June 19, 2003

  • Well, here I am back home, I hope not for the whole summer (IF you could call it that; it's been so fuckin' cold from the good ol' San Francisco fog and the steady ocean breeze, the hottest June day we had was only 75 degrees Fahrenheit).   Brett's working up north for the forestry service is the only reason I decided to give my parents a go; I don't really HAVE to work on scholarship and Chelle's keeping the bungalow open for next Fall--in fact right now they're painting it!   Our room is gonna be a deep turquoise blue, like an aquarium.  It's supposed to be calming.  


    Brett promised to stop by on the way up to see me this weekend.   I got a new diaphragm for the occassion.   They're not kidding when they say you need to be refitted if you lose or gain any weight.  Only 105 when we first started dating and I lost all my appetite, the thing fit fine.   I had no complaints about the "inconvenience" when I had one of the best orgasms I ever dreamed was possible with it inserted.  Then I gradually got back up to 115 and it got so tight, the only time it was comfortable was right before we made love.  The next day when I started walking around,  I was getting bladder cramps.  Removing it was like yanking the cork from a wine bottle; all of sudden it would let go, pop out, and go sailing across the bathroom like a little flying saucer, to stick on the tiled wall.   I never thought gaining weight would make me smaller, but that's how it goes inside the body; apparently any extra fat presses around your girl (my new term for the V-word) and there's less room for it to expand.   I mentioned the discomfort to my roommates and they warned me it was probably buckling, leaving enough space underneath to allow a pregnancy.   And here I was assuming we were safe with all that jelly! 


    Mom got us a new cat, Chloe.   She actually belonged to one of those eccentric cat ladies until  Animal Control came and cleaned the place out and demanded she give up at least 120 felines.   Mom saw the story on the news, with footage of frightened kitties hiding in empty pots on the stove and between books on the bookshelves, and couldn't resist coming to the rescue.   I could swear Chloe was Kia reincarnated; she's got the same honeydew green eyes, only long calico fur.  Right now she's crawling up my back, trying to sit around my neck, just as Kia used to do when we first got her and she felt insecure and craved attention.   She even has the same flea allergy, with patches of her coat missing around the tail area.   When we first adopted Kia, abandoned when some tenants moved out of the big Victorian apartment next door, she lost almost all her hair living outside while we tried to find her owner.   As soon as we brought her indoors, we bathed her, powdered her for fleas, and put on a potent flea collar.   All those pesky fleas were gone in a month (thankfully for me, who also has a flea allergy and breaks out in ever-itching welts), and after a while--since we never let her out in the dangerous street again--she didn't require any treatment at all.  Oh, she did pick up a flea or two from visitors (you'd be surprised what can hitch a ride on a human coat), but they were caught right away.  We think her being parasite- and insecticide-free contributed to her unusually long life, with only minor health problems.   By the time she was going deaf and blind, she died from old age.