tone of the critical comments in response to this week's entry is difficult to accept. Do I find every Lisa Diary to be a revelation? A well written story? Something that unfolds a corner of my mind? No. That would be too much to ask from any writer. Taken in the whole I am thankful that Lisa writes, and that I get to partake of her thoughts and insights. It would be nice if the comments in Nerve displayed a similar respect. I did not happen to find the latest article to be one I found interesting, but that is no reason to start personal attacks on Lisa. Taken in the whole she is great, and deserves a lot of respect. Her writing is engaging and her honesty is sometimes frightening, and that makes Lisa's work special. Nerve is supposed to be for a thinking audience, so please, let's behave like one. Personal attacks don't belong here, neither do sychophants who rave over everything Lisa writes (VG) for whatever agenda they are pursuing. I don't want to see Lisa only every two weeks, but would rather just reserve the right to enjoy or not as I see fit. Lisa, you are a public figure, and people think that gives them the right to tear you down if they want to. Hey, it comes with the territory and I am sure you knew that. But please fellow Nerve's, lets demonstrate our intellect, and keep our compliments and complaints intellectual.
VG is vulpinegrrl in the chat room? She is always so nice to me and everyone when I see her in there! Sorry you had bad luck, --. Maybe if you are mad she has some spotlite time, you should be nice and maybe Lisa will like you too and you can be in the spotlite.
You know what...
I know that lots of things don't transfer when you write them out on the internet...but I never thought that anyone would make things so difficult to even put forth in the first place.
Ben, re-read your post and then read mine and you tell me who's raving.
I do think Lisa does great work and from what I know of her I think she's a wonderful person with a big heart who I do, yes, find quite intriguing. If that's manipulation somehow, so be it.
As for "No Initials", I'm not going to waste my effort on someone too scared to even put initials down, for heaven's sake. Besides, I know I don't treat anyone as you described and there are many that will atest to that, I'm content in that knowledge.
If any of you want to go on complaining about whatever it is that I chose to say in the feedback section or elsewhere or what is said about me, please send it directly to me and don't waste anyone else's time with your opinions of me.
My e-mail address is vulpinegrrrl@nerve.com
This is for feedback on "The Lisa Diaries", let's try to stick with that concept, shall we?
MUCH Love,
So Lisa, what movies on Icast are you in?
ejc: One in each contest category, and then once a week I have a 60-second film under "pick of the day" or something like that on the iCast homepage.
I thought the part about the black chick with her dress slit up the sides, and Lisa's familiarity with the lady's legs was the sexiest thing I've read in ages. Come on people, use your imaginations. That's what reading's supposed to be for.
Lisa, that was one of your more poetic posts. Thank you.
Lisa Lisa you're so fine. Lisa Lisa you blow my mind. Hey Lisa. Ha! I'm just here checking to see if there's anything new, and there's not, but I feel the need to be interactive. Everybody have a good time. xox
Now you say something