Late at night we whisper back and forth over the phone.
Each conversation is essentially the same; we vie for the title of the bigger loser.
"I have not had sex in over a year," he tells me.
"That is okay though," I reassure him, "because you are just being picky. That is actually a trait that women find attractive; not having sex just for the sake of having sex. If I did not know you as well as I do, and you had not previously been involved in a sexual relationship with one of my best friends, I would totally hit that."
"That is one of the nicest things you've ever said to me," he sighs dreamily.
- 05/03/08

My friends constantly try to show me their breasts. It's true; ask Nina, she will tell you.
I cannot say for certain why it is that they have this urge, but I suspect it is made all the more enticing by the fact that I do not want them to show me their breasts. Call me old fashioned, but I generally find that seeing my own naked breasts more than fills my breast viewing quota for the day.
- 07/03/08

It took me some time to realize that you were not the person I remembered you being. In our time apart, you had changed, grown. It was to be expected, really. I would not deny you personal growth simply because that meant the memory I carry of you is no longer an accurate picture of the person you are today.
Regardless, this revelation resulted in disappointment. We no longer shared the same shorthand we once did. I found myself refraining from making jokes; worried you would misinterpret, fail to take them in with the spirit with which they were intended. This turned out to be a justified fear. When an oafish comment finally did make its way past my lips, you looked nothing less than offended.
Did you really doubt me that much? It hurt to realize that you did, but, again, I suppose that was to be expected.
I wonder if you see similar changes in me. Am I the same person you remember? With the exception of a few additional neurotic behaviours, I have always thought myself to be a person of very little change. I still believe in the same things I believed in ten years ago. I still love the same people I loved ten years ago. It is true that many people have entered and exited my life in the past several years, but my feelings for each and every one of them remain the same. Then again, I suppose it is hard to see evolution when you are exposed to it every day, especially when that evolution is your own.
I know that I am more withdrawn than I once was, but I believe that, at heart, I have always been and will always remain to be the same person.
- 17/03/08

"Your teeth are very clean," my orthodontist told me, as if this should come as some sort of surprise to me; as if I am not the one who has been brushing said teeth several times a day, every day for nearly a quarter of a century. As it turns out, I happen to be the primary brusher of my own teeth.
I sat in the reclined chair, bright light shining in my face, wondering who it was that brushed my orthodontist's teeth.
- 23/03/08


Because he is so small, I will forget that he ruined my plans for cake

The first thing I noticed was that he had a wrinkly head, probably, at least in part, due to the way his father was carrying him around like a seven pound football.
I had intended to take a plethora of photographs of him, but found myself too concerned about the potential distress my flash could cause him.
"He's been flashed plenty of times already," his mother told me, and I laughed because I am dirty like that.


Forays into Saltwater

It was probably a mistake to show the fish to the cat, but I am hoping he will eventually lose interest in them.


Long story short, I eventually conceded her point

When I first bought my new fish I was fairly intent on naming one of them Fish Stick.
"No," my mother told me.
"Why not? They are my fish," I whined, "I should be able to name them whatever I please."
"I will tell you why not," my mother replied, "you do not enunciate enough and it sounds like you are saying Fish Dick."
"Why would I name a fish Fish Dick? That just sounds silly."
"Exactly," my mother said.


"Give me your hotdog, old man."

The dog enjoyed our trip to the farm. He ran through the snow covered fields and followed rabbit tracks through the woods. He even found time to practice his telepathy on my grandfather; staring patiently for hours, silently willing him to drop his food.