I’ve tried many times to capture the actual size of Dolly’s current girth, but the camera doesn’t really do a good job of it. I figured that the only way to accurately show how large she’s gotten is with stereoscopic images. That way, one can actually tell how much Dolly is coming off the couch with a bit of depth perception. It’s never easy to take stereoscopic pictures of a cat. Usually they’ll move or twitch when the alternating photo is being taken, so it almost always has to be done while they’re asleep. Even a twitch of the camera strap, or a shuffling of feet will be enough to pique the curiosity of a cat

Dolly’s head looks small in comparison to the rest of her body, but her head is actually normal for a cat her age, and it’s her pot belly that’s grown out of proportion. Every time someone comes over, I usually get a comment on how much she’s grown. Outward.

I have this theory that there’s no myth to the female orgasm. There are some who can have one and some who can’t. Most of the girls I’ve dated have been able to achieve climax (or have led me to believe so), but there was one who never did and never seemed to care. There is no set attribute for all women.

This may be supported by the fact that it’s the same with the types of orgasms, which vary not only from woman to woman, but from each occurring time as well. Some are implosive, some are explosive. Some are centered in a region, some affect the entire body. Some cause lethargy, some cause energy.

Another girlfriend was of a similar demeanour, but I could tell that she had the ability to be taught at the right time, and the right person would have the patience to teach her the right things. I find that mentally strong girls are the ones who have the best orgasms. They’re also the most fun, because they know what they like and they aren’t afraid to ask for it, allowing for a lot of exploration. It was only when I met a strong girl that I was comfortable pushing her body, comfortable figuring out what she liked. She had the best orgasms, and she’s the only one I know who’s been able to have two very different, very distinct orgasms in a row, or orgasms that would last longer than a minute.

Even the expressions afterwards are unique, whether it’s a jocular look of “Don’t touch me, I’m overstimulated” or bewildered “What the FUCK did you just do?” or “Give me a minute, I can’t feel my brain”. Guys are totally different. Their expressions are linked to their orgasms, and they only have two: the angry face (aggressive, dominant, empowering), and the confused face (soft, whimpering, almost sorry, à la Ben Stiller in There’s Something About Mary).

But that’s just my theory.

This is the ritual.

We meet. Usually by Greyhound.

We get stoned. In the car, in the park, or in the apartment.

This is what we’ve been saving for. What we’ve chosen to deny ourselves of, until the present company, so that the experience is more intense. The reason why we’ve withheld for so long.

We introduce to each other what we’ve discovered on our own. Songs. Videos. Experiences.

There is no pride. No bias. No judgment.

We cherish these times. These weekends. These memories.

When we can grow from one another.

Because we’ve grown from ourselves.

A little while ago, I shared a correspondence with a woman who once found this site by searching for “cool futon covers” on the web. She was a single mother (the search was for her daughters’ new futon), and she told me that she gained a new consciousness after reading my entries. She led me to believe that this somehow changed her life, a woman who was beginning to realize that she had come to the end of the direction of her life in her early thirties, and that she grew up too quickly, and couldn’t relate to her teenage daughter.

She had always been nervous, and what I believe was a little intimidated, with our correspondence; I could tell that she was putting up a wall, a sort of separation to keep her distance. When I brought this up to her, she acknowledged it. Later, she sent me this letter.

This is me. Without spellcheck or the comfort of a cut + paste option. Ink is honest. Even more I hesitate before completing the thought/sentence. But I wanted to give something more and this seems like an acceptable amount for now.

What if I am just “trite”? I established that opinions are irrelevant, so what the hell.

I had a massage tonight + I feel better, physically. I can move my neck and look over my shoulders. I was beginning to look like a little old lady when I drove, turning my entire body at the waist to look left or right. It cost me $80 to not be in pain. Funny, that’s about the amount that my company paid me to get in this shape. Ironic.

I just climbed into Jessi’s top bunk of her bed + hugged her. She didn’t hug me back, but she didn’t push me away either. That’s progress. We argue over the most insanely stupid things. It is usually by accident that we find ourselves getting along these days. Putting forth an effort doesn’t seem to work at the moment. I suppose that will change over time….but I sure do miss her.

It is late. I’ve had my bath, I ate dinner (egg salad + cheetoes). I won’t read tonight. I have enough in my head right now. Besides, I’m afraid I will be tempted to stay up too late. I can’t function on a few hours of sleep like some people. I need a solid seven hours minimum…and that’s been rare lately. I have a big closing at 8am with a very important client. She is there because of me. I’d love to tell the primadonna bitch to kiss my ass, but she pays my bills…so instead — I will kiss hers. Being a grown up sucks.

I wonder what it would be like to “check out” of this world? To give in to the notion of insanity and be forgiven anything + everything for lack of a functioning mind? Perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic — but for me it sounds like peace. If only I could somehow be sure that I could find my way back — maybe then it would be a viable option. I’d never have the guts. I couldn’t let go of the controls. Voluntary insanity — — now there’s a fantasy I could play with. But alas, I would never make it in a world without logic + order. Wow. I have written non stop. No more hesitating. I realize I’m no longer breaking up the paragraphs correctly: and I’m sure I’m starting sentences with the word “and”. Ha! I haven’t reread one thought, haven’t ripped out a page + started over — see — it’s just me.

I could tell that just from talking with me, learning how I understand my life, she was beginning to understand many parts of hers that she wasn’t comfortable thinking about. Raymond Lindquist once said, “Courage is the power to let go of the familiar”, and I admired her for what seemed to be a great effort to share herself with a stranger.

For a while now, our correspondence has stopped. It was her decision, and something I assume to have ended only because she has given no response and no reason. She always told to me of her dreams, to one day buy a motorcycle and take the highway to the woods, instead of her exit home. From there she would save the world, one tree at a time. I’ve always hoped that that’s what happened. That the reason why she stopped replying was because she took Jessi with her, and left everything else behind.

And I wish her all the best.

Often when I’m at Michele’s Baguette there’s a woman working there, I’d say in her mid-40s, whom I believe is one of the owners. She has these really funky streaks of colour in her hair, and they work really well for her, something which is much less common for people her age. Whenever she happens to be there I want to tell that her hair looks really cool, but I can never seem to find the right time.

Should I tell her as I walk up to the sandwich stand? Should I tell her while she’s putting my sandwich together? I always think to myself that I’ll speak up as I walk away if she ever rings me through (because she usually lets someone else charge me), but the other day when she was the only one working there I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I didn’t want her to think that I was just flattering her for extra toppings or fresher vegetables. I bet she gets compliments about her hair all the time.