Avid

Just to notify you all that a new oneshot from yours truly has been uploaded to ff.net. Avid, a short story rated 15+ (you are warned!), is just another Zelink intermède to celebrate the end of 2006 and to satisfy your growing need for Zelink action.

Here's a short excerpt, to encourage you to go read it.

“May I inquire as to the ‘why’ of your calling me?”
This sent the line into an embarrassed silence. He opened his fridge, quite accustomed to the wait, and searched for something edible. Unfortunately for him, the only goods he could still consume without endangering his health were the bottle of mustard and the four cans of beer in his fridge door.
There was a mumble on the line, timed with him kicking his fridge closed. “I’m sorry,” he smiled, “but I have no idea what you just said and you’ll have to embarrass yourself further by repeating it louder and clearer.”

“Do you have plans tonight?”
He glanced at his clock. “It’s seven-thirty and I haven’t had supper yet. By the looks of things I’ll either have to look for a presentable food joint or hunt the meat myself. Neither option appeals to me. If your question implies I’m going to get good food if I respond by the negative, tell me at once.”

“You could have just asked me to dinner, you know.” Her tone was flat, but he could hear she was dissimulating her amusement.
“Ah, but I’m not the one doing the asking.”

“Fine.” She sounded a bit annoyed. “Look, I’ll be blunt with you. It’s Midwinter’s eve and my family is out of the country. My friends are all at their own parties with their boyfriends and their own families and I didn’t want to be the third wheel again. So I turned them down. Now I’m alone and I don’t want to sound like I’m a sob-story, but… Do you have plans for tonight, yes or no?”

Leave a review if you have time before heading off to some exciting New Years' party (like I soon will!).

HAVE FUN AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Love,
CM

In defence of the AU story...

It's been asked to me a couple of times already: why do you write AUs? Is it that you don't like the original world? You could make amazing In Universe stories, so why don't you? AUs are too weird, can't you focus on the original world?

I'm not entirely familiar with the history of AU Zelda fanfiction. Without bragging, I probably am one of the few who write exclusively AU stories, like BatNeko, Lyxie, Split Infinitive, sawyerzelda, and other great names. I'd name us all, but we are a growing bunch (thankfully!).

Truth is, before I started focusing entirely on Zelink shots, I was an avid Gundam Wing fanreader, which is where I was introduced to the notion of AU, and where I became hooked on it. Upon returning to the Zelda fanworld, I was sorely disappointed by how few Alternate Universe stories had managed to break into the fandom. Gundam Wing, originally set in the future, often made use of medieval AUs. Why would the Zelda world not do the opposite?

And since I live by the quote, "I searched for a book that would please me, found none, and so wrote it myself," I took it unto myself to spread just a little bit more AUs throughout the fandom. I certainly am not taking credit for all the wonderful AU goodness that is now pervading the Zelda world, but I like to think that I added just a little bit more choice than what was already there.

To be frank, I think AU stories add something to a fandom, allowing it to expand and become bigger, badder, and just plain cooler. And there is, in fact, a large group of fans who enjoy it very much, including the writers.

But why do I write AU? Aside from the fact that I enjoy reading the genre and ignoring the fact that a lot of people love it as much as me, there's the whole 'You are free to toy with the characters in whichever way you please' thing that is extremely appealing to a growing author.

Fanfiction as a whole is a wonderful playground for new authors, because it provides a whole range of characters that you can pick and choose from, expand on, develop, and it provides a defined setting that one doesn't need to explain all over again because most fanreaders will already be familiar with the world you describe. Fanfiction is vast, varied, and doesn't require base character development: the characters already exist, they're all ready for you to use.

Now let's say you have been writing (and/or reading) stories that make constant use of this set universe for a few years already and have read your fair share of TFSS (typical fandom specific stories), and you're losing interest in using the same world because there's only so much you can extract from a given setting. After a while, it gets kind of old, in spite of the love you might still feel for it.

Let's also imagine that, as a writer, you've grown beyond needing a preset world to make your preset characters evolve in but are not yet advanced enough to create your own original characters. What are you going to do?

The answer is AU.

AU fanfiction is both fanfiction and original work. It doesn't require you to create new characters, but it allows you to make them evolve in a world that is completely yours to invent. Some authors enjoy, even, taking a spin on character's preset personalities, thus toying and stretching the character beyond it's original being. AU has, as such, the definite advantage of being a nearly limitless playground for growing authors. They can choose a new world and build its style, laws, physics, mood, history from scratch.

Throw in a familiar fan element of any kind, be it a character, an event, a name, and bam, you're walking the line between original work and fanwork. Walking that line allows you to pick and choose the best of the two worlds. You don't like the location of something in the canon universe? Change it. You enjoy that guy from the official setting? Include him.

Why do I write AUs? Because I want to grow. Is it that I don't like the original world? No. I love it enough to take a spin on it and stretch it beyond its essential being. I could make amazing In Universe stories, so why don't I? Because I want to try something new and different, always. Something that will make people say, 'Wow, I haven't seen this before, but it feels so familiar!' AUs are too weird, can't I focus on the original world?

Why return to set boundaries after knowing the freedom of AUs? Nothing you say will convince me to shackle myself again. I grow more by doing something weird.

Love,
CM

P.S. I finished dungeons 5 and 6, and am on my way to dungeon 7, though it seems far off. I'm glad my day at work was cancelled. It means I can finally get back to TP. :D All the dungeons are so pretty (especially love dungeon 6!!).

Dreaming of a white... wait.

I don't think it'd be strange to ask "Why don't we have snow yet?" because it's a question everyone in Montreal is wondering about.

I mean, come on. It's the 24th of December and not even a speck of snow has managed to withstand our unusually warm weather. I'm not the kind to complain, but it kind of shames every single Christmas song I've been enduring for the past month and a half.

I mean... White Christmas, Snow, It's Cold Outside, Winter Wonderland, Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, etc. Yeah. They all are kind of work... if you have snow. But if the grass is still green and the squirrels are still making provisions and the ducks left only yesterday... Well, those songs? They're more of a bother than a way to enhance one's holiday spirit.

Not that I'm not in a holiday spirit. I totally am. I even got the Santa hat and everything. I listen to cheery songs. I know the lyrics to every single one of them (not, I'll admit, because I want to, but still).

I even gift-wrapped a brand new OiH chapter for you all to enjoy (it's not on the mantelpiece, but I'm sure if you look at the usual place, you'll find it).

(GO READ IT. NOW. Don't even read the rest of this text until you've read and reviewed chapter 23. GO.)

Heck, I'm looking forward to the family's Christmas party because once my cousins get their butts here, it'll be like the good ole days when we would flip the couches over and make houses with them. Or play tag between our parents' legs.

Actually, I have many fond memories of holiday parties.

They make me really glad that I don't have to flip the couches over anymore.

(You can skip this part if you don't want to read about how awesome I am. ^^ Just skip to the text in bold.)

I also started getting my final grades for the autumn session. Just so you know, the way it works is that they take your grade, factor in the group's strength and average, and give you a score for your whole session. Because of a lot of unknowns, you can't calculate your final score yourself, but you can situate yourself by comparing your grades to the group average made available to you. I'm pretty glad, because I'm above the group average in everything, and none of my grades are under 80% (I even got a 90%).

Art History: 7 pts more than the group average.
Video Tech.: 7 pts mttga.
Publicity: 7 pts mttga.
French: 28 pts mttga (I know! 0_0).

I'm missing Philosophy and US History, though. Still, if that ain't a cheerful holiday note, I seriously don't know what is. Because uni programs that are in high demand consider your college score when you apply to the program. The higher your score, the better you are, the higher your chances are of being accepted. :D I'm off on a good start.

OMG LINK MIGHT LEAVE. How dramatic! I enjoy making Zelda suffer far more than should be legal, but whatever. I figure you've all languished long enough, and it's about time something happened in the last five or six chapters.

Eeheehee.

One might ask, "But, CM, will Zelda and Link kiss again? Will they make-out? Will they have babies?"

I don't know! It's a mystery! Maybe I'll turn one of them into an alien and have them kidnap the other and take them to a private planet for all sorts of miscreant behaviours. Maybe I'll kill Link off. Maybe Zelda is actually a man. Who knows? Anything could happen at this point.

Say, the alien idea is beginning to sound rather interesting.

... Gotcha! You know I wouldn't make Link into an alien. He wouldn't look very nice with a laser gun and a silver spandex suit.

... Wait.

My brain is overheating because it worked up an image and I can't help the drool.

Seriously, though, it's not like it's such a mystery that the story is a happy-ending Zelink. The biggest question to ask is mostly, "If Link wants to leave and Zelda screwed up, how will they get together again?"

God. It feels like such a sitcom. ;P

More holiday news later.

Love,
CM

Late-night update.

Admittedly, I don't do social gatherings much. Until September people didn't even invite me to such things (in light of the whole 'I don't like to drink and I like writing and reading' thing).

I do think, however, that when parties involve exclusively cool people, such as Josie, Eva, Kitty, Alex, Slim, PB, Fred, Mitch, Rick, Guy and Gabie (and a few others), they're worth attending.

We were twenty people at this restaurant tonight. Around seven thirty we were discussing what to do to prolong the evening, which is when Rick suggested renting movies and watching them at his place.

I hop into Mitch's car with PB and another girl. We were in charge of finding a movie that did not involve horror (because Josie abhors that and her word is too often law in the group).

I was a bit miffed that Slim had been so distant when I was simply trying to greet him politely. I don't actually bat my eyelashes at him and I make a distinct effort to talk with other people and not hang on his every word like some lovesick puppy. Because I'm aware things are at a (very frustrating) standstill between everyone in the group. Ever since Alex and Kitty started dating it's like we're all unsure of how to deal with our own love lives.

So there I was, making talk with Eva, Josie, Guy and others, but sometimes the conversation would be turned towards Slim's end of the table, where most of the guys were sitting, and of course I'd look over, and Slim's eyes would meet mine, and because I was so miffed at his unusual coldness from before, I'd look away and interest myself in other people.

When came the time to divide the group into different cars with different tasks, I opted for Mitch's car to choose a movie, because I knew not to impose myself on Slim and I didn't feel like making more small-talk with Josie or Kitty or Eva.

Mitch, I would like to note, has a heavy bass amplifier in his trunk. I discovered this too late, when we were already barreling down a boulevard with my eardrums splitting apart.

I figured, heck, it's better to be in this car than to be in Slim's backseat, trying to make conversation to Rick because I can't bring myself to talk to Slim (because of his cold-shoulder distancing thing).

We reach the video rental store and finally my eardrums are given some rest. For ten minutes we look around and pick up The Daltons, American Pie: Naked Mile, and are still joking about renting some Disney classics when I turn my head and see both Rick and Slim entering the shop.

I'd just like to say I was like, 'Are they doing this on purpose to upset me or something?' But I greeted them both with good humour.

Rick and PB immediately started joking about horror movies, and which one they ought to take for Josie's anger, while I try to find an escape. Which is when Slim comes up next to us and says, "I want to rent 2001: Space Odyssey. Like the one we studied in film class for our final essay."

No one listens to him but me, because they're all talking at the same time. So I say, because I hate when people leave me answer-less and I figure it won't hurt now that he's started a conversation, "You mean you'd like to know what happens to lead up to the final scene which we studied?"

He nods, grinning. "Kubrick is our teacher's hero. I must know why."

I can't help but laugh a little at this. "I don't know if they have it."

Which is why we both start looking through the classics section, and, sure enough, Slim finds a copy of Odyssey. He then insists, "WE HAVE TO SEE THIS MOVIE."

Every one else was all like, "Aw, but it looks like it sucks. It was made in the sixties or something. Did they even have colour movies back then?"

I say, "Come on, PB, you studied it with us."

PB and Rick both relent, and so we finally rent it, along with the other two movies. While they're at the counter dealing with the rental, I'm browsing through a few rows, not really looking at the movies with much interest, when I suddenly hear Slim, from beside me, say, "Oh, shit. They're showing Friends re-runs!"

I turn my head and, sure enough, about fifteen lined-up screens are showing the same episode of Friends. Slim is a die-hard Friends fan. He knows every episode by heart.

I say, "You really are obsessed."

He says, "I can tell you which episode this is. I swear I can."

He squints at the screens. Over the noise of our own friends, we can't hear very well.

"Why can't I tell you already?" He asks in annoyance after five seconds, like he's letting me down.

I say, "Just get closer to the screen. Maybe you'll hear what's going on."

I walk forward, and I don't know if he's following me, but I don't care much anymore. I'm already tired and his on-and-off attitude is beginning to make me moody. I turn around to look for him, but I can't see him. Then I notice he's standing right beside me, looking up at the screens very seriously.

Part of me is wondering, 'Why can't he be more obvious about what he thinks of me??' I seriously am getting tired of trying to guess like some obsessed freak. If something doesn't happen within the next year, I'm going to snap.

Because... Slim is so like me.

Just the way we both jumped and turned to look at the others who were leaving, with surprise because we hadn't counted the passing time, was identical. Our strides match perfectly, and his voice as he described me the episode which we'd been watching's plot was as enthusiastic as mine when I tell a story.

I ask Slim, when we walk back out into the brisk cold, if he drives better than Mitch. I know he does, but I wanted to give him a way to turn me down.

He said Mitch was the better driver. I didn't even argue. I just said, "Well, I'll hop in with him again, then." And I did.

We reach Rick's place before Slim and Rick do. We wait around in Mitch's car. When at last Slim's car appears―he was 'late' because he was driving normally, which is something that Mitch seems unable to do― we wait around on the front lawn for the others. At long last they appear, and we enter Rick's house. By then our number had narrowed down to eleven people.

Rick says, "I don't think my couch is gonna be big enough for all of us."

Slim says, "I shotgun a seat."

The fight for seating was fierce, and I landed a spot on the backrest, which wasn't so bad, considering. Everyone else was squashed and uncomfortable. Slim reaches the side of the couch. By then he still could have chosen a decent spot on the other side, but he opted for the space near my legs.

Which confused me even more than I already was.

I didn't question it.

We tried Space Odyssey, but considering that the only people interested by it were Slim, PB, Rick and I, we soon had to switch over to American Pie: Naked Mile, which has got to be the dumbest movie I've seen since the 40 Year-Old Virgin, with the exception that it was watchable.

It also had the added bonus of being commented upon by both sexes, which can be rather entertaining. It's nice to know, for one, that the guys aren't completely shallow when it comes to sex. They're just guys, that's all.
At one point PB stood, which allowed space to be made and I could finally slip into a more comfortable spot.

Except I was now sandwiched between a friend and Slim, who not only refused to move away but would also shift back into a better position regularly, which implied that his arms were always brushing my leg, because I'd folded them against me.

I felt, all along, that I was being completely childish and trying to reason that this wasn't sixth grade. (This was driven home clearly to me when I remembered that in sixth grade, I actually did hang out with Slim and PB and gang, except it all ended in a mess because of two parties, one at my place then one at his―yet another common point between us: we were the hosts to our group's breaking up six years ago). I mean, you can touch a guy and not get cooties, as much as you can touch a guy and still seem platonic.

During the movie, Josie commented that all the hot guys were blonde. This had PB grinning, and had Slim indignantly say, "That's right. It sucks for us brown-haired, brown-eyed guys."

Nobody sympathized, even though they heard him, because they were all arguing amongst themselves. I patted him on the arm (which, I noted, seemed pretty muscled―probably from all the drumming), and told him not to worry. But I didn't say it loud because mid-sentence I remembered I was mad at him, and so I focused on the movie again.

When the movie ended, I glanced at Eva and made to stand. She was my lift home and I wanted to get home as soon as possible. Slim stood too, claiming that he had to go.

By then I was tired and depressed, and I knew tonight could have gone better than it had. Plus, Slim had been both a friend and nuisance all night long and I just wanted to go home and not care anymore.

Eva took forever to say goodbye. I had greeted everyone. Slim and I barely exchanged nods when he left the room, even though he'd warmly said goodbye to everyone else. When I saw how I Eva was taking her time, I trudged over to the dark lobby and saw Slim hurrying to get dressed. Rick followed, like a good host. I thanked him for everything, and slowly took my coat and shoes.

Rick left for a moment, to answer a question in the living room, and I was left alone in the lobby with Slim. Not that I got all hot and bothered about it. I was too tired for that.

He said, awkwardly, about his shoestring, which he'd been tying, "I think this'll do the trick." I glanced down at the knot he'd made in the dark.

"Probably," I say, unable to keep a tiny smile in.

"I gotta go now." He waves. "Bye."

And I wonder why I'm the only girl he won't give a hug to as a goodbye.

"Bye," I say, and I consider that I probably wouldn't have been able to say it quieter than I did then.

He goes for the doorknob. It won't turn. I remember earlier in the evening, he'd teased PB about being unable to open this door, whereas he was a genius and knew instinctively how to handle it. Here he was, fumbling to turn the locks and struggling to open the door as fast as he could, and there I was, staring at him stonily, unable to figure out why he's being so cold, when finally the door swings open, and he glances back at me, says nothing, goes out, and closes the door behind him.

And I'm still trying to make a knot with my scarf, as I have been for the past five minutes.

This should make me sad, but I just have the impression of having trudged on the same ground all evening, without moving forward or backward.

I'm so tired now. Stupid Slim. Why can't he just be more direct?

Or, why can't I be more direct? Why do I have to be so neutral about everything??

Whatever. It'll be better in the morning, and I'll see clearer.

Love,
CM

Stupid pranks.

To relieve the stress caused by angry consumers, who seem to be growing steadily more rabid as Christmas draws near, the people of my department store refugee themselves ―taking turns― for a blissful break in the employees room for lunch and stay there until they have no choice but to return to their post.

Between directing Guy, who showed up unexpectedly at my job to look for houserobes for men (of which I did not know the location), and fighting off angry housewives who can multitask by screaming both in the phone, at their children and at innocent salespeople (like me), I finally got around to getting my long awaited break.

Resting one's legs on a crappy metal chair feels better than one would think.

Also, the employees' room is insonorized: no dingy Christmas music to break the wonderful sound of the Simpsons, which airs constantly and which most of us request to listen to.

Usually, I sit alone and eat my lunch while trying to let my muscles relax, or I sit with people from my department and talk.

But when Matt and 'Elisa' are in the room, there's no way you can just sit there and talk.

Both of them had gone to take-out some Teriyaki food and were back with their noodles, shrimp, hot sauce and vegetables. Elisa was trying to figure out how to eat with chopsticks next to me, while Matt kept showing off his chopstick management skills (by deftly munching on a shrimp using those same chopsticks).

When Elisa finally gave in to Matt's teasing suggestions to use a plastic fork, a guy from the depot came in, looking half-dead. He mauled Matt on the way to the vending machine. I'll call him Grim.

Grim, like most guys who work in the depot, wears a constant exhausted face and refuses to take his hat off.

While Grim was busy choosing an lemon Nestea can, Matt teased Elisa about not eating hot sauce. At this point, another cashier from my department enters the room and sits across from me, shooting a slightly pained look at the seafood Matt ordered.

Matt notices this. "You don't like seafood, Rachel?"
She grimaces. "No. Actually. But hot sauce is good."
"Here," Matt says, "have some."
Elisa: "You can't just eat hot sauce alone. It's bad enough when it's mixed with stuff, but just plain... ergh."

Grim returns. He opens his can, takes a mouthful, then places it on the table in front of Matt. "Guard this with your life. I shall return. And don't―" He interrupts himself as Matt takes the can up and takes a long sip. "I was about to say don't drink from it, but I see now that I am too late."

Matt shrugs and puts the can back on the table. "Fate sucks, man. Go get some Teriyaki."

"Fine."

And Grim leaves. We all stare at Matt. He shrugs.

"I've been to Vermont with that guy on a roadtrip of epic proportions. If anyone can drink from his can, it's me."
Rachel, flatly: "Vermont isn't epic. It's just off the border. You can get there in less than six hours."
Matt: "Shut up."
Rachel: "Well, it's true."

Matt ignores this, however, and contemplates the can. "I've known Grim since kindergarden. With all the pranks we've done to each other..." He pauses. Then, he slowly smiles. "Elisa, hand me your hot sauce."

Elisa, quickly understanding what he's about to do, says, "No. No."
Matt: "Come on. He's done worse to me. Compared to our usual stuff, this is tame."
Rachel: "Use your own."
Matt: "Fine."

He picks up his little hot sauce container and, with his chopsticks, drops a little into the ice tea can. He then stirs it slowly. Suddenly deciding that this will not be enough, he pours the entire contents of the container into the can, along with a cold noodle, and stirs it gleefully, under our disgusted eyes.

He puts it back down. Five minutes later, Grim reenters the employees' room with his own Teriyaki take-out and sits next to us. We make small-talk, all the while keeping an eye on Grim and the can, waiting with hidden anticipation for the moment when he'll finally take a sip from it.

At long last, he lifts it to his lips. We hold our breath.

He takes a sip.

He puts the can down.

He swallows his mouthful.

And asks, without the singlest expression, "Did you put hot sauce in my can?"

Matt looks impish. "Was it good?"

Grim looks dubious. "I thought at first I'd taken too much hot sauce into my mouth from my bite. But your face told me everything."

Matt nods. "I see. Hand it over." He takes a careful sip from the can, then says, slowly, "Hey. It ain't that bad."

Elisa takes the can from him. "Let me try. ... Hey, it's not bad at all."

Before Matt can take the can back, Elisa took another mouthful of the drink.

"It's crazy," she says. "I'm addicted."

Matt exclaims, "OH MY GOD WE CREATED LIQUID CRACK!"

Grim, flatly, examines Elisa's glee. "If you really like it, we are totally commercializing this."

Elisa puts the can down and slowly, her face distorts into a grimace. "... Um, actually, it's starting to burn my throat and it's bloody disgusting."

All: "Awww."
Matt: "Oh well."

So I may not have played TP today yet, but I still got a few laughs. Joy!

Love,
CM

Chapter delayed.

I got TP.

Self-explanatory.

Expect the chapter tomorrow morning.

Love,
CM

Celebrate good times, come on!

I finished my first college session!

To celebrate, all the people from my circle, all of us who used to go to the same high school and who now attend the same college (we're approx. 15 to 20 people in all), are meeting up at a local restaurant next week.

*dances gleefully*

Now that I no longer have projects and considering that I'm starting school again only on the 17th of January, I have five weeks to properly finish OiH!

I'm glad. That means I'll actually finish chapter 23 tonight! And maybe even start chapter 24!

Some stats about OiH (as cumulated by Microsoft Word) so far:

Chapters: 22.5 (not quite 23 complete chapters yet)
Pages: 179
Paragraphs: 3376
Lines: 7414
Words: 97 015
Characters: 434 270
Characters (with spaces): 527 996
Revision number: 32 767
Total editing time: 11 163 minutes (or 186.05 hours, or 7.75 days).

I too am shocked. What a great way to spend time, hm? I wonder how much cumulative time I spent writing on this computer. Probably a few weeks, or maybe a month or two.

At least I'm being productive.

Love,
CM

P.S. GC Zelda is out. I still have no Wii. I am ready to be shot.

P.P.S. But I finished my session so WHATEVER!

Power to the skirts.

I got the skirt at LeChâteau, remember? For the outrageous sum of an arm and leg (62.67$). But, as I explained to Kitty, some women pay 5000$ and more to get the butt this skirt gives me. So, cute butt, or 62.67$? Cute butt, or 62.67$? Hm.

I chose the cute butt.

Now, I have to admit, I hate skirts.

I hate skirts. But not today.

It's not the fashion I have something against, and it's not like they are an outdated symbol of patriarcal power over women or something. I don't give a peep about that. If anything, we're privileged to have the choice between skirts and pants. Guys don't. Well, I mean, they do, but they're not sure to get a lot of positive looks, if you know what I mean.

Still, I just hate it when you find the perfect skirt and you know you'll have pantylines if you wear it. It's like the skirt is tagged with, "I LEAVE PANTYLINES, FEAR ME!" So I figure, alright, I'll just wear the appropriate set of tights (which might lead to another heated debate about the sheer annoyance of tights), and all will be dandy.

Except I might, by a completely fortuitous set of events that I can trace back to my oldest ancestors, live in Québec. And maybe it even turns out I'm beginning to feel December seeping into the air, though when I says it seeps, the actual word is BLINDS-YOU-WITH-FROST-AND-BY-THE-WAY-IT-HURTS-TO-BREATHE-THIS-FUCKING-COLD-AIR.

But whatever. Either way, I'm used to wearing skirts in winter, because my old school thought it'd be a brilliant idea to give girls the choice between the 'fattening skirt of ugliness' and the 'super-fatterning pants of horrible tastelessness', and because I had to choose the lesser of two evils, I chose the skirt. So I figure, alright, I'll just weather it out, because I've done it before.

No problem. I get to college with my sexy (but long enough to be tasteful) skirt. I even love how cute my butt is when I wear it. And I'm like, if a certain drummer doesn't notice my butt today I'll be very displeased with him.

Easy stuff. I know it's working when every guy in class looks up to watch me come in for my session exam instead of keeping their noses buried in their study books.

Not that it matters because my sole preoccupation is to attract the attention of a certain someone else.

The exam isn't easy, but I work it out just fine and I'm like, if this development question doesn't earn me all the points it deserves, I will hunt down my teacher and kick his butt. While wearing this skirt. Just to prove it can be done.

I enter the cafeteria at quarter to eleven. Because we're in December and very few girls actually wear skirts at this time of year, a few guys eye me up and down, and though I pretend not to notice, I'm like, SCORE. Confidently, I walk over to the regular table.

Oh. Hello, Slim. Hello, Gabie. Look at my skirt, Gabie.

Gabie just gives me a thumbs up and squeals, "It's gorgeous. You're not doing it to attract a certain Bass' attention, are you?" She teases me.

I stare flatly at her. "No. I wanted to show the skirt to Josie. She asked to see it." Not a complete lie, but it saves face and I'm not obliged to say that I'm doing it to complete the D-phase of the AIDA formula. (Allow me to explain. The AIDA formula is the basic commerical tactic used in ads: attract the Attention, create the Interest, stimulate Desire, and provoke Action. But it can be applied to every interpersonal relation, not just ads.)

Right. I may not be a seductress (far from it, actually―the idea is laughable), but I can at least passively put into motion a tried-and-true strategy. And show off a little while I have the shape.

While I'm talking to Gabie, I know Slim is getting a view of my backside. But I'm not going to give too much, of course. Moderation is always better. I pull a chair and sit in front of him without really checking to see if he was staring, because he looks vaguely depressed. I raise a brow at him and forget that I'm supposed to be working on the D-phase.

Me: "Hey, what's wrong? You look off."
Slim: "I was sick yesterday. Alcohol and milk do not mix well, apparently."
Guy: *as he sits beside me and props his feet on the table* "True."
Slim: *without paying much heed to Guy, or to anyone* "I blame Drew for putting us through the sheer boredom that caused me to drink too much."
Guy: "What happened?"
Slim: "He was solo-ing Halo 2 in Legendary mode. He played through the whole game."

Guy looks slightly confused, but I stare at Slim with sympathy. I feel his pain: I lived that with my brother.

I forget about my skirt until Josie comes up with Eva.

Time to show off again.

Not, I notice, that Slim seems very lively about it. He's listening to one earplug and I can't tell if he's looking at my butt because I'm too busy talking about my new skirt to my girlfriends.

This, I think, sucks.

By the time my French class comes around, Slim has been pretty much of an asshole to everyone, alternating between mean and apathetic. I decide that I'm not going to put up with it, so I stand and leave the cafeteria for class.

Bass greets me there with an appraising look. "Hey, beautiful."

See, I consider, this just plain sucks. Every guy in the class noticed my butt and the one guy I wanted hardly paid me a glance. But whatever. I resolutely decide to stay in a good mood, finishing my essay and exam two hours before everyone else.

And then comes the internal debate. I know I could see Slim again in the cafeteria, risking his foul mood again, or leave immediately and head home.

Well, heck. Life's made of choices, and I choose to give Slim another chance. I'm berating myself even as I'm walking towards the cafeteria, knowing all too well that he's unlikely to have changed his mood.

He and Guy are talking to a girl, but Guy is mostly the one doing the talking. I notice Gabie studying. Ah. Lifesaver. I'd rather speak with her than intrude into a conversation that has nothing to do with me. And, I consider, if Slim prefers this other girl, I can't force him to look my way. How depressing. And I was wearing this skirt and everything.

I greet Gabie cheerfully. "Guess who finished her essay before everyone else?"

I notice Slim turns his head to look our way. Gabie looks up from her quantitative mathematics (her father insisted that she take a math class if she absolutely wanted to head into Liberal Arts), and says, "Um. I don't know. Hermione Granger?"

I make a face. "Har har. Still studying?"

She grimaces. "Yeah."

"Hey, Gabie," Slim suddenly interrupts, "Guy wants your 7Up bottle."

I turn to look at Guy, and at the girl (I'll call her Caroline, though I always forget her name) who, though she's a classmate and is a nice girl, is way too pretty for my comfort. Gabie throws her bottle to Guy. I look at Guy questioningly. Guy pulls a face at me and shakes the bottle excitedly, to Caroline's amusement. Slim, meanwhile, says, threateningly, "I'm going to kill you."

I glance at Slim. "Um. What? Me?"

He says, "Yes. I fully intend to kill you. You won't see it coming. It'll be ninja-swift."

I don't bother to ask why. In our circle, it's a pointless question that usually has no actual answer. "Really now?" I examine him. Guy and Caroline are both looking at us boredly. "It'd be scarier if you said that while grinning maniacally."

Slim pulls his hood over his eyes, grins like a maniac and says, "I intend to kill you."

I laugh and tug on his hood. "You're not scary enough, sorry, but it's better than it was before."

He smirks, and I consider that maybe he's repented his ways.

Not that I'll forgive him his earlier behaviour easily. I turn my attention to Guy and Caroline, who are busy discussing snowboarding (she doesn't snowboard, but Guy does). I actually listen with interest, which forces Slim to pay attention too (unless he wanted to be left hanging, and he's not stupid enough for that).

But his eyes, unless I'm deluded, would sometimes stray to me longer than strictly necessary when I expressed a reaction to whatever Guy was saying. Well, it's fair enough. I did dress for that, after all.

Eventually Guy stands and commands Caroline to fetch something, which she refuses to do and instead replaces with a visit to the ladies' room. Guy grumbles and leaves to talk to another group of people at another table.

I refuse to let Slim win this (undeclared and unacknowledged) round by default, so I return to Gabie and sit. Slim sits across from me and pulls out his CD player.

He inserts a Dream Theater CD into the device. Fine, little bastard, I think. You win. You win!

"My mp3 player's battery is all screwed up," he suddenly says, to justify his CD player, which I have been staring at unknowingly. "It keeps dying after a few seconds, even though it's fully recharged." I hold out my hand for an earplug, so that we can share. He looks at my hand, then at me, and says, "What?"

"Earplug."

"Yeah," he teases, "that's what they call 'em. What about them?"

"Hand me one, so I can hear whatever it is you'll be commenting."

He shakes his head and puts both earplugs in his ears. "I'll sing for you, rather."

"With all the instruments, including the lead singer, the drums, the guitar, the keyboard and the orchestra?" I inquire politely.

He ignores my sarcasm and manages this with surprising aptitude for a few minutes. I'm surprised at his singing voice. But I still hold out my hand and he reluctantly pulls one of his ear plugs out of his ear and hands it to me.

Slim has the habit of drumming on the table whenever he's listening to a song, as though he's drumming for real. Sometimes he'll tap his feet too, as though he were activating base drums.

I watch him drum on the table absently, and I try not to look for too long in his eyes, because he's still singing along and his eyes are stuck on my face and if we were just staring into each other's eyes non-stop, as I would have liked, Gabie would suspect my crush.

Why does he have to have such gorgeous eyes anyway?

Suddenly, he breaks out of song and says, "Oh. This part is sick..." He pauses the song and looks under the table. "Hey. Where are your feet?"

I had crossed my legs demurely under my chair when he's come to sit across from me. I look at him, wondering what he wants. He looks insisting. "Put them flat on the floor." He shuffles to find them with his own feet. "A little further apart." I obey him. It's not like he's looking under the table at all anyway. Patiently, he says, "I'll just demonstrate the base drums on your feet. You don't mind?"

By now I'm a little speechless. I glance at Gabie. She's been examining us for a little while, and she just shrugs and smiles at me, then looks back down at her notes.

Where's Guy, anyway? And Caroline? They're talking with other people, a few tables away.

"Um," I say, "sure."

"I won't be too rough on your feet," he says, laughing. "I promise."

That said, he restarts the song and starts drumming along. I focus on his hands hitting the table rhythmically. He doesn't need the visual help, so his eyes are either trained on me for unbearingly long periods of time or staring unseeingly to the side.

He doesn't miss a beat.

Eventually, he changes the CD and I glance at my watch.

"Oh, hey. You have fifteen minutes before I have to go catch my bus, so you better make them count," I say with a grin.

"Make them count?" He looks a bit confused.

"Find a great song that I haven't heard yet."

He blinks. Then, as though I had just challenged him, he says, "A great song? Fine. You want a great song, you'll get it."

"Will it fit into fifteen minutes?"

He pauses. "It's forty one minutes long. But I'll skip the redundant parts and give you a concentrate of awesomeness."

He keeps his feet on mine.

Fifteen minutes later, I reluctantly hand him his earplug back. "Here." I say goodbye to Gabie, Guy (who had come back to sit at our side) and Josie (who had joined us sometime during Slim's music presentation but who had mostly spoken to Guy).

I'm about to wave at Slim except Slim isn't looking at me. He's still drumming, with his eyes closed. I smile. "Slim?" He doesn't answer. "SLIM."

He looks up. "What? LEAVE!"

"Geez. I just wanted to say goodbye." I roll my eyes. "Thanks for the music."

He softens suddenly and smiles mildly. "Oh. Yeah. See you."

He did give me a once over as I turned to leave, I'm sure, before he returned to his CDs.

And I'm thinking that if music were a woman, then I'd stand no chance. But hey, you can't date music.

Also, you should expect chapter 22 sometime on Wednesday. I'm sure you're glad to have read all this for this miniature update, but whatever.

Love,
CM

P.S. I know. I'm hopeless. I know. It's going to hurt so bad once it flops. If it flops.

ZOMG!

You wouldn't believe it, but I posted chapter 21 of OiH. At long, long last.

I know. I am astonished at myself.

Even more astonished that I managed to finish chapter 22 yesterday, for good. And I even started chapter 23.
Think about it, people. I actually stopped procrastinating long enough to work and be productive.

I know.

I was so shocked at myself that I had to calm my nerves by buying myself a skirt for New Year's. My family and I are going to a hotel for a chic party with a bunch of family friends. It should be nice, in spite of the fact that I suspect no hot guys will attend it (if you don't count the hot waiters, but they'll be too busy to care, most likely).

Whatever. At least I'll dress to kill, since I'm old enough to have curves and still young enough for nothing to droop, even a little.

Anyway, I bought that skirt. It cost me exactly CAN 62.67 $, at Le Château. So what if no man will see it? At least I'll be able to say they missed something and not be BS-ing it.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to justify my choice. I'm especially touchy where saving money is concerned, and I do not consider shopping a particularly pleasant (or relaxing) activity. Mostly I do it to follow my girlfriends who are shopping spree athletes.

Which I am not. I prefer to shop alone. Because then I can try on the stuff my friends would say is 'too classical, why don't you try this highligher pink shirt instead???' and buy for my own tastes.

Now I have to look through my stuff for a top to go with it. Easy, since it's a striped charcoal, sexy but sophisticated straight skirt. White or coloured tops will do.

In other news, my parents have decided to renovate my bedroom. That means they're replacing my single bed by a queen-sized one and repainting my walls.

I agreed to a chocolat-au-lait paint for two walls, with the other two walls, ceiling and trims being painted in a neutral vanilla colour. And because those are very neutral colours, I want to highlight them with accessories of a random light colour. I haven't decided between blue, purple or red yet.

And, since you want to know, my previous decoration was a tropical theme, with bright turquoise walls, a huge photography mural of a beach, white decorations, and plenty of colourful flowers. And straw mats. And a hammock chair.

But it was getting old and I wanted something a little more peaceful. And warm.

... Whoops, I think I have an exam in Publicity tomorrow. I should get to studying, even though I already know most details.

Like the AIDA formula (Attention, Interest, Desire, Action), which is the basic principle for selling a product using publicity, but which I have applied to my human relations lately. Which might explain why I've been getting a little more looks from the opposite sex.

Hah, mere mortals. Fear my AIDA formula.

Love,
CM

P.S. In recounting the number of character names used in OiH, I found out I used a staggering 103 names (only 13 of which you have yet to be introduced to... but you'll see how familiar they are) from the Legend of Zelda series. That's a bit more than my intended 75. Not that I'm complaining.

Snow days and explosions.

It's like every time snow comes around over this part of town, something's gotta happen the next day to make attending school impossible.

I remember last year it was because it snowed so much that we couldn't even drive in the streets. Because roughly three to four feet of snow had fallen on everything and the snowplows had trouble clearing the boulevards. Forget even trying to take the car out of the garage. The snow was like a wall and the wheels were basically skidding in soft snow without actually getting any traction.

Over here, the expression is 'ça tournait dans l'beurre'. You can translate that with 'skidding in butter'.

God, I love Quebecer expressions.

Anyway, there was so much snow that, for the first time since the 1998 ice storm (god that storm was fun for us innocent and ignorant kids), our school actually closed for one day. I swear. Our school NEVER closed during major weather issues (to our annoyance). Everyone was so shocked. Even the lucky few that had made it out of their houses to trudge over to school were sent back.

That was last year.

This year, it's even better.

Our first snow day was during the weekend! I love snow days, because after, everything that was brown and grey turns a pretty shiny white (at least until pollution gets to it, but we're fine so far). And you get to do snowball fights like some immature kid on crack.

Heck, it's almost more fun to have a snowball fight at 18 than it is to have one at 10. Because everyone is so vicious and stuff.

I was actually surprised this morning to find that no one had, apparently, closed off our college. It is, after all, quite accessible and in-town, so it's not like they wouldn't have cleared the snow. Besides, it was a sunny morning, with no ice and just above zero degrees in temperature. This summer we'd have died frozen, but in December, when you're a Quebecer getting ready for a rough winter, that's a pretty mild day.

So we're sitting in History class watching this interesting movie (Why We Fight, a movie about the American war in Irak and in other oil-producing areas of this world), when a woman knocks at the class door. The teacher leaves the class. We don't even glance at him, because we're busy taking notes.

He comes back in and turns the movie off.

"Sorry, everyone. But there's been an order to evacuate the building because of a water pipe that exploded."

You could almost hear us blink skeptically.

He shrugs. "You all have to be gone by eleven."

Bummer, I think. That means I won't be having lunch with the gang in the cafeteria. I pack my stuff and leave the class, and I enter the lobby.

I notice PB sitting with one of his friends on the floor. They're both dressed in winter coats and boots, sitting there amongst the crowd of excited students, looking like they're bored out of their minds. I come to sit next to them and we all wait in silence, wondering what to do. I had missed my bus and I knew it wouldn't be there for another half-hour. I had time to kill.

Meanwhile, a few students trickle out into their cars, while others call for a lift or beg their friends for one.

Everyone, you'll be interested to know, was trying to avoid the Pamphlet Syndicate People, who seemed to be having a field day: so many students to harass!

Lo and behold. Slim comes up to us, looking like he's having a great time.

He's closely followed by Guy, who seems as absent-minded as usual. Once he notices them both, PB whines, "I'm bored!"

Rick, choosing this moment to sneak up on PB, adds, "I'm hungry."

Slim, grinning, jokes, "I'm thirsty. Let's go to the third basement and have a swim."

Guy: "It's just a water leak, right? So the microwaves still work?"

We all glance at him. He holds up a plastic bag.

"My pizzas have to be heated up."

PB rolls his eyes. "It's ten to eleven. I'm going home."

Rick agrees with this. "They won't let you back into the cafeteria, I'm pretty sure."

Slim glances at me, then at Guy. "You up for some breaking in?"

I make a face. "Please. There aren't even any doors to the cafeteria, and it's deserted. Like anyone's going to care if we're eating pizzas in there."

Guy: "Fantastic. Time for pepperoni and cheese."

We wave goodbye to PB and Rick, who seem to consider we are insane (whatever, their loss), and head back to the cafeteria.

It's awesome to have such a huge room all to yourself. Slim and I sat at a table while Guy made use of a microwave. He kept mumbling about cheese bits and other pizza-related things.

Meanwhile, Slim reclined in one of the chairs and said, "I am going to be so bored this afternoon."

I nod. "Same here."

Slim: "I have to work on my essay."
Me: "Same here."
Slim: "I'm don't wanna do it."
Me: "Join the club."
Slim: "I should practice my hi-hats."
Me: "I should get back to writing productively."
Slim: "You're still writing? I know you started in sixth grade."
Me: "Um. Yeah. But I kind of got better since."
Slim: "God. I hope so."
Me: "Duh. How long have you been playing drums?"
Slim: "Two years."
Me: "Seriously? It feels like more."
Slim: "Indeed not."
Me: "You're talented enough to have been doing it more than just two years."
Slim: "Whatever. What do you write?"
Me: "Oh. Um. Just stuff. That happens in my head. I'm crazy like that."
Slim: "... Just stuff?"
Me: "Yeah. You know. Fiction. Stories."
Slim: "Huh."
Me: "What?"
Slim: "Stories about what?"
Me: "Did I ever mention I hate it when people ask me that?"
Slim: "Why? You write porn?"
Me: "NO."
Slim: "Emo poems?"
Me: "God no. If I ever write poetry to denounce some sort of inner pain, shoot me on the spot."
Slim: "Well, then. No big deal."
Me: "I write stuff that I would personally like to read."
Slim: "And you won't tell me more because you probably post it on Internet and fear I might stumble upon some secret stash of romance?"
Me: "I hate you."
Slim: "I can't believe I'm right."
Me: "I never said you were."
Slim: "Whatever. Suit yourself."

We exchange glares.

Guy comes sauntering up to us. He lets out a supremely satisfied, "GOD I LOVE PIZZA. Here," he waves it under Slim's nose, "SMELL THIS."

Slim grimaces. "You can tell me anything, but that is not pepperoni and cheese."

Guy: "It isn't. It's spinach."

Slim and I both let out a disgusted 'Eeeewww'.

To which Slim adds, "Thank god it isn't anything but spinach. I may have warned you about the green stuff."
Guy: *taking an eager bite from his steaming pizza* "May have warned me?"
Slim: *solemnly* "After debating the pros and cons of seeing you choke on the nasty bacteria infestation."
Guy: "I don't blame you, then."

At this moment a woman comes into the cafeteria, observes us, and says, "You know the school has to be empty by eleven, right?"

Slim pulls on his sleeve and looks at his watch. "Great. That means we have exactly six minutes and twelve seconds to go."

The woman looks exasperated, but she leaves anyway.

Me: "Six minutes?"
Slim: "And three, two, one... five minutes fifty-nine."
Guy: "I should heat my second pizza."
Me: "How many pizzas do you have?"
Guy: "Two. Want some?"
Me: "I'll pass, thanks."
Guy: "Suit yourself."
Slim: "You're taking the bus?"
Me: "Huh? Me? Well, yeah. I mean, I don't have a car yet. Or a driver's license."
Slim: "I see."
Me: "Don't say it like it's such a surprise."
Slim: "It isn't. I just didn't want to say something like, 'HAH, SCREW YOU, I'M BETTER THAN YOU.' I'm not that obnoxious yet."
Me: "Thankfully."

We lapsed into companionable silence as we watched Guy making faces at the microwave.

None of this would have been possible without the water pipe explosion.

I don't even know if the water pipe exploded because of the cold or snow or anything.

But I DON'T CARE.

God, I still have to work on OiH. See you!

Love,
CM

I know, I know.

No chapter this week. I know. Here's my (pathetic but true) explanation.

1. I've been struggling to find off time to write, even to the point of writing during exam revisions, in my notebook (unfortunately not a Fairy notebook offered to me by a certain Hylian hero), thus earning me suspicious glances from my teachers. But whatever. I have the right to write if I so please, and besides, how will they prove I'm not taking notes, right?

2. My session exams are coming up. Considering how crucial these exams are (if I want to pass this session and move onto my Winter session), I can only write so much in my notebooks during revision time without actually paying attention to what the teachers are saying. I don't think concluding my session comes second to writing (though it's a close match, as you might've guessed).

3. I spent the past two days reading my latest aquired novels (two of Meg Cabot's newest novels, How to Be Popular and the sequel to Size 12 is Not Fat, Size 14 is Not Fat Either), both of which, by the way, were delectable and totally worth falling behind in writing. (Now, if Cooper Cartwright from Size 14 weren't such a completely hot fool, I'd be even better off--I can't believe what he does at the end of the book. Gawd. *slaps Cooper Cartwright silly*)

4. I "wasted" time talking about music beats and styles with Slim and Guy. Notice the quotation marks above the 'wasted', please. To most people, our talk was boring or even downright obsessively geeky (well, it would be if Slim weren't too good-looking to be a proper geek), but it was, in fact, very informative to the musically deficient person that I happen to be. And you'll be glad I took the time to talk to them when chapter 24 comes around.

5. I made a big effort to be nice to Bass, and he seems to have moved on properly. Properly meaning he's got his sights set on another girl and still finds the glee to send me big grins, as he used to. Awesome.

6. I've been stalking my insider source to find out when the next Wii shipment would be hitting a local retail store. Still no info, but he promised to let me know as soon as possible.

7. Projects. All over the place! Thankfully, my teammate and I finished analysing this Wonderbra ad, which you can see here...

And kicked much ass, I believe (easy stuff, the ad was fun to analyse).

8. Since our college has been struggling to figure out whether or not to become part of the Student's Syndicate of Québec, they've been doing promotion and asking us to vote. Unfortunately, the promoters are bloody annoying, interrupting all our conversations and asking us if we got pamphlets, do we want pamphlets, they've got plenty of pamphlets, they can tell us all about it and do we have enough pamphlets?

This guy interrupted a conversation I was having with Slim about tempo, and we just stared at him until he stopped talking and ended in a mumble (I wasn't glaring at him, but Slim was). Then, in a small voice, he asked us, "Do you have pamphlets?"

To which Slim replied, "Yeah. We got pamphlets. So many pamphlets that I'm thinking of turning them into wallpaper."

This, of course, caused the guy to walk away quickly and apologetically, PB and I to burst out laughing, and Slim to turn back to me and continue his speech about why Mike Portnoy is such a drumming genius.

Today, I was not graced with Slim's presence, but I was sitting with Kitty and PB, when suddenly Guy jogs up to our table and sits down conspiratorially.

Guy: "The dreadlocks syndicate promotion guy is coming this way and I've got the best plan ever."
PB: "This better be good."
Guy: "It is."

I should mention Guy is the master of randomness and an expert in the Absurd. The following suggestion did not surprise me in the least.

Guy: "We have to freak him out."
Kitty: *over her biology homework* "He wears dreadlocks and he's twice your size. He could probably crush you into a witless mass of debilitated cells."
Guy: "See, that's where you don't get my point. We can freak him out without actually talking to him." He gets a mad glint in his eye. "Let's be freaks."

PB and I, by now far too accustomed to Guy's insanity, hardly blink.

Me: "What do you suggest?"
Guy: "When he comes, we make up something crazy. You know. A random conversation."
PB: "Like... anything?"
Guy: "Precisely."

We all glance at Dreadlocks Promoter Guy, who has moved over by one table. If he keeps this way, he'll be there any minute.

Guy: "CM, you start with something insane."
Me: *off the top of my head* "You mean... The re-militarization of Rhenany before the 3rd Reich?"
Guy: "Yes. Awesome." He thinks hard. "Yes. Rhenany."

DPG has moved onto the table next to us, and judging by their lack of interest, he'll be by us in no time.

Guy urges PB and Kitty to join in our discussion, giving us a basic outline of what we should say.

Dreadlocks boy comes over and stands by our table, wondering when he can break into our conversation. And we let loose.

Me: "So, I think it's scandalous. That whole thing about Rhenany's re-militarization."
Guy: *pensively* "I can't say I agree. I mean, what are your thoughts on depression?"
Me: "Aren't those the ones that cause hurricanes?"
Guy: "Hurricanes and tornadoes! It's my opinion they shouldn't be legal."

DPG lifts a finger and opens his mouth to speak, but Guy interrupts him.

Guy: "Wait a sec, man." To PB, he asks, "PB, what do you think? Should hurricanes be legal?"
PB: *having taken his answer verbatim from Kitty's biology book* "In this photo we see a giraffe eating the remains of a small mammal."
Guy: "Well said. I think we can therefore conclude that―"
All: *having agreed on this verbal cue to unite and speak* "Weeeeiiiieeeeeiiieee."
Me: *following Guy's suggestion* "In fact, in John-Paul 8, verse 39, it is said Mitch must be Fred Flintstone."
Kitty: *disbelieving* "No way."
Guy: *gravely* "I know. It's almost like a gestating zoomorph couple."
Me: "You tell me."
Guy: "In fact, in our lab report, we have to consider the cholesterol rise in relation to the *breaks off into sciency gibberish*"
Me: "Oh, yeah! That."
Guy: "Then you can easily add HCl and put some into your fruit juice!"
Kitty: *saying what Guy told her to say, word for word* "Plus, we can notice that a whale's fin is a color found in the spectre of the yellow, red or orange."
All: *again* "Weeeeiiiieeeeeiiieee."
Guy: *to DPG* "Say, man, are you part of the SS Dreads?"

Before DPG can even answer him, Guy cuts him off.

Guy: "Because I think a teleportation device is something that must be invented."
All: "Aaaamen."

This is as far as we had planned, but DPG looked disturbed enough by then. The trick was, of course, to try not breaking into fits of tearful hilarity.

DPG: *unsure* "Um... so... do you have, like... pamphlets?"
Guy: *enthusiastically* "Enough to fill my hamster's cage fifty times." Even though, you know. He doesn't own a hamster.
DPG: "So... um... you don't want any more?"
Guy: "*still as cheerfully* "Nope! But do you have any macaroons?"
DPG: "Um. No. But do you think we should make some?"
Guy: "Man. No wonder everyone's been pulling your leg. You obviously need macaroons. Pretty ones. With hilighter colors."
DPG: "Um. Okay. I'll, um... take it up to my syndicate."

He leaves. Fast.

Which is just as well because by then we were doubled over trying to hold down our laughter, to the point where we were tearing at the eyes and all red in the face. When at last he was gone, we burst into hilarity, howling with laughter.

Guy: "Oh, man. That was totally worth it."

So. That's why there's no chapter this week. But there might be one next week. In fact, there will be one next week. So that I force myself to actually finish chapter 22.

Love,
CM

There is no spoon!

I got Twilight Princess!

But I didn't get the Wii. So I can't play the game.

WHATEVER. The sound of the plastic cellophane coming off the box was enough for me, thanks very much. The box, the disc, the pamphlets (one in French and one in English)... All of it... So purty. *drool*

If only I could play it, though.

Well, at least I have the game. I'm 50% there.

In the meantime, when I'm not admiring the purty, very purty box with gold foil and stuff, I decided to finally get my ass on the track and advance in OiH. Because, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm falling behind. Soon I'll be unable to post one chapter every week, which would suck even more than not having the Wii, I'm sure.

(Note aside, why does ff.net suck so badly at sending mails and everything? Sometimes I wonder. So what if their suppliers fail or whatnot? SEND ME MY REVIEW NOTIFICATIONS. I'm getting a backlog of like, two weeks, here! It drives me nuts!)

I mean, it's one thing writing down a chapter in my French/Video Tech notebook, and it's quite another to actually type it up and realise I messed up a few paragraphs and should add more of this and cut a bit of that. God, I hate it when that happens. It's so long! I prefer typing directly to the computer. But then I can't work in class.

...

My life is so complicated. I was made to live in careless luxury, I just know it.

Aside from that, Bass seems to have backed off since Saturday. Not that I'm complaining. He was unfortunately starting to get on my nerves. Because, hello, anyone who disses the Wii then finds out I want one and suddenly changes his opinion has to be fishy.

Slim says he's broke but wants one, and I know he isn't saying that just to accomodate me. He says he wants to play SSBB and TP, claiming that any game that makes him drool witlessly has to be good. He also says he saw the game in motion at a friend's house, and that it kicks too much ass to be legal.

Which, you know. Is awesome.

It was a nice change, by the way, to enter the cafeteria today and not be mauled by Bass (who saw me come in but was busy talking to other people), and instead being greeted by Slim, who actually looked glad to see me. He had his coat on with his scarf hanging on his shoulders, and said he had a team meeting but his teammate was late.

I told him my French class had been cancelled for the day. He said I better head home, then. I said I wasn't sure what to do. Unable to hold in a grin, he yelled, "GO HOME!" adding that I didn't know how to appreciate my luck.

Well, bugger.

I stayed anyway to see if his teammate would come. He told me he was planning a 3:00AM Drink n' Risk night with some of his friends. I asked him what that was. He laughed.

"It's kind of an inside joke between the guys and I. I never played Risk before, right, and they told me they'd teach me.
"By ten, we still hadn't started playing. I asked them if maybe we should start a game, seeing as it would probably last a little while. They said it was against the law to play Risk before 1:00AM.
"We started playing at 1:00, then played and played and played, until finally we were too tired to make any sense of what we were saying to each other, and I glanced outside and the sun was rising." I kind of stare at him skeptically.
He adds, "So I decided to make it EXTREME."

"How so?"

He smirks broadly. "It's self-explanatory, really. We're gonna get drunk and play Risk starting at 3:00AM."

I stare blankly. He can't help but laugh at my expression.

"You know," I say, "you're the only guy I can imagine who would make a boardgame into an extreme sport."

He shrugs and glares. "Watch what you're saying. I know where you live."

I smile. It's the first time he uses one of our common experiences as an inside joke. I comment, "I'm still impressed."

He looks glad.

At this, Josie looks up and squints. "What does that have to do with playing Risk?"

We both turn to look at her. I'm trying not to smile too broadly and give away the fact that his remembering-where-I-live-even-after-like-seven-years gives me the fuzzies (especially when he reminds me of it with that adorable grin).

Slim just says, "Long story, inside joke."

Josie raises a brow but adds nothing. It's rare for Slim to explain inside jokes to people anyway, so it would be a pointless crusade for her to beg him to elaborate. She sends me a dubious look when I refrain from laughing.

Slim turns back to me with a secret smile and an eloquent look.

FUZZIES, alright? FUZZIES.

Things are looking up.

I hope. ;P

Love,
CM