Ooooh man...

I so TOTALLY shouldn't be blogging right now because I have so much work that my ass might be on fire and I wouldn't be more panicked. But my procrastinating soul is forcing me to hurt myself! YES! I AM SUCH A PROCRASTINATOR THAT I AM THIS CLOSE TO BEING EMO!

Emo! Me! The happiest person in the world (when I'm not in a funk, which happens every now and then but come on who cares about that)!

Ooookay, maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe I'm not emo.

I AM overwhelmed by work, though. That's no joke. I seriously shouldn't be blogging.

But I can't heeeeeeeeelp it!

And if we all break into song now, we could turn this tragic procrastination party into... well, a musical.

Speaking of musicals (watch me go on a tangent that has nothing to do with what I actually want to blog about), I blame Lyxie for my current obsession with Labyrinth. You know, that 1986 movie with David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly? The one with the tights and the wigs and the muppets and the amazing CG animation (this is so totally sarcasm)? Yeah, that one.

I can't believe this. I seriously fell in love with a movie. From the 80s! This is all Lyx's fault, of course. She forced me to watch it by telling me that the Goblin King was hot, and I am a total whore for movies with hot main characters. Well, he's not that hot. But somehow it doesn't matter. Because the movie is hypnotizing. I am under its spell!

And my friends seriously want to kill me now that I spend my days singing "Dance Magic Dance".

It's a sad time when even your loud-mouth friends can't stand you singing funky 80s songs.

Thanks, Lyx, you made me a social pariah! But that's okay since you redeemed yourself with that AWESOME offer that I still can't believe. Speaking of which, I just remembered that the offer was left hanging, so log in, will you! We need to talk about it. :D Bowie compells thee!

Other incredible offers have come from the last person I ever expected. Slim.

And if my perception is right, he might have asked me out. On a friendly date. But it could just be an outing between friends. But does that still count, or have I been out of it so long that I don't understand the true meaning of dating anymore?

Because I so totally know that Slim is still snogging Renee. I think. Though he was supposed to see her tonight for a movie (he loves bragging, and I love pissing him off about this twisted sort of relationship issue) and he obviously isn't since he's online and asking me to go with him downtown next Saturday.

This annoys me a little, seeing as next Saturday was my last day of work at Sears. And before you all think I got fired, don't panic. I just gave my two weeks' notice and it turns out that next Saturday would have, indeed, been my last day. While I am a little in shock at the sudden turn of events, I simply couldn't juggle a job and all the sudden schoolwork that swamped me in a grand total of four days. Four days of school and I'm already swamped! I figured things wouldn't get better and cut my ties to save my soul. It was money or uni.

I chose uni.

But yeah, turns out Slim isn't snogging Renee tonight. Because shortly after posting the second part of a story that stars him and the guys (the culmination of all our weeks of daydreaming about survival scenarios that I put into words), in which Slim and Drew, for now the only characters to have made an appearance, are privates whose battalion was exterminated and who are fighting against vicious enemies to defend the Underground City of Montreal, I got an instant message from Slim that said, in an unusually autoritarian tone:

Slim: "Okay, next Saturday, no questions asked, we're visiting underground and doing the UQÀM open house."

This is, of course, an alluring suggestion, seeing as I'd been bugging him and Rick and Drew to go downtown to visit the underground network with me. And the RÉSO (Mtl underground network of hallways, malls, metro stations/lines) is so very fun.

I can see one problem with that plan, though.

Me: "Underground?"
Me: "Also, GIMME A BREAK, NEXT SATURDAY IS MY LAST (LAST!) DAY AT WORK!"
Me: "BITCH CAN'T WE DO THIS SUNDAY?"
Slim: "But the open is on Saturday only."
Me: "But... but... D:"
Me: "Aw, geeeeeeez, fine, I'll try to tell my boss."
Me: "Soooooo, who else will be coming with us?"

This is a reasonable question. I'm accustomed to a big gang of people making one outing.

Slim: "I guess me, myself, and I."

Ominous. I'm a little shocked at the admission.

Me: "So I guess with your multiple personalities and me, that makes four."
Slim: "YES that's good."
Me: "Okay... let's try to swindle Rick and Drew for the underground part too, though. They showed some interest in that."

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I mind being alone with Slim all day. In fact, it could prove to be wildly entertaining. But it would seem inappropriate, because... well... we're just supposed to be friends. I can't act like it's a date that easily!

And then I figure...

Me: "Or would that be weird, dragging them to UQÀM?"

Considering they probably don't want to study there?

Slim: "Yes, indeed."
Me: "Wait, I'm confused. Are you saying yes to my question or to the comment above that?"
Slim: "What?"
Me: "Are we dragging the guys along or not?"

There's a rather long pause before Slim replies, "I don't know. If we can, then alright."

But his distinct lack of enthusiasm for the idea confuses me. These are his childhood friends we're talking about. Every time I go to these guys' houses, they all ―all of them!― have group pictures of each other. Let me just say that their kiddie pictures, where the bunch of them are all skinny and tiny and grinning kids, are TOTALLY adorable and they only ever scowl or look sheepish whenever I gush over them.

So it makes no sense that he'd be so unwilling to have them around. They're virtually inseperable.

Which, of course, makes me hyperventilate like, "HOMG-he-totally-just-asked-me-out!"

Which, of course, makes no sense because he would never ask me out in a million years, considering that I piss him off like you wouldn't believe (he has never forgiven me, I think, for brutally waking him up by hitting him violently with his own pillow) and he's got Renee snog all over him whenever he wants it.

Which, of course, perplexes me even more.

At any rate, I just replied with a very laid-back, qué-sera-sera comment: "Well, I suppose that settles that."

Slim: ":) lol"
Slim: (After a while of silence) "By the way, nice chapter 2."

And we descended into a long talk about the future of the story, the start of which he has inspired, caused by his and my daydreams of a Montreal-based survival story/movie/game, to which Drew contributed, and which I am charged with writing.

I'd like to say that I know what's going on, but frankly, I have no time to speculate. Excuse me, I have a LOT of work to do.

Love,
CM

The Singing Microwave

Turns out my microwave makes odd noises. The kind of noises you'd expect from a videogame ambience theme. Very odd, and impossible to describe.

Also turns out that I'm going to quit my job, on account of having a book to read and three projects to give in next week after starting school only Monday. Monday! Seriously! I can't handle a job on top of all that.

Also turns out that my birthday gift to Drew, a text based on one of Slim's war/survival ideas, is incredibly fun to write, and a decent change from fanfiction.

Actually, I meant to write about that last detail, but Lyxie covered the suject rather well in one of her recent blog entries. In fact, my stance on the matter is exactly the same. I'd copy-paste, but that's plagiarism. But pretend that I'm the one who wrote it.

My favourite tidbits:

"...the feeling of accomplishment and pride that I used to get when I uploaded something is remarkably diminished now. Sometimes I feel almost like I'm a slave to my readers and reviewers..."

"I can't show my fanfiction to my family, or to my friends, because in fanfiction, so much is left to the memories of the readers who played the games that the stories are almost handicapped. Not to mention, many of the people I know look down on fanfiction and fanfiction authors in general. My Dad has begun to actually get on me about writing: "You should try to have something published!" or "I want to read something you've written. Why won't you show me anything?" and all other manner of backwards encouragements."

I think it's hard to express this in a politically correct sort of fashion, so excuse the bluntness of the following few paragraphs. Please note that this is my own stance on things and does not claim to represent anyone else's views but my own.

Fanfiction is wonderful practice. In fact, there was a time when writing anything else seemed preposterous and difficult. I recall reading some for hours daily, gobbling it up like I was addicted. And I was.

And then I started writing it. It seemed a vain ambition, really, at first, considering that I worked in the shadow of so many grand authors ―though I have trouble recalling the pennames now that I think about it― and I figured it'd be just a hobby. I was what? Twelve? Fourteen? At any rate I had nothing better to envision and certainly didn't expect to make a career of it.

Time passed. I kept writing. It was a wonderful therapy, and it felt good to gradually be more appreciated by fans, and to truly perceive my own progress. I didn't just feel I was improving. I could genuinely see it. I kept challenging myself, and surpassing my own expectations. It's only natural that I found some sort of pride from it.

And then, I don't know how, I became a name on FF.net. Not just an author or lurker. People actually looked up to my work and praised it in a manner that was not only flattering but also of a confidence boost. There was the proof of my hard work and patient improvements. I was happy.

But the happiness didn't last as long as I expected. Soon writing fanfiction became expected; I had to release some regularly. I appreciated the regular fans more than anything, but my mind was constructed to pressure me into writing more, trying to keep the flame alive. Rising to the top wasn't nearly as hard as staying there. I felt nervous, and crushed by the moral obligation to keep the fans fed.

Soon, I did the mistake of sitting down and forcing myself to find ideas. I was slowly, gradually, milking myself clear of ideas. And it didn't feel natural. I am by nature and creative and enthusiastic person, but fanfiction was slowly draining me of that very quality that had made me master it.

Lyxie brought up the point of outside pressure, too. As the pressure online grew, or so I perceived, my family and friends kept bugging me. "What do you write all the time?" "Why can't I read it?" "Oh, come on, what are you writing?" And the truth was that it seemed like cheating to admit and explain that I wrote fanfiction, because I could tell they'd react in a manner that judged me for not having the creativeness of inventing my own characters.

For a while, that seemed fine. I wasn't ready to move on yet. Writing was still my favourite activity of all time. I would seek any opportunity to compose and revise. I would write in English during my French classes, and in French during my English classes. I'd rejoice at making ten pages-long birthday cards. I'd write inane chronicles for my friends, and I even started this blog.

But you might have recognized all those side-projects for that they were: a way to avoid writing fanfiction.

And now that university applications are due, and every one of my friends keeps wondering where they're going to fit in, and what they can do to contribute to society, and where to go and what to study... I found myself faced with an internal debate that lasted no more than five seconds. I had been doing it for years already, and the question didn't need answering, really.

I want to write. For a living. Already my outside, original work is getting praise. School teams fight to produce my screenplays into actual movies. People repeat how much they enjoy my cards and notes and mails and messages and shorts. I have a blast jumping from one project to the next, enjoying how they can be appreciated and praised by my family, friends, peers and teachers.

I've been offered positions related to writing in the entertainment industry by family friends. There is no doubt that I can make a place for myself, and I am definitely looking forward to it.

But the thing is, I can't write fanfiction for a living, and I find that I draw more pride now from making my own work than using that of someone else.

I have to add/reaffirm that I will not be quitting fanfiction altogether. Honestly that seems a little drastic. You never know if I might be called back to it. You can't really stop liking something like that. You just learn to love something else.

At this point in my life, where everything is just bursting with colour and I'm sincerely happy with proving myself ―and improving my skill― and where people appreciate my original work and where I get feedback from people who can alter the course of my life for the better, it would seem absurd to return to the shadowed realm of fanfiction.

Perhaps I've outgrown it? Perhaps I've lost interest? Perhaps it all seems vague and overdone. I've grown a little cynical and elitist in its wake, and I can no longer pretend that I feel the same warmth and enthusiasm for it that I did five years ago.

I want to make a name for myself, and I want to see what I'm really capable of. It's the next step, and it stimulates me the way fanfiction did in the very beginning.

What now, then? Obviously, I will do what makes me happy. I'd be foolish to do anything else.

But I won't forget, and I certainly won't drop anyone like an old sock. FG is likely to still keep going. I might in fact keep posting.

One thing is certain, I'll still be around. But I will not focus on fanfiction as much as I'll focus on original fiction. Besides, the fandom is finding its new generation of talents. The old coot in me is due for partial retirement.

If you think this is news, I'm sorry. It's actually been ongoing for a while now, and I am not the only one feeling the lull of fan-exhaustion. It's time for change.

Rest assured that I won't leave you all of a sudden. This blog is not dead, neither am I. In fact, I feel new again, and free to become better.

My penname is CrazygurlMadness. My real name is Valerie. Keep a weather eye on the horizon.

Love,
CM

What needs to be known

Shortest Summary of a Week Ever

a.k.a. Why I haven't updated all week and Why FG will be late in coming:

On Sunday: I reminded Slim and the boys that if we wanted to get a movie done, we should probably meet up to film it. Slim and I discussed the movie online until the wee hours, but arranged no meeting time.

On Monday: I spent all day trying to get a hold of the boys to convince them to meet me on Tuesday afternoon.

On Tuesday: Chatted with Lyxie about vomit. Vented my OMINOUS FEELING that the guys would not arrive on time. OMINOUS FEELING was confirmed. Was prompted by Lyxie to call the guys and threaten them bodily with steel-toed boots. Called Slim first, realised he was getting his arse over as soon as he was done doing the dishes. Called Rick and PB. Got no answer from PB, but Rick confirmed he'd be there... three hours late.

At this point PB instant messaged me and freaked out. He'd only just read my emails and would not be able to make it. I told him not to worry about it.

Slim showed up and we fooled around talking about videogames (Slim speedran Portal and finished it in 46 minutes; it was impressive), until Rick showed up. It was already dark out. My brother suggested preparing supper. This prompted an enthusiastic reaction from my visitors, as my brother is quite the cook.

So we slacked off in my basement while my brother cooked, discussing the movie and finding out that the only reason Slim made out with Renee that night at the casino was because he was in (desperate, but he denies my use of this adjective) need of a rebound. I rolled my eyes. Rick took Slim's side. Slim assured me he was not interested in Renee. I pursed my lips and refused to believe him. He rolled his eyes and dropped the subject.

Rick suggested that I learn to play Dota. Slim insisted that I add it to my repertoire of games as well. I suggested we add that to my list of games to learn.

PB called Rick and offered to go see the Bucket List with at least ten other people. I tagged along and returned early the next morning.

Wednesday: I spent it rather quietly, until I got an instant message from Rick at 10:30PM that went roughly like this: "Come over to my place tonight. Slim and I are playing Dota."

So it was that I slept over at Rick's place. We played Dota until 3:30AM, then Rick went to sleep in his room upstairs and Slim and I curled in our respective sleeping bags in Rick's basement after talking about traveling in Europe.

Thursday: I woke Slim by smacking him with his own pillow. He refused to speak kindly to me for the rest of the day. I didn't care. After eating breakfast at Rick's, we piled into Rick's car and fetched PB, then returned to my house. We filmed the movie until 4:00 (much laughter was had and I got to see PB play a vampire and Slim pretend he's a hypnotizingly murderous bloody-knife-licking maniac), when we decided to go to the mall so I could grab a bite before my evening shift at work.

And I got an indigestion from A&W's usually delicious Teenburger.

Thank you, A&W. You caused the guys to laugh at my weak stomach, got me nearly hurling, and had them take enough pity on me to drive me back home.

I went to bed at 8:30. Like a baby, I slept thirteen blissful hours.

Friday: I woke up and realised I had to make a card and buy Prophet's birthday gifts. I did so, then picked up Scarlet and we headed to Prophet's from 1:00PM to 10:30PM, after playing our own version of Monopoly (by replacing all properties names with hot anime males--we are geeks) and heading to the movies to see 27 Dresses (predictable, but a nice chick flick nonetheless).

Then I went home and went to sleep.

Saturday: Woke up in time to get to work at 8:00AM, and did overtime. Came home, and realised my whole week went without a single word being written on FG.

... Need I say more?

The first chapter of FG will not be released in February. Do not think I've dropped it. I'm just not moving as fast as I wish I would, and as Lyxie wisely suggested more than once, it is best not to hurry to release something before one is comfortable with their progress.

And in the long run, it'll be better for all of us.

Love,
CM

Jetlagged!

That's how I feel after last night's partying, at least.

Before we get into the nitty-gritty, I must say that, for a first real night out downtown until insane hours of the morning, this one deserves a prize. I've never felt so privileged and loved and pleased.

Oh, and tired, too.

But it was worth it.

Oh, and since I needed confirmation (not), it turns out my interpersonal observation skills really are unrivaled. But more on that later.

Why was I out? Well, for one, I was suffering from cabin fever, and I wanted to go out with the guys for a real night on the town. And since Rick had offered the whole gang to go out to the Montreal Casino for his birthday, I figured I'd tag along, for once.

I don't usually invite myself to events, but how could I pass it up? I'd promised Rick and Isa (they're both born on the same day, and they chose to celebrate it together) that I'd make up for the impoliteness by making them crazy cards.

Did I mention I make crazy birthday cards? Yeah, because I do. And they are renowned, people. Renowned.

Rick, of course, was prompt to reply that my presence was not only accepted, it was mandatory. This made me smile because really, Rick can be such a sweetheart. Isa, whom I know considerably less, was nevertheless just as enthusiastic to have me over.

Time to illustrate the group very simply, because otherwise we'll all get confused later on.

(Note that the names in bold are those I consider to be good and very good friends.)

Anyway. Slim shows up at my door right on time, casually dressy. I'd asked him to give me a lift to the Casino, because yours truly is too lazy and freaked out to get her own license. And besides, it's more fun hitching a ride from Slim.

He's as good-humoured as usual, and I inquire about whether or not he'll be lifting anyone else.

"We might lift Renee and the girls," Slim says, and his tone sounds odd. I glance at him, but he's staring ahead at the road. Maybe I'm imagining something that isn't there. I don't ask.

We reach Tim Hortons. As always, the two of us are the first in. We wait a moment for the others to join us. We were supposed to meet up, then head as a group over to the Casino downtown. Slowly, friends start to trickle in. Kels, Fred, Michelle, Liz, Mitch, Isa, Drew, Rick, Guy, PB and his girlfriend, an a couple of other girls arrive eventually, and an animated conversation goes on as we wait for a particular trio to join us. Renee, Katia and Fia enter at long last, and so begins the grueling process of re-dividing the group so everyone can fit in the few cars we have on hand.

Can you guess? Renee, Fia and Katia end up in the car with me and Slim.

I think you can see something coming up here, but if not, wait and I'll tell you.

I dive for the passenger seat. I'd left my bag there, along with the cards I'd made ―yes, made― for Rick and Isa. I was also the tallest of Slim's passengers; I had the right to the front seat. The three giggling girls pile into Slim's backseat and Slim pulls out of the parking in one smooth movement. I notice he hasn't raised the music's volume and that he's not purposely driving like a maniac.

He must have sensed my suspicious glance because he sends me a grin and says, resolutely, "I decided to drive properly tonight."

I furrow a brow, but say nothing except, "Well, that's certainly new."

"What are you talking about?" Renee says from the backseat, her high voice loud, like she's afraid we won't hear her. "I'm sure Slim drives just fine!"

I refrain from rolling my eyes, and I'm about to mention that, clearly, she hasn't seen Slim's usual driving, when Slim says, "Yeah, see, CM? I'm a good guy."

Renee and the girls giggle. I choose not to respond. Something fishy is going on here and I think I don't like this quiet, obedient Slim. He's a thousand times better when he's acting like his real self, when he's head-banging to violent screaming music with Rick and pretending that he's driving in England.

But I don't mention this. Instead, I say, "Well, he does drive better than Cal―" a guy we all knew from high school, "―but that's not really a reference."

Renee looks upset. "What are you talking about? Cal doesn't drive that badly."

Slim, his eyes still on the road, asks, "Why are we talking about Cal, all of a sudden?"

I let the girls lapse into gossiping and squealing and hilarity. I'm sorry to say that Renee's voice gritted on my nerves. She's obviously not a bad person, but she's... Well, we have nothing in common.

I struck up a conversation with Fia instead, because she's much kinder and better to hold a conversation with. The highway lifted off the ground and we saw, finally, beyond Montreal's industrial rooftops, the city skyline in the night.

"This," Fia suddenly exclaimed, "is why I love Montreal."

I nudged Slim to take a single glance. He could afford it, the way was nearly deserted. But he didn't turn his head.

Renee exclaimed, "Oh, wow, it's so pretty!"

And Slim turned his head to look.

No one even noticed. Except me. As unconfirmed realisation started dawning on me, I suddenly heard Slim say, "Okay, people, I have no clue where we're going."

And so followed my favourite sport: Finding My Way Around Montreal With Slim. It took us a few tries, and we did a few very sudden and sharp turns ―to Slim's dismay when Renee commented on his rough driving― but we eventually found the Casino.

After a few tribulations involving a parking space, we left our coats in Slim's car and took the elevator up to the main hall of the Casino.

Ah, the Casino. I'd asked Slim how I should dress for it, and he'd suggested something dressy but casual. It's not a 'glitzy' place. It's mostly lit by a thousand glows and neons, a thousand little lights, machines, and busy day in and day out. There was, at quarter to eleven at night, a real crowd in the casino.

And, as with all casinos, it is impossible to get in and out with a simple route. The paths are winding, and you see all of the Casino's attractions if you so much as look for a flight of stairs.

"Here you go," Michelle said when her group joined us, "incoming tax money all around."

I laughed and Drew made a comment about the utter misery that the classy place managed to disguise. I was surprised that Slim didn't go after Renee, because he actually stuck around with Drew, Guy, Rick and I to contemplate the fact that most of the players seated around us probably had shitty jobs and had used their paycheck to come and forget their misery here.

"Hey, Slim," I said, "I owe you a drink for all the lifts you've given me. But I have an additional game to suggest."

Rick walked off to talk with Mitch and Isa, but Drew, Guy and Slim were all ears. "Yeah?"

"Find ten people in this casino who are playing at the slot machines and actually smiling ―just ten― and I'll buy you another drink."

"I can't drink," Slim reminds me. "I'm driving."

"Wait," Drew asks, "can I play?"

"Me too?" Guy inquires.

I laugh and shrug. "Sure. You can even team up. But I bet you won't find ten smiling people."

"All-right!" Slim says. "You're on. I'll play, and if I win, I'll just give my drink to Drew."

"Sick!" Drew exclaims. "Thanks, man!"

And so the game started. We went upstairs to meet up with PB and his group, then unanimously decided that we'd hit Le Carré, one of the casino's bars. I found myself sandwiched on a couch between Liz and Slim, ordering an ice tea.

Yeah, technically, I don't drink because alcohol tastes terrible. I watched as others ordered martinis, but Rick and Slim didn't order anything. I could excuse Slim, but I warned Rick that I'd be buying him a drink for his birthday.

Which reminded me that I had to give them their cards.

Isa's card was my generic insanity card, with instructions on how to dominate the world, along with a few funny pictures with captions. It was not my most incredible work, but then again, I don't know her very well and could hardly make it more personal. This did not keep her from laughing out loud at my "WTF POLAR BEAR" joke.

But Rick's card, I'd worked on for a day and a half. Seriously. Why? Because I wanted to 1. express how much I respect and enjoy his friendship (main reason) and 2. show the whole gang that they were wrong to think I could ever be too boring to join in on their parties.

And oh, what a success.

Rick opened the envelope with genuine curiosity, but as soon as he read the first few lines of my card ("Tired of the same old birthday gifts? It's time for you to buy YOUR VERY OWN BIRTHDAY NUCLEAR MISSILE!"), he was cracking up.

And then he was gawking.

On the last page of his card, I'd included a cartoon depicting him, Fred, Slim, PB, Ban, Drew and Mitch brewing a sort of green radioactive goo. The faces, if I do say so myself, were perfect and they were each perfectly recognizable. I was really proud of myself.

But Rick, who has always been a pretty big admirer of my cartooning/caricaturing skills ―I like to draw the guys as cartoons, it's almost too easy― couldn't believe his eyes. He gaped, then looked up at me with his wide eyes and said, in a choked voice, "Oh my god, CM..."

I smiled broadly and said, "Don't look at me like that. I had a lot of fun doing it." And I think it showed.

The whole gang paused their talking to look at Rick as he stammered sincere thanks. He threw his arms around my neck and said, very sincerely, "Thank you so much, CM, I don't know what else to say." He moved back, looked back at the drawing, then said, "It's just... so much like us." He started laughing. "It seems so much like something we'd actually do."

"I'm warned, then," I said, motioning to the radioactive goo.

Rick shook his head in disbelief, then said, "Excuse me, I have to pass this around."

And he stood and started showing it to everyone, causing a chain of laughter and gapes. I returned to Drew and Liz's sides, proud of myself, and saw Slim's warm look.

"I think Rick's happy with the card I gave him," I said.

Slim, who had seen the drawing but not read the card, said, "He would, you did a really amazing job."

Drew snickered. "Yeah, you make my birthday note look like crap."

I shot him a sorry look. "Don't say that. I read your note to Rick. It was really touching."

Renee suddenly steps in front of me, a large martini glass in hand, and says, with wide eyes, "Oh my god, CM, are you really the one who did that drawing?"

"Yep!" I quip, shooting her a bright, happy smile.

Fia looks at me admiringly. She's the one currently holding the card, and she asks, "How did you do it?"

"I drew it, then my brother did the lineart with his Wacom, and I then coloured it in Photoshop CS."

"Wow," Fia says, sincerely, then giggles a little sheepishly, "Now I wish you'd come to MY birthday."

"I get dibs!" Michelle exclaims. "You are so coming to my birthday party."

Rick dropped into the seat next to me and asked, "What do you plan on becoming in the future?"

"Ah... screenwriter, hopefully."

"If that fails," Rick says with a broad smile, "You know what to do. In fact, I have a little favour I'd like you to―"

"I'll send you the digital picture, Rick."

"Perfect. You do realise I'm going to have it laminated, right?"

I put a hand to my heart and say, very honestly, "Oh, Rick, I'm touched that you liked it that much."

Rick shook his head. "I'm really glad you wanted to come and spend tonight with us, and I'm really touched that you spent so much time on my birthday card, of all things." He smiles.

His obvious sincerity is almost off-putting. I'm not accustomed to that much honesty, and it makes me a little nervous. In a way I can see that his girlfriend would find it hypnotizing, but I rather miss the friendly banter and arguing.

"I'm glad you let me come over," I simply reply.

Rick laughs. "Trust me, from now on you'll never, ever be excluded."

And so it was that CM officially became a central member of the gang. Odd, but comforting, too.

I turned my head to talk with Liz, and noticed that Renee had somehow stumbled into the seat next to Slim, and was drunkenly leaning on him. And he didn't mind. I know because there were a few tell-tale signs. For one, he was smiling, and not frowning, as he usually does. For two, he didn't seem to care that she was heavily leaning on him.

For three, his gaze was warm and soft, displaying tenderness I always had known was there, but only saw for the first time on his face tonight.

I think that's how I knew for sure.

And here's the funniest part: I blinked, cocked my head sideways, took a sip of my iced tea...

Then turned back to Liz and Michelle and picked up a conversation about Hawaiian martinis.

I'm not even kidding.

As we walked out of the bar a few minutes later, seperating into a few large groups to go lose our money in a variety of ways, the two seemed in deep conversation, trailing behind us. Renee, though, seemed a little drunk, which bode ill for all of us. Everyone else was still sober.

Especially Slim.

I leaned towards Liz and whispered, "Slim so totally wants Renee." Because, um, Captain Obvious Strikes Again.

Liz blinked, shot them a look, then said, "What? What are you talking about? No he doesn't."

I gaped. "Um. Yes, Liz, it's a kind of In-Your-Face Crush."

Liz looked bemused. "I don't know, CM. You haven't seen them together more than what...? Two times?"

She's right, of course.

But I'm right too. I know it.

Rather than argue, though, I drop the subject and say, "We'll see in due time."

We wandered.

At one point, I caught Slim as he stared wistfully at Renee's back, knocked into his side and whispered, "You've got a cruuuuuuussshhh on heeeeer... You waaaaaaaaant heeeer..." And enjoying myself thoroughly as he did his best to look confused.

"What?" He seemed a little choked. "What are you talking about?"

"You looooOOOOOoooove heeeeer..." I repeated, enjoying the teasing to no end.

"No, I don't," he argued, looking upset but a little dazed too. "She's just... you know, one of my exes and we're just friends and it's... It's..."

"It's obvious you were thinking about her considering that I didn't even have to name her?"

He glares at me. "Just..." He freezes as he processes this information. Finally, he looks upset. "NO. Just shut up."

I shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way."

And I walked off.

He called after me and said, "I don't okay? You're crazy."

For once in my life, I had the occasion to use the Mysterious Smile. You know, the facial expression every woman dreams of using but never gets to? Yeah, people, I got to do it! And I sauntered back to the group. I actually sauntered.

We laughed to hysterics as PB started bouncing around, waving his five dollar winnings, and even more when Drew said, a broad and warm smile playing on his handsome face, "Man, if I were gay, I would do PB."

As Slim, Liz, Renee, and most of the onlookers could only stare awkwardly back at Drew, I curiously asked, "Why is that, Drew? Tell us, we're curious."

Drew took on a doting face and motioned to PB, who was giddily waving his five-dollar ticket in his cracked up girlfriend's face. "Just lookit 'im!" He smiled the way aunties who pinch cheeks do. "He's just so cute. ... you know what, wait here," he told me, "I have to go hug him." And he walked off in PB's direction.

Slim, apparently weirded out at being left out of the conversation, suddenly called after Drew, "Wait, what about me? I thought we had something special!"

While this was a little funny, I had expected it from Slim, so I didn't laugh quite as hard as Renee, who apparently had never heard such a funny joke in all her life. Though it may be attributed to the three martinis she'd downed in half an hour.

Still, Slim seemed pleased beyond measure.

I watched as Rick stepped closer to Slim, passed an arm around his shoulders, and said, "Don't worry, Slim, I'll be there for you." Causing Slim to break down into fake sobs, bury his head in Rick's shoulder, grab fistfuls of Rick's dress-shirt, and utter pained, 'Why did it have to be this way?'s.

Renee laughed so hard at their antics that she nearly stumbled into a nearby trash can. I caught Katia's eye as we both refrained from rolling our eyes.

Michelle came up, and said, "Okay, guys, I have to go pee, so as soon as Liz, Isa and I come back―" she motioned to the two girls next to her, "We pool in to try our hand at a BlackJack table, okay?"

Drew, Guy, Slim and I smirk. "Definitely."

Rick stepped forward. "I have to go too, so wait for me here, people."

They left up the stairs towards the nearest restrooms. Fia turned to me and observed me in the dim lighting, and asked, admiringly, "Hey, what kind of eye make-up did you put on tonight?"

I blink. "Um... just mascara. I don't own anything fancier than that."

Fia can't seem to believe it. She examines my face closely, then says, with a laugh, "Well, you have really, really nice eyes...!"

I laugh. I've heard that a lot of times before. "Thank you, it's really kind of you to say that."

"It's true. I mean, I love make-up, and you have so much potential..." She goes on about make-up and other things that I can only struggle to understand.

Eventually, she pauses because Renee interrupted, coming forward to say, "Fia, I need to go pee, too, so I'll be right back, okay?"

I smirk teasingly. "Thanks for sharing that with us, Renee."

She laughs at my joke, and I decide that if the whole world thinks such stupid comments are hilarious, I might as well recycle myself in stand-up comedy.

Renee, though, stumbles towards the stairs, and we all watch as she nearly falls backwards. This time, Fia, Katia and I really roll our eyes.

"I can't believe you're drunk," I comment blandly.

"I'm not drunk!" Renee loudly argues, indignantly. "I'm always like this."

Right. And I once played a lead in the Russian Ballet's Nutcracker.

Slim steps forward. He apparently thinks Renee's antics are cute and funny, because he just loudly says, in the most pathetically obvious tone he's ever used ―the kind I stopped using in sixth grade, and that's saying something― "Hey, sorry people, but I can't just let her walk around in that state on her own. I just can't. She might get kidnapped, or something, right?"

And he bounds up the stairs and vanishes from sight.

I turn to Drew, but before I can say anything, Drew just shakes his head and says, "Geez, that guy is too fucking transparent." And he's smiling a little disgustedly.

"Oh my god," I exclaim, "I'm NOT the only one who noticed!"

"Nobody else can see it, for some reason," Drew says, clearly perturbed by that fact.

"I've only seen them together twice and I could tell," I say. "It's kind of, well... sad."

"No kidding. He's going to hit a seriously solid wall called Renee's drunken-ness."

I snort, and we turn our attention to PB as he wins another ten dollar coupon. It's his fifth. He's ecstatic. Guy is mentally calculating, along with Fred, how much money every party should pitch in to participate in a Blackjack game with a minimal wager of 50$.

Minutes pass. Liz returns from the restrooms, looking a little queasy.

"Are you alright?" I ask, and I notice Drew turn around to glance at the redhead with concern. Clearly, he's not opaque either...

"Um..." Liz starts, but she's interrupted by Michelle and Isa, who have returned with Mitch. Mitch's lips are pursed. This all seems ominous.

"It's just..." Michelle starts, but shakes her head, her face stretched into an incredulous smile.

Rick returns as well, looking very composed and serious. The grim, awkward atmosphere tells me all I need to know.

"They're making out, aren't they?" I guess, and they all nod unanimously.

"I am not speaking to Slim for the rest of the evening," Rick mildly comments, and I shoot him a flat look that obviously means 'Liar'. He smirks.

"I can't believe CM was right," Liz says. I nod sagely.

"Aw, come on," Drew says with an amused grin, "who here HASN'T made out with Renee at some point in their lives?"

Liz, Guy, Mitch, Isa, Michelle, Katia, Fia, PB and I raise our hands. Drew and Rick shift their weight nervously as they realise they're surrounded.

And then we all burst into peals of laughter.

"Okay," Guy says, "should we go bother them?"

"Nah," Drew replies, ever the sensitive one, "let them have their moment."

"But what now?" I ask. "I mean, what will they become...?"

Rick, PB, Fred and Drew all shake their heads reassuringly at me.

"It's just meaningless," Rick confidently states. "It's not going anywhere, for sure."

"Yeah, Renee's drunk," Drew says.

"Actually," Rick wonders, turning a worried eye on the other guys, "doesn't that make it kind of like... I don't know... sexual harassment?"

The girls behind me start giggling. Even I can't hold in a smile.

Honestly, it's so obvious Rick is straight. Because anyone else would know that being surprise-kissed by Slim D. is not sexual harassment in the least. It's impossible not to want it.

"I'm not worried about Renee," I say grimly. "It's Slim I'm worried about."

The guys frown.

"Why?" Guy asks.

I can't explain it very well in words, but I try anyway. "Well, it's obvious he's... um... got a massive, massive crush on her. If it turns into nothing, he'll be heartbroken." Just like he was with his previous girlfriend. He'll fall into a slump, he'll hide it behind broad smiles and aggressive insults.

And he won't even cry, I remember. He'll want to and not dare to.

Don't the guys know this? They've known him for years more than me... Why can't they see it?

Finally, Drew sighs and says, "Well, whatever happens―" Over his shoulder I see Renee and Slim returning with innocent smiles and long strides. "―we'll be there to pick up the pieces."

"But how should we act when they come back?" Liz asks, and I cut her off with a hiss.

"They're back."

We all lapse into silence and watch Renee ―suddenly sober again, huh?― as she obviously feels the cool aura emanating from our group. She hurries to join Katia and Fia, and they start talking loudly about something... girly, I guess.

Slim, on his part, has joined our circle, and in the tense silence, where everyone avoids looking directly at him, I stare straight into his eyes and shoot him a knowing look. He licks his lips and smiles helplessly, unable to keep from looking elated any longer.

"Next time I make comments," I say, "It'd be nice of you not to call me crazy."

The rest of the evening was spent in relative awkwardness. I only had real fun when I was talking to one or two of the guys alone. Renee was generally ignored by most of us afterwards, spoken to only out of politeness. I therefore had a lot of fun being exceedingly nice to her. Because hey, what's the point of giving her the cold shoulder, right? She did what any red-blooded female would have done if they'd had Slim in the palm of their hand.

Which, weirdly, didn't bother me at all.

Liz requested that we return to the bar with Rick ―our money pool was now utterly gone after a single round and Slim, Guy and Drew hadn't managed to find more than three smiling people (we were getting a little tired)― so that we could buy him a drink. He was grateful, but refused to choose the drink himself, as he said it just wasn't right. So Liz and I chose the manliest-named drink we could find on the menu that wasn't a beer.

The Alabama Slammer.

Even after Googling it, I'm still not quite sure what it was. But when we decided that we'd buy him that, and he excused himself again, and the waiter put it on the table, I realized how delicious it looked.

Did I mention I don't drink alcohol?

Well, that one, for the first time in my life, looked really, really, really tempting.

I turned to Liz as we both gaped at the bright orange drink, which was perhaps haloed by a godly light, and said, weakly, "Liz...?"

"Yes, CM?"

"I want to taste Rick's drink."

She held in her laughter as we both muffled our giggles. It was almost two in the morning. "I want to try it too," she confided.

I checked the bar entrance and didn't see Rick. Slim was sitting nearby, and not at all looking in Renee's direction. He was conversing with Fred and Mitch. They hadn't spoken at all since the bathroom episode.

So I took Rick's drink, and took the tiniest sip.

And almost died and went to heaven.

"Oh. My. God." I said, catching Slim's attention, clearly, because he turned to frown and wonder why we were squealing randomly. "This stuff is the best thing I ever, ever tasted."

"Wait, let me try it," Liz exclaimed, and I handed her Rick's glass. She tried it too, and her eyes widened, and she turned to Michelle, next to her, and said, "Oh my god, taste this!"

And so, by the time Rick returned from the restroom, his drink had lost some volume. He tasted it, and raised his head to look at our carefully innocent circle of faces as he exclaimed, "HOLY SHIT, THIS SHIT IS GOOD!"

"Is it?" Michelle asked, raising her brows. "Wow."

"That's great," Slim remarked, trying to lick the remnants of the orange juice off his lips. "Who would have thought?"

Rick turned to Liz and I and said, "Girls, you should taste this. It's incredible."

"I know!" I burst excitedly, and suddenly clap a hand over my mouth. Flushing deep red, I admit to a suspicious looking Rick, "Okay, um, I'll admit it... I tasted it. I wanted to know what it was like."

A new round of laughter starts as everyone admits stealing from his glass. Rick laughs too, shrugs, then keeps sipping.

A few people start talking about leaving. Already PB, Fred and Guy have left. Most of the girls are gone. As far as we know, the only ones remaining are Rick, Slim, Drew, Liz, Renee, Katia, Fia and I. I had called my mother to be picked up because I didn't want to be subject to more Slim-slash-Renee awkwardness, and they'd already piled more people in Slim's car than what should have been legal. I didn't need to join in anymore, and besides, I worked this morning at 10:30, and it was already 2:30. The girls were out somewhere making fools of themselves; Slim and Liz had gone back to the car to check up on something, and they had promised to bring me back my coat, so I was left for a full half-hour to chat with Rick.

Now I must say that I have a lot of respect and affection for Rick, the same way that I adore Drew and PB and Slim and Guy and―

Yeah, you read that right. I figured it out this morning.

I'm not in love with Slim. I just love him. The very same way that...

"Rick, I love you guys."

It's nearing 2:45. I'm tired, but filled with a warm glow that may or may not be attributed to the Alabama Slammer I just bought for myself and finished. Rick, next to me, has passed an arm around my shoulders chummily and we're contemplating the bar's bright lights and listening to the loud music. He glances at me with a smile.

"You love us," he echoes. "Be more specific. Who do you love in the big gang? Because tonight there are a lot of different cliques that joined us."

I motion vaguely. "I don't know. I just love you all."

Rick doesn't seem pleased. I can tell he's thinking about Renee. "You know, of course, that the only group that's really strong and well held-together here tonight―"

I smile. "You guys."

Rick smiles. "Yeah. Us guys."

"Well," I say, "I just adore you guys. I love you all, PB and Guy and Slim and you and Mitch... You're all so smart and handsome and sweet and genuinely kind and... Yeah, I just love you guys. I don't feel judged when I'm with you."

Rick smiles softly and squeezes my shoulders with his arm, staring at me with the very kindness I just evoked. "Hey..." He seems a little at a loss, too flattered to say anything smart. "... CM, you do realise that the only way for you to keep on enjoying our company is to keep coming to our parties, right?"

I smile. "Yeah, speaking of which, I really appreciate that you let me come tonight, and if you let me come to your future parties, I just might keep giving you free stuff."

He laughs. "Not at all, it's always a privilege to have you." He sighs. "And I'm really glad that you had fun tonight. I'm flattered that you think we're so important to your happiness. And yeah... I don't know what else to say." He squeezes me again. "I guess I'm just glad."

See? This is why I love these guys. There's all like this if you're alone with them, and if they're in a gang, they multiply the love without a word, showing it in their own peculiar way.

We smile.

Dear Slim. When you said there was a wall between us, you were wrong. There wasn't a wall. There was just a safety rail. And a connection, a friendship that we both acknowledged openly, too important and valuable to be risked in a relationship that will, much like your new relationship (if that's what you started, I don't know, nobody said a word about it since) with Renee, break up in a few months.

Slim, I'm at peace. Because I'm right where I want to be: at your side, with your closest friends, privy to the real you, privy to your real interests, and safe from the fear of losing you to another woman.

I don't even have to fight. I've already got you.

And I'm not in love with you, Slim. But I love you anyway.

Now let go of that bitch before she breaks your heart and I have to pick up your pieces.

Love,
CM

Fighting... Cabin Fever?

A dreadfully long week since my last update, apparently. Believe me, it's not that I forgot about you, or that I'm dead, it's just that I've done exactly nothing since the beginning of the year.

No, wait, that's a lie. I did something yesterday.

It was kind of incongruous. Rick and Isa's birthdays are coming up, and since they're going to the Casino friday night, I thought I'd drop in to party with the rest of them. This caused a long conversation with Rick that pretty much went like this:

Me: "So I'm coming for sure, then."
Rick: "Great. Oh, and I read your scenario! It's badass!"

The scenario he's talking about is the one I've written for the side-project I'm sharing with Slim. The basic idea is that we're making a movie. A good one, this time.

Me: "Badass? Wow, cool. Thanks!"
Rick: "I am totally helping you guys out. I want a main role!"
Me: "Help yourself. We'll all be acting in it anyway, considering our team is limited to four people."

These four individuals being me, Slim, Rick and PB.

Rick: "We can't talk about this awesome masterpiece online. We should meet in person."
Me: "Agreed... Hey, have you even heard from PB? He hasn't answered a single one of my mails."
Rick: "I dunno... Maybe we're meeting for a movie tonight?"
Me: "Oh, excellent. Make sure to tell him to reply to me to make sure he's available."
Rick: "I was asking you."
Me: "... Oh, LOL. Um, well, if you don't think I'm a freaking moron, I'm in, then. Who else will be there?"
Rick: "I dunno yet. Slim's supposed to phone me to confirm, and PB and his new girlfriend should be there..."
Me: "Okay. What movie are we seeing?"
Rick: "I dunno. I'll talk about it with Slim."
Me: "And tell him I'm coming, too. He might want to prepare himself mentally."
Rick: "Do I want to know?"
Me: "Not particularly."

Some time passes, and I prompt Rick once more:

Me: "Rick, has Slim called? It's not that I'd like to know, but I kind of want to know."
Rick: "Yeah, he's driving over to my place right now. He should be here any minute."
Me: "Oh, good."
Rick: "... So are you doing anything right now?"
Me: "Bored much, Rick?"
Rick: "Hey, if you don't want to tell me, too bad, dammit."
Me: "It's a secret."

The truth is that I'm making his birthday present. And I can't tell him that!

Rick: "A secret. What is this? Fifth grade?"
Me: "Yeah, it's my daily moment of regression. ... Hey, do you like ostriches?"

A moment passes, and suddenly Rick types:

Rick: " What the hell do you want, woman?"

I pause in my typing. Finally, I write:

Me: "This tone sounds definitely familiar. Hey, Slim!"
Rick/Slim: "Damn, I am discovered."
Me: "Your aggressivity gave you away."

After a short conversation about Slim's inability to get things done properly, I ask once more, "So have you decided on a movie, guys? It's just that there aren't showings 'round the clock, you know."

Rick/Slim: "No, we haven't decided anything, you impatient bitch."
Me: "Thank you for the quick reply, asshole."
Rick/Slim: "It's what I do best, woman."
Me: "Good for you, moron."

A moment passes. Suddenly, Slim writes, "Okay, so I'm coming to get you. We're going to the **** *** ***** bar, and I'm picking you up." I'm about to reply, but he just types a quick, "See you in five minutes. Bye!"

And logs off after adding a smiley face.

Well. Okay.

"Mom!" I call, "Slim's coming to pick me up, we're going to see a movie, I think."

"When will you be back?"

"Um... I don't know. Some time tomorrow morning, I guess."

I don't wait long enough for Mom to make a comment and hurry upstairs to get changed. It's not so much that I was badly dressed until then, but I guess my cabin fever wanted to make the year's first evening out a good one. And every woman knows that a good way to feel good is to look good.

Jeans, a shirt with stretch lace, and some minimal make-up later, I finish tying up my hair when the doorbell rings. Hurrying downstairs to open the door and expecting to see Rick, I'm instead greeted by Slim, who, after recognizing me (maybe the lipstick was a little much? It doesn't take a lot to upset his references), shot me a bright smile, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"Yo-ho-ho, matey!" He says with the same beaming grin, "It's time to board for a sea of adventures!"

I laugh, grab my coat, call goodnight to my parents and brother, then return to put on my boots. The winter weather is surprisingly mild, making it a very pleasant evening.

Slim leans against my doorway and watches as I slip on my boots. Pressingly, he says, "Come on, wench, the ship won't wait forever and the winds won't stay fair all night."

I raise my head and stare at him flatly. " 'Wench'?"

He smirks. "It's that or 'whore', so I think I'm actually polite here. Now put on your boots, because this captain would like to make port elsewhere."

I roll my eyes and return to putting on my boots. "Is Rick in the car already?"

"Yeah, the first mate is waiting patiently," Slim says, turning his head to glance, presumably, in his car's direction. He chuckles. "And is having an epileptic seizure from the boredom of waiting after you."

"Fine, fine," I say, standing at last, "I get the message." I slip on my coat, then walk out past him. He reaches for the doorknob and closes the door behind me.

"Excellent, matey, let's make haste, the winds are good tonight, yo-ho-ho!"

We run back to his car, and I wave enthusiastically at Rick, who grins back, before slipping into the backseat.

"We're going on an adventure!" Rick says, bouncing excitedly in his seat like a demented kid. "An adventure!" He turns around and shoots me a big grin as Slim slips into the driver's seat and buckles up. "How are you?"

I grin. "Good."

"Perfect."

Slim rears out of my driveway, and bolts down the street, bobbing his head to the music that Rick just boosted. We reach the bar within minutes, and Slim parks so amazingly fast and well that Rick and I clap.

I step out, taking in the cool and pleasant air with a deep lungful. Everything seems so nice in that parking lot, somehow. Slim bumps into me on purpose, motioning for me to get a move on. I turn to look for Rick, but Rick just got a call on his cell, so I have nothing better to do than walk ahead towards the bar. Slim falls into step with me, and we stride over to the double doors.

The bar is packed. It's hockey night, and every giant television in the bar is tuned in on the match. Now and then, the whole bar roars up as goals are attempted. It's stifling hot, too. I wonder if we'll actually get a table.

Rick catches up with Slim and I as we discuss the number of televisions in the bar (so many that you get a good view of the match no matter where you turn your eyes), pushes between us and points to the staircase in front of us, still on the phone. "It's upstairs, guys."

Slim and I follow him, for lack of anything better to do. Within seconds, we find a booth where Ban, Fred and his girlfriend, Liz and Michelle (another girl from school) are chilling out. The booth is made to seat six people, but Rick slips in next to Fred, and Slim makes some space for he and I on the other side. In the heat, we remove our coats, and I notice that Slim is wearing a very nice polo shirt. I compliment him, and he grins.

The bar roars. Slim and I raise our heads to look at the screens.

I ask, "What's going on?"

Slim shrugs. "Hell if I know. I don't keep up with hockey stats."

Neither do I. It's one of those Canadian things I'll never understand.

Tiny unidentifiable players skate around. We don't even know who's trying to score in which net, but when the bar roars again, we hoot along with them, then burst into stupid giggles. Ban shoots us a disapproving glare, but I shrug and Slim pulls his tongue at him.

Ban asks, "Do you at least know what the score is?"

Slim shrugs. "Nope." He glances at the television. 3-3, we're in 2nd period. At least, that's what's written on the stats at the top of the screen. "Oh, hey, it's a tie for now." He turns back to Ban and snidely says, "If the Habs score another goal, the beer's on you."

Ban stares back at Slim flatly, then laughs. "Yeah, okay, no problem."

"The beer's on Ban??" We hear someone exclaim, and turn to see PB and his girlfriend. PB looks excited. "Oh man, I really hope they score!" He shoves Rick further down the booth bench, squeezing in. I'm grateful that Slim and I are already stuck together, because I don't think I'd have withstood more body heat. It's boiling in here.

"If they get owned, though," Ban says, "it's on Slim."

Slim laughs. "No, it's not. I never said that!"

Ban rolls his eyes, and we spend the next few minutes in silence. Michelle and Liz are deep in conversation with Fred. Suddenly, Slim holds up a hand, and I notice a nasty wound on it. It's a blood-filled blister. I look up at him and ask, "What happened??"

He wiggles his fingers to assuage the pain, and explains, "Too much drum playing. I figure if I break it it'll become sensitive and sore, so I don't know what to do."

I show him my bruised forearms and cut up hands. "Sears merchandise manipulation, as you can recall."

He smiles. "Yeah, I'm glad I won't have any of that anymore." He glances around at the busy, loud bar. "One day, when I'm rich, I'll have plenty of TVs in my house, just like here."

I laugh. "Yeah, when I'm queen of the world..."

He elbows me with a glare. The bar roars again. We scream something inarticulate, then turn back to our conversation.

"So," I ask, "have you read the scenario I sent you?"

He looks sheepish. "Um... no... I haven't had the time."

I squint at him. "But it's good!" I turn to look across the table at Rick. "Rick, tell him it's good!"

Rick's eyes are wide, and he looks at Slim in earnest. "Yeah, man, it's brilliant. I really cracked up."

Slim laughs. "I have absolutely no doubt that it's excellent, I swear. I'll read it, though, before next week."

Which reminds me... I look at PB, next to Rick, and ask, "Hey, why haven't you replied to my mails?"

PB chuckles. "I only check my mails at three in the morning... and I'm too lazy to reply by then." At my flat look, he assures me, "But I'll see if I'm free next Tuesday, like you asked. I promise."

Satisfied, I let the subject drop. A waitress passes by, and Ban calls at her from the far end of the booth. She turns, and Ban makes a circular motion above his head with a finger. "Pitcher for my friends!"

Slim butts in, "Four extra mugs, please!"

I turn to look at him. "I don't think―"

He smiles warmly. "Don't worry. I'll be responsible."

"You're driving."

"A glass of beer, CM."

"It's not a good idea."

"Dude," Rick suddenly says, "why didn't you order five extra mugs? We're five newcomers, here!" He motions to the three of us, PB and PB's girlfriend.

Slim looks pensive, then says, "No, I think I'll just be having water." He glances sideways at me. "But you shouldn't keep yourself from drinking."

I roll my eyes. "Beer tastes horrible."

Ban leans forward and says, "Oh, come on, CM, drinks on me, I'm serious, don't be shy."

I laugh. "No, thank you, Ban."

Michelle sighs loudly. "I think they've all just been looking for ways to see what you're like when you're drunk."

I shrug. "I don't drink, so..."

The waitress returns with the pitcher and four mugs. Slim stops her from leaving and says, "Hey, could we have two tall glasses of water, please?" He motions to himself and me.

And with that, Slim and I stuck to water. I was proud of him, I think, for being so mature, and I appreciated that he didn't make any more of a fuss about it. The bar roared again. We whooped.

"Hey," Slim says suddenly, glancing at him watch, "Not to break this party, guys, but it's quarter to ten and the movie's on soon."

We take our time to stand and leave. Michelle and Liz choose to come with us. Rick calls Drew to remind him that he's due to come with us. PB, Fred, their girlfriends and Ban stay behind.

We choose to see National Treasure 2. As we wait for the others to show up, I ask Slim if he even saw the first one. I had tried, but the unlikeliness of the scenario had almost made me gag, so it will forever remain a mystery plot to me. Slim shrugs and shakes his head.

The previews are already on when we finally enter the theater. We hurry to the back corner. Drew chose the back row, but the seats are limited. I make the mental calculation and groan. Two people will be left out.

Never one to impose myself, I choose the side row right in front of Rick, against the wall. It's a side row of two seats.

Slim plops into the spare seat next to me. I'm a little surprised, but I say nothing. It's not like he's going to make a move on me, so it doesn't really matter.

The movie begins. I must say that it was fine up until the Resolute desks part, but then the car chase in London had me and Slim snickering like madpeople, because on deserted streets, Slim likes to swerve into the left lane and scream, "WE'RE IN ENGLAND!" before swerving back into the right lane. The movie also had the uncanny ability to evoke inside jokes that had our group alone laughing hysterically. I don't think our neighbours appreciated the distraction, but hey, if something's funny...

I must say that Cage ********** the president was the start of the unlikely stuff that made Slim and I groan with pain.

'Round the parts about the lost native golden city, though, I started fidgeting in my seat, and Slim began murmuring suffocating 'No... no...'s that apparently angered Rick enough for him to put his feet between our seats, right next to our faces. In retaliation, Slim grabbed Rick's shoe, removed it from his foot, and threw it down the stairs of the theater.

The water tunnels part had Slim and I snickering at the improbability of it all, to Rick's great annoyance. He therefore proceeded to giving us head massages with his feet. We replied with well-placed tickles that saved us in extremis.

But when, soaked to the bones after emerging from the watery tunnels, Cage whips out his cell phone and places a call, Slim and I screamed in indignation. Seriously. That cell phone wasn't supposed to work. Our anger was palpable and Slim let out a heartfelt cuss under his breath.

At long last, the credits start rolling, and we stand, unable to withstand anymore nonsense. I utter a broken, "My screenwriting soul partly died just now."

He shakes his head mournfully, and says, "It's a Disney movie. We should have known."

"But... Pirates of the Caribbean..."

"Exception to the rule, as always."

"Oh. Yeah."

We leave the now deserted theater. It's half-past midnight, but neither of us is tired. Shockingly, we meet Fred outside, and he suggests a visit to Tim Hortons.

Seeing as we're all starved, it sounds like a decent idea. By now we're a group composed of Slim, Rick, Drew, Fred, Michelle, Liz, Renee (a girl I hadn't seen since high school and whom Slim used to date, a few years back), and myself.

Rick, Slim and I race back to the car, pile into it, then speed out of the parking lot. We meet up with the others in front of Hortons, and each order some donuts. I watch as Slim buys half a dozen of them.

"You know," Rick says with a surprising amount of concern, "I'm kind of worried about your diet, Slim."

Slim glances up from his donut. "...Why?"

"He's right," Fred says. "Let me guess, those donuts are going to be your lunch and supper tomorrow?"

Slim sighs, and nods. "Yeah. We don't have a lot of food at home. We only ever have the same bloody leftovers, and it's always tomato sauce, or bolognese sauce, or some other sauce that I'm supposed to prepare with noodles..." He laughs. "Except the parents are so rarely at home that we're always out of noodles."

"Geez," Michelle says, "Slim, you should complain about it to your parents."

Slim laughs nervously, and Renee butts in. "Yeah, we don't want you malnourished or anything."

Rick says, very seriously, "Slim, I'm not kidding. You only ever eat the same bloody thing every day, and that's if you eat at all. It's no wonder you're always sick. You need a balanced diet."

"And besides," Drew says, "you know that always eating the same stuff will eventually kill your appetite for new things."

Slim laughs. "I wouldn't count on that." Still, he must feel seven heavy and worried gazes on him, because he suddenly exclaims, "Look, guys, I appreciate your concern but there's nothing I can do about it."

Rick snorts. "You could just ask your parents to give you the money and do your own groceries."

Slim nods, clearly uneasy with all the worried attention he's getting. "Yeah, I'll try to―"

"Slim."

He sighs. "It's not as bad as you people say it is. Seriously. I eat good food and it's not that much of a hassle."

"But you're still making donut provisions," I say.

"Yeah, okay, so maybe I'm sick of eating the same stuff all the― What's that sound?"

We glance around. Something is beeping loudly.

"Cell phone?" I suggest, but no one recognizes the sound.

Suddenly, Fred takes out a small beeper and grumbles. He turns to look outside the window at his car.

"What the hell, someone's sitting on my car!"

He stands and stalks out to shoo the two lovers away. When he returns, we're laughing.

"What is that thing?" Michelle asks.

"It's an alarm," Fred says. "It tells me if anyone knocks into my car. Neat, huh?"

"It's weird," Renee says. Slim laughs.

Something is nagging at me. I get a sinking feeling, like I'm missing something. And then a part of me wonders...
Is Slim still into Renee after all this time? They've been talking, and they've spent a lot of time together since the New Year's... and his gaze does soften when he looks at her.

I feel a little sick to the stomach, and cover it up by striking up a conversation with Liz. I could be overreacting. I could be growing paranoid. I mean, he's spent a lot of time with plenty of people, and especially a lot of girls. He's openly announced that he wants a new girlfriend, and I can tell that they aren't on bad terms.

A part of me wonders why I'm so freaked out by this.

"Hey," Drew says, "We should go outside, we've passed our allotted loitering time."

We stand out by our three parked cars, and keep talking. We discuss gaming, games, Guitar Hero, the state of French in the province, the value of attending private schools as opposed to public schools, past teachers, past classmates, projects we worked on together, hobbies, future careers, job availabilities...

And before we know it, it's 3:35 in the morning. By then, Renee and Michelle have gone home, so it's the four guys, Liz and I left in the TH parking lot. Rick keeps nudging Fred to take him home. I'm a little perplexed because Slim's the one who kept giving him all the lifts tonight, and I'm a little worried because Mom probably didn't expect me to be out this long and I haven't called and she's probably worried sick...

Drew sidles up to Liz and asks her, shyly, "So... will you be nice enough to give me a lift home?" Which also strikes me as weird because I never thought Drew would show any sort of interest for a friendship with Liz. They're like polar opposites. He's the kind who likes shooting stuff up, and dresses in army wear, and wants to kick ass all the time, and Liz is the gentle, sweet, a little confused, petite redhead that tags along and smiles all the time.

But she nods with a smile and Slim and I watch as Fred and Rick and Drew and Liz drive away, leaving us alone in the parking lot.

Slim turns to me, and says, "Um... Well, I better get you home, then."

We sit in his car, and Slim drives out. Instead of putting in loud music, though, he sighs and says, "Poor Drew."

"What do you mean?" I ask, turning to look at him. He smiles a little wanly.

"He's got this massive crush on Liz."

I laugh a little. "You're kidding me."

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not. He's really into her, but has no idea how to make a move on her. I don't know how to explain to him that he's got to be a little bit more obvious. There's like..."

"A line you have to cross."

He nods. "Yeah, exactly! I mean," he chuckles, "sleeping next to her at a group sleepover doesn't quite cut the mustard, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." I smile a little. "Aw, it's kind of cute, though."

"Kind of sad, if you ask me," he says, but not without some amusement. "I have trouble imagining that a guy wouldn't be able to figure that out by now. I mean, I know a lot of stuff about girls because a lot of my friends are girls, and I grew up surrounded by them, but it seems basic..."

"Instinctive now that you learned?"

"Yeah." He nods. "Like, how to talk to them, what makes them flip, what makes them laugh, how to get under their skin..."

"Yeah." I smile. "I'm that way too, with guys. It's like―"

"―I know how to flirt―"

"―I know how to get their confidence―"

"―And they like talking to me―"

"―They often tell me it's great to talk to me―"

"―I kind of understand them―"

"―I can somehow relate―"

"―I mean, I could―"

"―I could flirt but I just don't."

"Would you stop talking at the same time as me?" He shoots me a sideways glance and a crooked smile as he turns onto my street.

"Sorry. So yeah, it's a pity about Drew."

"Yeah." He turns into my driveway, and puts on the handbrake. "So... yeah." He turns towards me. "It was nice seeing you."

"It was, wasn't it?"

He shoots me an exasperated look. "Don't be so snide... Oh, yeah, I'll talk to you later about the movie."

I smile. "Yeah, and please, could you try to read the script? I promise it'll be good."

He laughs at my turn of phrase. "Yeah, I'll do that."

"And if you have any changes you'd like to make, mail me, and blah blah blah."

"Got it... Hey, and we also have to schedule our CRAZY MAD AGE OF EMPIRES 2 EVENING NIGHT THING!" He says this with his typical open mouth excited face. "Don't think I forgot. We are going to do it!"

I can't help but laugh. "Yeah, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Good. So, um, good night...?"

"Or good morning, is more like it."

"Well, if you want to be so exact..."

"I'll talk to you later, okay? Actually, I'll see you Friday at Rick's party."

"Oh. Yeah. Cool. See you then!"

And I hop up the steps and into my home. It's ten to 4:00AM.

... I'll join Procrastinators Anonymous as soon as I get a full night of sleep, people.

Love,
CM