Of pizzas, missed kisses, and cancelled classes.

MORE COLLEGE STORIES AHEAD. You can skip to the next thing in bold if you don't care. Though you should read. This story is very educational. (Hah, yeah right.)

So. Consider yourself warned: college boys are a threat (not a treat; a threat). Especially when they start acting like dogs and attempt to greet you with a cheek lick every time they see you. Let me explain.

It all started with a traveling pizza on Tuesday. This pizza had been purchased by Guy, Rick and Slim. Guy owed me money, so I didn't pay for a piece myself. I wasn't hungry, actually, so he just bought me a cup of ice cream (yum!). Unfortunately, Slim and I had a class before the pizza would reach our table, so Slim got up to leave with me and warned Guy to bring the take-out pizza into his classroom once they were done eating their share.

Guy nodded, but as with all things concerning Guy, things wouldn't be that simple. The take-out pizza box travelled from Guy to some random guy he knew, then to another, then to a girl, who wound up not even knowing who Slim was, and therefore was unable to deliver the pizza to him. Thankfully for Slim, he knew the pizza was his and retrieved it fast enough. The whole process took three hours. By then, the pizza was cold, but when I came down from my class and saw him holding the box like it was incredibly precious, I understood that the pizza's warmth wasn't the whole point of it.

Either way, I was actually walking with Slim's bassist (from their band), whom I will refer to as Bass. Bass is a second year college guy, whose passion for music almost rivals Slim's. Bass is a natural flirt, and also a great joke-teller.

He saw Slim's pizza and knew he had to have it, of course, because that's what bandmates do: they steal each other's pizza (and pretend to french-kiss, but I'll get to that). Unfortunately for Bass, Slim's grip on the pizza box was strong enough, and so Bass ended up ripping a piece of the cardboard, which he promptly popped into his mouth and chewed.

Which, you know, causes both Slim and I to go, "Ewww."

I grimace, for added effect, and comment, "That is digusting."

Bass spits out the piece of cardboard and looks a bit disgusted himself. Still, he glances at Slim and says, to me, "You know what's really disgusting?" He leans towards me, as though to whisper something in my ear, and licks my cheek, lightning quick.

I just shriek, "OHMYGOD. EWWW." And start wiping my cheek, to both Slim and Bass' amusement.

"You think that's bad?" Slim says, seeing Project Boy coming up. "Bass and I french-kiss everytime we meet." Bass nods solemnly, even though this is clearly a joke.

Project Boy, though, doesn't look nearly that calm. He grimaces in disgust and says, "Hey, don't joke about french-kissing dudes. In case you don't remember, we almost french-kissed by accident the other day."

Which, of course, has me going, "This, I must hear."

Project Boy looks all indignant. He juts a thumb in Slim's grinning face and says, "This guy and I, we always think of doing the same pranks, since we were practically raised together, right?"

"Right." Bass and I nod.

"Well," PB continues, "he and I were sitting next to each other in the computer lab last week, and he pisses me off or something. So I turn and waggle my tongue like this, because―"

Slim cuts in. "Because it's our childish way of demonstrating our annoyance to each other."

"Right," PB keeps going. "So I waggle my tongue at him. But then he turns at the same second and starts waggling his tongue right back. The thing is, we had like a millimeter before we were actually tongue locked, you know." He shudders at the thought and turns to look at Slim, who is smiling in a both disgusted and amused way. "Just a little further and our relationship was ruined."

"Changed forever," Slim agrees.

Bass and I, though this story is admittedly hilarious, can't help but be slightly disturbed.

The conversation ended there on Tuesday, but took up this morning when, pissed, PB and I discover our French class was cancelled and head down to the cafeteria to bitch against the teacher (because it's what students do when their morning class is cancelled and, as PB fumed, "I could have slept four more hours."). We notice that Slim is working with a team for one of his projects, so we just sit at Bass' table in order not to bother him.

"The band was dissolved," he says, shocking us.

"You're kidding," I say.

Bass nods. "The only ones of us who were still passionate about it were, well, Slim and I."

"But that sucks," I say. "How will you continue to do music?"

"Why did the other bandmates drop out?" PB asks, as surprised as me.

Bass shrugs. "Slim has other bands and I have my own projects. But that means we won't go on tour like we planned."

Solemnly, PB says, "That sucks. We were gonna go see you and everything."

"Seriously," I say, a bit sad for them.

Bass glances at me, and smirks, teasingly commenting, "Well, I'm sure you'll be there to keep encouraging us. I did lick your cheek, and I know you can't resist men who lick your cheek."

I stare at Bass blankly, trying not to laugh. "Right. Because slobber really turns me on."

Bass makes a motion with his hand, and says, to PB, "See? I knew it."

At this point, Slim slips in the chair beside me, looking a bit nervous. Bass, PB and I all look at him. He says, "I abandonned my teammates."

We all look at Slim's team. They're still exchanging words, but don't seem to notice Slim is gone.

Ignoring PB (who commented in a scandalized voice, "How could you?!?"), I ask, "Why's that? Didn't you have a project to finish?"

Slim rolls his eyes. "They're so dumb. We needed to find a slogan for our ad campaign thing in Publicity, but they kept throwing more stupid unrelated ideas without working at a slogan. So I took the first they gave me, said it was excellent, and vowed to change it once I got a better idea. So here I am." He glances at me. "You all seemed to have more fun over here and I was like, 'dude, I wanna hang out with them, not with these twits!' Besides," he rubs his stomach and looks pained, "I'm famished."

"It's ten in the morning," I say. "It's not time for lunch yet."

Slim shrugs. "Whatever. We'll go at the Station for hot-dogs or something."

"I was feeling up for pizza," Bass slyly says.

Slim flicks him off jokingly. "Get your own!"

We talked about rock bands for a while, when suddenly Bass stands and says, "Food."

So we went to get food. All along, Bass, Slim and PB tell me about party excesses. Considering how many drunkards they've seen in action, I'm amused and pleasantly surprised to hear that Slim doesn't hold his beer as well as the others (once getting drunk after a single glass of Bailey's―to PB's hilarity). So he's not a drinker. Like me.

And also that he can't stand soft drinks with bubbles, claiming he doesn't see the appeal and that iced tea is way better. Like me.

Actually, the more I find out about Slim, the more I'm like, "Uh, that's resemblance number (insert two digit numeral) between him and I." Freaky, but interesting nevertheless.

Not that the likeness between Slim and I stopped Bass from illustrating his love conquest stories by using me as a live example during lunch. He was funny and gentlemanly about it, though, so it was okay.

So. That's what happens when you let college boys get into the way of your writing. They tell you about their french kisses, they lick your cheek by surprise, and tell you about drinking...

Can you blame me for not advancing much?

To my credit, I still managed a couple of pages today of chapter 21. I'm halfway through. W00t!

Chapter 16 should be up tomorrow. Hold out for it, okay? I should have updated yesterday, but I was crazy busy in financial stuff, so it didn't work out.

Until then, take care.

Love,
CM