Holy shit

Time flies when you're busy.

If I recall, I have over a week of updates to tell you about. Wow.

So, um... Right!

Friday. Last Friday, that is, because hahahaha... yeah. It's not funny, I know, but whatever. I think it's kinda funny.

Actually, to make a long story short, I got a job. At Staples. I basically walked in there and gave my CV, said that I knew their copy guy (my brother), and got hired almost on the spot.

Yeah, I know. Two interviews later and my contract was signed, no trouble, nothing. I had a job that paid better than my previous one, minus a lot of the inconveniences of large items to put back in their place. Now we're just talking about pens... and pencils... and notebooks... and all kinds of lovely, beautiful things any author enjoys.

So after I got my job, I came home and contacted Slim because Kels was hosting the end of summer party at her place and I'm a loser who depends on Slim for lifts.

But he had apparently taken that part for granted because he said he would be there at nine sharp, without my needing to beg.

Kels' party was awesome, as Kels' parties always are. Slim and I were there in time to greet Rick, his girlfriend, Ban, Drew, Guy, Mitch, Isa, and so on. All the people I wanted to see were there; the only one who didn't show that night was PB, but only, Slim told me, because he had an internship thing going on with a renowned Qc celebrity. Later on in the night, even Mike (my male confidante where Slim is concerned), his girlfriend and their friends showed up. It was awesome. Really.

I spent the evening with Eva, because she didn't know anyone else quite as well. So I humoured her and listened to her rant about how she was hoping to meet her Prince Charming in university next week, and slowly losing my mind, when suddenly Slim jumped onto the couch next to me and said, "SO I DISCOVERED SOMETHING AWESOME ABOUT NINJAS."

Which most definitely spared me a lot of boredom. And I KNOW he did this deliberately, because not a minute ago, he'd been all the way across the room, talking to Rick. So the speed at which he bounded over the moment he saw my predicament was astonishing.

"Ninjas," I said, slowly, because usually Slim is crazy about pirates, and everyone knows pirates and ninjas are mortal enemies.

He says, "Yeah, I know, they stand against everything we love and cherish, and all, but listen to this. They have NINJA RAVES."

Eva, at this point, starts to say something that would totally have ruined the awesomeness of the moment. I cut her off and echo, "Ninja raves."

"Yes. They happen in a closed room, with no doors or windows."

Eva frowns, annoyed by Slim's capacity to interest me. "What are you―"

"Because they move through the ventilation shafts!" I laugh.

"Yes! And the DJ is invisible! Because he moves so fast! And the raves only last five seconds because everyone is so swift! So you never know if it actually happened or not!" Slim is laughing. He snaps his fingers. "Like, a ninja rave could have just happened as we spoke! And we wouldn't know!"

Basically, he spared me torture at Eva's hands. Eventually we moved on to more varied subjects, like his underwear. He lifted the hem of his shirt and showed me his waistband, where I discovered Mickey Mouse and Goofy.

Amused, I said, "Are they as old as the Pirates of the Caribbean ones you had the other time? The pair with the holes?"

To which Eva started to say, scandalized, "How do you know his―"

"Yep, same age. I just never wear these."

"Yeah, it didn't look familiar," I say, and by now we're deliberately poking fun at Eva's shock.

"Well, it's laundry day."

"I prefer the ones with the adjectives on them."

He smirks at me. " 'Irreverent'."

"Irreverent," I concur, and we both snicker, which causes Eva to stare at us both, outraged that we'd be so casual about each other's underwear.

"CM," she says, very seriously, "You know it's not right to know so much about his underwear."

"Why not?" I ask, innocently. "He knows about mine."

"I do?" Slim says, his eyes widening. I know he's trying to keep our Get Nekkid night between the two of us and Amy. "Oh, wait. There was that one time where we were going to prank the others―"

"Enough!" Eva exclaims, upset.

It's obvious, though, from having known her all these years, that she envies the closeness I have with Slim. Or actually, with any guy.

I can't blame her; it IS quite exceptional.

Slowly, though, we began to notice that the party wasn't rising much. People were just sitting around, drinking and talking. The area that Kels had dedicated as a dance floor wasn't even being used. Instead, the speakers were playing your regular dance music, but nobody was acknowledging it.

Slim turned to me. He said, quite out of the blue, "Let's ninja rave."

Eva was about to make a comment (probably something like, 'You're so ridiculous', which is particularly condescending if you think about it, because hello, she dreams of Prince Charming), but I cut her off by saying, "Yes, let's."

So we jumped off the couch, startling everyone within a five metre range, and vanished into the dark room that Kels had meant to be a dance floor.

The thing is, it was really dark in there. She had left the lights off, and we decided not to light them. We started dancing like maniacs in the obscurity. It was awesome.

And Liz, Kels, Michelle and others joined us.

So eventually, Slim and I were pretty much leading the party, just because we could, and mostly because we're the most spectacular duo anyone ever saw. Not in dance, though. We were kind of bad at it. Especially since Slim was trying to belly-dance and making a laughing fool of himself. It got really rowdy between us when we began to play-fight, sending each other middle-fingers with effects ruined by our laughter, and general tackles that were not unlike hugs.

Apparently, though, people don't know us enough to know when we're just fooling around, because Liz and Eva forced us apart and told us we weren't allowed within a two metres of each other anymore.

"You're just no good together," Liz joked. "You're a scary mix."

As obedient as I was willing to be, Slim, though, decided he'd have none of it, and took the next split-second to get right back at my side, ignoring Eva's disapproving frown with a completely oblivious grin.

"Liz thinks we're no good together," I told him, trying to suppress my amusement.

At this, Slim grew into a righteous rage. "What? WHERE IS SHE?"

I pointed at Liz, who was happily chatting with Michelle, and he strode over there with purpose, pulled Liz aside and screamed, in anger I'm not entirely sure was faked, "HEY. DID YOU TELL CM THAT SHE AND I DON'T BELONG TOGETHER?" At this, Liz got a little scared. When Slim screams, he's loud. Before she could say a word, Slim continued. "BECAUSE THAT IS THE DUMBEST THING I EVER HEARD. CM AND I ARE THE BEST PAIR YOU EVER, EVER SAW. IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Um, yes?" Liz said, uncertainly.

"Good," Slim said, with a squint. "I'm glad we've cleared that up."

"You two," Eva then tells me, as Slim strides back with the same amount of purpose, "are like an old couple."

Slim breaks in loudly by screaming, "AND AS FOR YOU―" And he points at me nastily, "―don't EVER let ANYONE tell you that YOU AND I aren't MEANT TO BE THE BEST FRIENDS EARTH HAS EVER CARRIED."

"Oh, shut up, Scrooge!" I shout back, amused beyond reckoning. "And get lost!"

"Fuck you!" He shouts back, giving me the middle finger, but in his aggression I spot that smile and amused spark that's always there when we play-fight.

"Fuck YOU!"

"Enough!" Eva interjects. "You!" She points at Slim, who by now is laughing as much as I am, "Say you're sorry!"

He turns to me and melodramatically says, his arms oustretched for a hug, "I'm sorry, CM, come here, my dear."

We hug, and, as soon as Eva is satisfied, resume dancing our ninja rave.

This went on and off throughout the whole party, with us leading people into dance and, alternately, stuffing our faces with cupcakes.

Eventually, Eva expressed her wish to leave, and since she lives five minutes away, I offered to walk her home (because there have been reports of people disappearing if they were alone on the street there).

"But you'll be alone to walk back," Eva says.

"No, I won't. Watch." I turn to pull on Slim's sleeve ―he was still attempting to belly-dance― and say, "You're coming with me, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," he says, absently. "But where? What's going on?"

"We're taking her home."

"Oh. Sure. Okay. Let's go, then."

We walked her home, cutting across the field under the powerlines where the grass was recently cut (to prevent people from hiding in it, Eva says, but I think it's just because high grass is hard for the electricians to wade in), with my discussing that even with the cut grass, it would be possible for someone to hide if they stayed flat on the ground, which Eva denied. Still, this gave rise to the joke that a Flat Man was stalking us.

Still, on the way back from Eva's place, I stopped Slim and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to try this."

I waded into the cut grass and lay down on it, staying as low as possible. Slim, on his part, stepped back a little to check.

"Holy shit!" He suddenly calls. "If I didn't know you're there, I'd never see you!"

"I knew it. The Flat Man can surprise us!" I say, pushing myself to my feet. We slowly walked back to Kels' place, talking about how silly things are, and how ridiculous our friends can be.

"Actually," Slim commented as we turned onto Kels' street, "speaking of our friends, it's like the more time passes and the less I respect them. I've become an adult, but they seem to remain eternal teens... The only two people I still consider to be my best friends are..."

"Dague and PB?"

"PB still has my respect, but he's going to Québec City next month for a year. I won't see him. Yes to Dague, though. And then there's you."

"Oh." I'm surprised and flattered. "Well, thanks, I guess."

"By the way, tomorrow night is the campfire at Gabriel's place, remember?" He's talking about the fourth fire of the summer, all of which were held at Gabriel's place. Because fires aren't authorized on the island of Montreal, we have to go out of town in the middle of the woods to enjoy them. "And you're going."

"Um―"

"No oppositions allowed. We're going."

"We?"

"Yes."

I smile. That's a nice way for him to mention he's lifting me. "Alright, I'll call you as soon as my work shift is done. Speaking of which, I work at eight thirty tomorrow morning, and I'd like not to leave too late from here." I check the time. It's one in the morning. "Actually, leaving soon would be best."

"Alright, just come and find me when you're ready to leave."

We left at two, and I stumbled home at two thirty. I slept until seven. Do the math: that's four and a half hours of sleep that night.

My first work day was therefore quite rough, and followed immediately by a call from Slim who said he was picking Maria up then coming straight to my place. So, instead of having time to take a nap, I had to scarf down my supper then get changed, and be ready just on time for when Slim and Maria pulled up in my driveway.

Gabriel's campfire was a smaller gathering than before. Anthony, Melanie, PB, AA and Iva were there too, but that was it. It had been a while since I'd last seen them, so I was glad, but I got tired really fast. It was like a bad sort of jetlag. We played hide-n-seek in the woods, though, which was hilarious, and sang songs until two.

But when Anthony commanded that we'd all meet at Moe's the next night, I was kind of freaked.

I stumbled home at three thirty and slept until eight. I dreamed of Slim. I dreamed he was coming to my rescue without my needing to call him, just because he felt the instinct to. It was odd, but he basically turned a nightmare about loneliness and wounded dignity into something comforting and cheerful.

I woke up feeling warm and happy, until I remembered that dreams are just that. Dreams.

That's still a very short night, followed by another full day shift at work. I was running out of steam, and fast (and you may understand that I had no time to write about it here).

Slim showed up at my place around eight. We had convened that we'd take a small amount of time to finish preparing the conference we were giving the next morning (Monday) at our now ex-college. The idea was that, as graduates in cinema, we could tell the next ones up to get organized because film productions aren't easy at all. Our word has more weight than that of teachers, so we offered to speak in their place. Maria showed up a little while later, and, as we had agreed, Mom drove us to Moe's.

Seeing as Slim, Maria and I were the first ones there, we ordered a pitcher of beer and started drinking. We had gone to the bank and teased the bouncer on the way there, and I'd been surprised to realise said bouncer was flirting with me. Seriously, what?

Anyway, I may have mentioned my resistance to alcohol is pretty much nil.

I was into my second glass when Anthony and the others showed up, most of them already drunk from having taken shots before showing up. This brought on more drinking, and by the time I'd ingested two glasses and a half, I was already tipsy. This made Anthony feel free to ask me whether I wanted to make out with him.

"So, CM, since you're drunk, I suppose you'll want to French me."

"No," I laughed. "Thank you, though."

" 'No, thank you'?" Anthony echoes, not insulted in the least. He turns to Slim, who is absently watching baseball on one of the TV screens. "She says no thank you!"

Slim looks down and asks, "What?"

"Woman won't make out with me!" Anthony exclaims. "Have you made her monogamous or something?"

"What?" Slim asks again, utterly confused.

Before Slim can gather his wits, Anthony turns back to me and leans far over the table that seperates us to ask, seriously, "Have you sexed him up, CM?"

"No."

"No? Why the hell not? Slim!" Anthony turns back to Slim and pulls him in to whisper something in his ear.

"What the hell―" Slim waits until Anthony is done whispering before moving away and looking disturbed.

Now I won't pretend. I can read lips, especially when Anthony is so drunk that he has to be very articulate. And he had just asked Slim whether the two of us had had sex lately.

I glared at Anthony, who laughed.

But I was getting drunker by the minute ―the relatively small quantity of alcohol I'd ingested was having its effect on me― and, rather than be cheerful, this time, I quickly descended into depression. It was worsened when all of them got up to go dance downstairs, leaving me alone at the table.

I followed, but after five minutes of head-pounding music, I just couldn't take it anymore. I felt alone again, and it was getting worse with every minute. So I leaned towards Melanie and told her I'd be taking a breath outside.

Truth was, I needed to get a grip on myself, because I knew I was being ridiculous. I couldn't reason at all anymore, and while I had deliberately stepped away from them, I was feeling a large sense of abandonment.

I don't know how long I sat on that sidewalk border, a ways away from Moe's front entrance, but it was long enough to overthink and get really depressed. I was fighting tears I couldn't explain and struggling to be mature.

So when I heard a set of jogging footsteps, I hurried to wipe my eyes and pretend I was just dozing off.

Dreams don't happen. I know they don't. I just know it.

So why my heart exploded when I heard Slim say, breathlessly, "Oh my god, CM, there you are, I'm so happy I found you. I've been looking for you for the past twenty minutes. I was dancing with the others and then I noticed you weren't there― Hey... hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I sob. Goddammit, how had he known to come looking for me? I hadn't wanted to worry anyone. I hadn't even made a scene― He wasn't even supposed to know I was gone!

"CM," he says, concernedly, crouching in front of me, "something's wrong." The next questions he asked where so spot on I had to fight even harder to stay composed. "You felt alone? You're tired, right? And you drank a wee bit too much. We didn't do anything wrong, did we? Did we leave you behind?"

OH MY GOD WHY??? WHY MUST HE KNOW ME SO WELL?

"I'm― I―"

"Oh my god, okay," Slim says, when he notices that my shoulders are quaking, "so you're REALLY not feeling it. That's alright, my dear, come on, I'm here for you. I'll be your saviour," he half-jokes. "Come on." He outstretches both his hands to help me to my feet. "Come, we'll talk."

I take both his hands. By now I'm sobbing and I can't see clearly. Rather than make me walk a single step, Slim breathes a soothing 'shhh' and pulls me into his arms, letting me lean my head on his shoulder. He lets me sob like it's the most natural thing ever, not even caring that I'm soaking his shirt front, murmuring comforting words into my hair like "it's alright, you're okay. I'm here. It's okay... shhh..."

Eventually, I break away from him and sob, "Oh my god― I'm so sorry I wet your shirt―"

"It's nothing."

"―and I keep ruining your evenings―"

"No, you don't."

"―I'm sorry I'm such a wreck― I don't― I don't even know why I'm crying!" I bring my hands up to my face to hide it. I'm so embarrassed. He always sees me when I break. But I can't stop crying. I'm panicking. "Slim, I don't― I just―"

But he pulls me forward and hugs me again. "It's okay. Come on, we'll get away from here. Let's find a quieter place."

He pulls me down the little street where we always end up, holding me close with an arm around my shoulders. Eventually, I manage to make full sentences.

"I'm so sorry I keep ruining your nights out," I sob. "I swear, I don't know why―"

"Don't worry about it," he assures me once more. "You need someone to be there for you, and I'm it."

I watch him, throat tight. "You don't have to do this."

"But I do," he says, with a smile. "It's my genetic defect, remember? I need to save people."

Against all odds, this makes me smile a watery smile. Slim's face lights up with a victorious grin.

"Hah! See? I'm a genius. I made you smile!"

I can't help it. I half-giggle, half-sob, and reach for another hug. He cheerfully lets me into the circle of his arms, and holds me close.

"You're too good a friend," I mumble into his shirt. He says nothing, just moves back and forth slowly, giving me the best hug I could ever hope to get. "You deserve the best girl there is, Slim. You need to be happy."

"I do want a girlfriend," he admits when we finally break apart. I sit on the ground, and fall backwards until I'm staring up at the sky. "But to be honest, I don't know who I could go for. So I'm left hanging." He sits next to me, looking down at me thoughtfully. He seems pleased that I'm not crying anymore.

"You'd really be a mind-blowing boyfriend, if what you managed tonight is any indication," I smile.

"Bah, that's nothing. I'd not only be an amazing boyfriend, I'd also be an amazing lover." He waggles his fingers. "I've got it down pat, you have no idea. Every girl I've ever made out with kept begging for more." He snickers. "I guess I know how to bring them to the edge."

"You probably understood something fundamental, like..."

"I kiss and touch them everywhere but where they want to be touched."

"So you make them desperate."

"But very turned on," he agrees. "Exactly."

I almost want to cry again. "I cannot believe this. You know, Bass never understood that. He went straight for the belt."

Slim grimaces. "He's a moron. A girl needs to be teased."

"Trust me, I know. But so do guys." I smile at the stars. "I think I'd be a good lover too."

"Probably."

"I mean, I'm creative, and good-looking―" I glance at him with a glare ready in case he makes any comment, but he just nods, "―and intelligent. I learn fast, and I'm curious to try things. I'd need a partner willing to experiment."

"So you also need a guy you can trust."

"Yeah..." We lapse into silence. Finally, I say, "You know, I never thought I'd ever become such good friends with you. Things weren't pointing at it, even at the start of last year."

"I guess we needed each other."

"I guess we're just like-minded."

"Pretty much― hey, look, PB is there. He's coming our way."

"Oh god. Do I look like a living wreck?" I wiped my face, but I've stopped crying.

"No, you look fine..."

"You don't sound sure. You know, you're supposed to say I'm beautiful."

"That's dumb. You look like you stopped crying, that's what. But don't worry, PB won't notice."

He's right. Nobody noticed. We went home ―although right before I left, the bouncer from earlier accosted me and asked me to be there the next Friday. I said I'd think about it. He said he'd be shattered if I didn't come. I said I couldn't do much about it, except I could give him a hug. He pointed at Slim and asked whether my boyfriend would mind. I said I didn't have a boyfriend, and hugged him. He kissed both my cheeks twice. I decided that was scary (he's HUGE) and left.

I slept five hours, then woke up on time to join Slim at our old college for the conference. It went well, and Slim then went to inquire about the job with Pierre. Things didn't look as good, though; apparently another guy with more credentials had shown up, and the school was obliged to hire him instead of Slim, to the technicians' disappointment. Still, Slim took it in stride and told them to keep him in mind for the future.

I worked that afternoon, the next Tuesday, and took Wednesday off because Slim and I had to attend a conference at the UQAM to receive our student ID, our agendas, and fetch our public transit cards. After a long day the tribulations of which I shall spare you the details, we came home, and I rested. I'd been sleeping semi-normal nights, now, but I was still exhausted all the time.

I worked Thursday and Friday. Because I work at Staples, the Back to School rush is exhausting. We pull ten-and-a-half-hour shifts (which, by the way, I'm pretty sure are illegal), and I never finished a work day before ten at night.

So, after a week of over forty hours, they decided to make me finish early yesterday (Friday), for which I was really grateful.

It was on coming home that I got a message from Michelle who wanted to go out. So I encouraged a few others to join us. Eventually, the only ones who showed up were Slim, Rick, Ban, Mitch and Isa. Guy had promised to come, but, as usual, hadn't give a sign of life. Fred was going downtown for the night, Drew was too lazy to get out, and all the others were at Moe's.

But I was sick of Moe's, and honestly, it was nice to just talk. Michelle was being really annoying, though, switching between innuendos about Slim and I, then suggesting I should go for Gabe. Ban dragged Slim away for a bit, for god-knows-what, but they indicated nothing on their return, except that it was suspicious how at one point every single person at the table vanished, leaving Slim and I alone.

He told me he was excited to start the new school year, that the girls he had seen at the UQAM were cute. I said I didn't have high hopes myself.

Michelle then returned, asking about Slim's ideal girl. I already knew; I told her Slim liked girls with little frames (i.e. not me). Michelle sighed dramatically, and argued it wasn't fair that every guy liked girls with little frames, that tall guys with tiny girls look realy awkward, that it wasn't fair that the rest of us would be left all alone. I ignored it, because the last I need is to sound even more melodramatic.

Even though it IS unfair.

We finished the evening early; everyone looked really tired. So I went home, slept, then came here this morning to start typing, because I feel like a wretch for not keeping you updated.

Hopefully, though, my schedule will lighten up now that school starts, so trust me, I look forward to it.

Love,
CM

Making My Life Difficult

The date is 10/08/08.

I called Slim at 11:34AM. I had just rolled out of bed and was stumbling around in a semi-haze, but seeing as we'd agreed the night before, while BLATANTLY NOT MAKING OUT in his car (trust me, the lack of making-out was felt kilometers around as a shockwave that lasted multiple minutes), I was supposed to call him at 11:00, 11:30 at the latest.

So I dialled and waited. In a croak, I asked Slim's father if I could talk to his son. The man was kind enough to give me a pause long enough for me to cough and attempt to clear my throat. I was back in my room by now, with the phone, and feeling totally shitty.

"Urgh?" Slim's voice groaned on the line.

"Good morning sunshine," I croaked, and collapsed back on my bed, facedown.

"Hurglgh."

"I woke you up, didn't I?"

"You woke me up," he grunts, and I hear him shifting under his comforter, which I know is extremely soft. Because... well, I know.

"Huh... Huh, I don't even remember why I'm calling."

And it's true. I sit up with difficulty and wrack my sleepy brain, feeling like leftover macaroni.

Slowly, things piece themselves together again.

FLASHBACK 09/08/08

Slim is on MSN, and not replying. I'm bugging him because he told me he needed to go downtown give his CV to Archambault music store, and I need to figure out the train/bus/metro passes for next term, and the only place for information is downtown, presumably at the Berri-UQAM station.

HE was the one who had asked me, "Hey, I need to go downtown next week, wanna come with me?"

And I said, "Duh."

To which he had laughed and said, "I don't know why I even asked. Of course you do."

So we just needed to figure the whole thing out.

Of course, when Slim doesn't reply to instant messages, I get angry, and then I get paranoid, and then I get depressed. Angry because he's wasting my time, paranoid because he could be annoyed at ME for bugging him, and depressed because EVERYTHING is going WRONG.

Obviously, I'm slightly melodramatic.

Me: You busy?

Ten minutes later...

Me: I'll take that as a 'yes'.

Two hours later...

Me: Anyhow, if you're still interested in going downtown with me tomorrow, just give me a call or something. I'm going anyway, but some company would be nice. :)

No reply.

Two hours later, a sudden message pops up (I'd logged off and back on by now, having given up on Slim and wanting to end OUR WHOLE FRIENDSHIP BECAUSE HE OBVIOUSLY HATES ME):

Slim: CM, R U there?

Okay, I should have sulked. Instead, I went:

Me: Yup.
Slim: We're going to Isa's tonight, wanna come?
Me: Sure! I don't know where she lives, though.

Because I don't want to presume that he'll give me a lift, even though he now has a car to himself and all. And a new haircut that drives me completely up the wall (to quote Lyx, who saw a picture: "HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO RESIST HIM NOW?!??!!"), because he is mindblowingly gorgeous now.

Slim: I'm working on this at the very moment.
Me: Oh. Okay.

I noticed that Mitch was online, so I presumed Slim was asking Mitch, who is Isa's boyfriend. I didn't bug him myself.

Five minutes later...

Slim: All right, I have a location.
Me: Target in range Y/N?
Slim: Negative. She lives far away, near Iva's.
Me: Really? Oh. :s
Slim: I can lift you.
Me: Are you sure??
Slim: Yes, I have the car. Always, now.
Me: Well, yes, but do you WANT to? That's the new question we'll be asking now.
Slim: Sh-ure.
Me: Okay! Thank you!!! So... when should I expect you?
Slim: Meh, I'm leaving in fifteen minutes. Gotta stop at the bank for a withdrawal, then I'll be at your place.
Me: Alright. Better get dressed then. :p

He was there half an hour later, ringing at the door rather than calling me with his cell. People calling from their car when they're parked in your driveway to say they're there is a little ridiculous. I mean, really.

I opened the door and melted all over again.

He is so, so pretty now, standing there in the porchlight. I had trouble meeting his eyes.

"Give me a second," I say, "I'll just grab the cell and say bye."

"Okay."

I expect him to amble back to his car to wait, but when I return he's still standing there patiently, observing my every move. I slip on my running shoes, grab my bag, and follow him out the door.

"We have a long road tonight," he says, apparently delighted. Usually, anyone else whines about this.

But I'm kind of glad to be stuck in an aluminum box with a guy I could totally lock up into a small, secluded room to have my way with.

"Oooh," I say, to prevent from asking him to just park in a dark street so we can have a go at the next generation of children, "can I be your navigator??"

"Yes," he says, laughing, as we both sit in his car. "I even have a map." He pulls out a tiny scrap of paper and hands it to me with a snicker. "Here."

I eye it; it only contains a few scribbles. Having been Slim's friend for so long, I'm one of the few mortals who can decrypt it (sometimes I decrypt it because even the author can't anymore, that's how bad Slim's handwriting is).

"It's an address. 56... Adam?"

"Yup."

"That's not very... helpful."

"Don't worry," he says, buckling up, "I know where we're going anyway. You don't have to worry about anything."

He's right. He slips in a music compilation CD with soundtracks from movies, and for most of the ride, in between chatting (read: arguing about nothing important), he would put on an obscure track and say, "Identify the movie."

Seeing as most of them were classics, I figured them out fairly quickly, but he still managed to make me laugh by replaying the movie scenes (in the shitty French dubs) where the soundtracks played. He seemed in a beautifully cheerful mood, and I know why. He's done with daycamp, and only has one week of childcare to go.

Yeah, you read that right. He voluntarily signed up for the camp's childcare services. Meaning he watches the kids from 7:00AM to 9:00AM, then from 3:00PM to 6:00PM. It's pretty much the shittiest hours a guy can get, and he went for them anyway.

DO YOU SEE WHY I LOVE THIS GUY?

Anyhow, he wasn't lifting anyone else tonight. Just me. We found the place fairly easily, with minimal arguing (if you can call laughing 'arguing'), and greeted Isa happily.

She was having a fire in her backyard, and Ban, Michelle and Mitch were already there. I sprayed myself with bug-repellent, then chose one of the chairs in the circle between Ban and Mitch. There was one other chair next to me, and though most of the chairs around the fire were still free, Slim opted for the one neighbouring me, claiming that he wanted to keep talking with Ban.

It may seem stupid, but Slim is really bad at making up excuses, and when he's faking his tone and attitude change until they become way too casual and I-have-not-thought-this-through-like.

I'd know; he did the same thing with Renée back in the days.

Which so totally brings Rick's mysterious words to mind, about how Rick knew something about Slim that might interest me a lot.

Rather than gloat, I ignored Michelle's cynical raised brow (Michelle is cynical and bitchy about everything and everyone, so ignoring her is quite easy by now), and focused on catching up with Isa and Mitch.

PB showed up; so did Kels and Guy. It wasn't a large gathering, but it was certainly pleasant, and the night progressed slowly, with the guys play-fighting on the large trampoline in the backyard. Ban was talking about movies, and how drunk he was, and how his break-up was going (much better). PB and Mitch were fighting it out, Kels was humouring Ban, Michelle interrupted with a few sly comments, and Isa watched on with the quiet goodness that makes everyone love her for no rational reason.

Meanwhile, Slim and I were roasting marshmallows.

To be exact, he roasted the first two (we had large metal forks to work with, with place for two marshmallows on them).

I begged, "CANNA HAVE ONE?"

"No," he snapped with a glint in his eyes, "They're all mine."

"PLEASE?"

"NO."

He was making them turn to a crisp gold, with the patience and care of a professional. I urged him to make them catch fire, because they're so good when carbonized (and I derive simple pleasure from blowing the fire out), but he refused.

"No, you ignorant fool. I'm making them PERFECT. Anyone can burn a marshmallow, but not everyone can appreciate the golden beauty..."

He lifted the fork off the fire, and showed me the golden marshmallows.

"Which one do you want?"

I was surprised.

"Er... I dunno, I thought you―"

"Here, have this one. It's nicely cooked." He flipped the fork over so the treat in question was closer to my mouth. I reached out to try and pluck it from the spike, but Slim moved the fork away with a warning glare.

"Dude. Their centres are melted by now. You'll crush them, and stick your fingers."

I squinted at him. "Well, then what?"

He moved the fork towards my mouth again wordlessly. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

And lowered my mouth carefully to the big marshmallow, being careful not to touch the other one (they'd grown fatter in the heat, and were melting together). And I pulled it off with my lips and teeth, gently.

Slim watched me do this in silence, then said, as I let the marshmallow fill my mouth (okay, he was right: it WAS perfect), "See? THAT's how you roast a marshmallow." He then brought the other one to his own mouth and ate it right off the fork, like I had.

Kissing marshmallows. The ritual had made me so very aware of Slim's mouth, I actually grew flustered.

"Well," I said, warding off the heat (OF THE FIRE), "I want to burn mine. Can I borrow the fork?"

"You can get your own," Slim said, pointing to the only other fork nearby.

We battled with them, then decided food was more important.

So we roasted marshmallows most of the evening, and while Slim kept arguing that I was an idiot for burning them black, he always did shut up when came the time for me to sit back, watch the blue flame devour the sugar, and gently blow it out, then eat.

The kind of games he and I could play in a bedroom, I swear...

"So what are you guys doing tomorrow?" Ban inquires to the general crowd.

Most of them reply 'nothing', but Guy remarks he wants to go downtown, which is when Slim says, "Hey, CM and I are going downtown tomorrow as well."

I swear to god, an actual silence fell on the group as everyone turned to stare at Slim and I as we drank our coolers.

"What?" I ask, sincerely confused. I mean, it's not the first time Slim and I go downtown together...

"Like..." Michelle's look doesn't lie, and I'm stunned to see it replicated in PB, Ban, Kels and Mitch's faces.

She means, 'Like a date?'

I say, casually, but shooting Michelle a warning glare, "He needs to drop his CV off, and I need to check the transit passes. Nothing pleasant, but still necessary."

Everyone relaxed, then, but I could still feel residual tension until I asked Guy, "Hey, if you want you can come with us."

Guy looked reluctant, and the attention was diverted as he announced he was going with a girl, himself. But Slim and I were careful not to bring anything suspicious up again (and I noticed Slim did not hurry to insist on Guy's presence the next day).

I swear, the more time passes, and the more we get awkward signals from our friends.

Eventually, we got tired, and I noticed Slim signalling for us to get a move on. So we excused ourselves, said goodbye, and left.

He drove me home, and we were a flurry of words, unstoppable as usual. In fact, we had so much to say to each other that when he parked in my driveway, we just stopped the engine and kept talking in the dark, laughing and joking about horror stories and serial killers.

Until I said, "So... what are we doing tomorrow?"

And he said, "I don't know..." He was tired, I knew, and seemed like he'd want nothing more than sleep right where he was. "Actually, I'm just so tired, I can't even say I'll be up for it tomorrow."

This, in Slim vernacular, means, 'We should cancel the whole thing'. I know, I've seen it before, and I know Slim's body-language better than he knows it himself.

I am hit by a wave of disappointment, and decide I will no longer conceal it. "That means it's not going to happen, right?"

He doesn't let on that I'm wrong. "I don't know, CM, I'm just really tired right now."

I laugh, and I can't say it's devoid of fondness. "Oh, Slim, you're so easy to read. You're saying, 'We should reconsider it', when you mean to say, 'I don't want to anymore'."

He says, laughingly, "Yeah, you know, I won't get that job anyway, so what's the point?"

I slap his arm, annoyed. "Don't you dare say that! You'll never know until you try!"

He concedes this, but still looks exhausted. "You know, you should just call me tomorrow and I'll tell you then whether I'm up for it or not."

"God," I say, "Okay. I can see this. You're going to bail on me. I'm going to call you, Slim, but I already know what's going to happen. Either you're going to claim you're too tired, either you'll be tired all day and act whiny with me, neither of which appeals to me. So. We should reschedule. Unless you're calling the whole thing off."

He's laughing. "You sound pretty sure that you've got me figured out. Maybe I should prove you're wrong."

I give him a flat look. "But you won't, if I know you."

His face clears up, and he looks astonished and highly entertained. "You know, I've got YOU figured out. The only reason you're telling me this is to fire me up and MAKE me go with you tomorrow. You're trying to make me contradict you, so you're telling me EXACTLY what you DON'T want, in order to obtain what you DO want, because you know nothing makes me happier than to go against your expectations and predictions."

... Okay, he's a clever and all-knowing bastard. I hate mind-readers.

"Admit it," he gloats. "Just say it."

"Okay, yes," I concede, "you're right. I AM trying to manipulate you through contradiction."

"HAH. Knew it. Now tell me what it is that you really want."

I'm fighting the urge to say, "You. I want you. I want to kiss you until you can't breathe, then pump you until you breathe too hard."

And the truth is, I really WANT to kiss him. It's like a physical ache inside me right that moment.

Instead, I say, "I want to go downtown."

"And you'd like me to go with you."

"Yes, I want to go downtown, and preferably, it'd be with you. I want to spend time with you."

Oops, oops, shut up before you go too far, CM.

"Okay," he says, leaning away from me. I then notice we were almost forehead to forehead as we argued. His tone is one of finality, one of detachment, the way people echo 'FINE' at the end of an argument where no one is the victor. But he's also satisfied, like he obtained what he wanted to know from me.

"But I know it's not going to happen," I add into the silence, which prompts a sudden outraged but absolutely amused glare from Slim.

"There you go again!" He exclaims, and I notice then that we really DO sound like an old couple at this point, the way everyone says we do. "You're just trying to manipulate me, admit it!"

I laugh and lean forward towards him, and he turns to squint at me indignantly. "Yes, Slim, I seek only to manipulate you into doing things that are entirely against your will." I sober up a little and add, "The truth is, I really want to go tomorrow, and I have this terrible, OMINOUS feeling―" Slim started chuckling at the word 'ominous', "―that it's not going to happen. And that kind of makes me sad."

He finally says, "Look, just call me at eleven tomorrow morning. Nothing earlier. Earlier than eleven is inhuman."

I had said the exact same thing to him earlier tonight. Now he's just appropriating my words for himself!

"Um, obviously. In fact, I may not be fully awake by then either."

He sighs. "Listen, if you give me time to wake up and get ready, I'll probably be more willing than I am now."

I am in love with this guy. This statement above? It seems like just another sentence, but it means A LOT.

It means he's caved in and is just trying to acquiesce with dignity. He's making a compromise. Good man. I love compromises. They work for me.

"Well, obviously. Um... I'll call you at eleven thirty."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, sleepy-pants."

"And now, we are both off to sleep. Good night," I say, and lean forward again. "Thank you for the lift," I say, cheerfully, kissing his cheek with far more confidence now than the day before.

"Mwah," he mumbles as I retreat, in reply to the kiss itself, squinting at me darkly as he realises that I know his mind better than I ought to.

I shoot him a bright smile, and right before I close the door, I say, gleefully, "Sweet dreams!"

"Sweet dreams to you too," he says through the open window. He starts up the engine again and rears out of my driveway. In a few bounds, I'm through the door. I turn around and make a face at him, just for the heck. He simply waves back and rolls away.

Back to 10/08/08.

"Oh, I remember now," I suddenly croak. "It's about... um... about the... the thing... Are you up for it?"

"Not yet," he yawns.

"Obviously," I say. "I mean..." I lay back on my bed. "I still have to take a shower and eat breakfast and make myself presentable... Are we taking the train?"

"Five bucks a ticket is a lot," he mumbles. His voice is gravelly. Kind of sexy.

"Right... so... uh..." I pull my arms high over my head, tensing my legs to wake them up.

"Just... come to my place for one o'clock," he commands, like he's tired of thinking. I hear a rustle of fabric on the line, and a soft sigh and groan. He's stretching too, on his bed. I was hoping my own stretching wasn't audible, but apparently I was wrong.

"You're stretching," I sigh contentedly. "It does feel nice," I comment, feeling the circulation increase in my limbs, and the muscles tense delightfully.

On the line, he's audible, a mild groan of satisfaction coming through his breath. I can imagine him so clearly in my mind, stretching like a large cat, tangled in his blue comforter, his white tee riding up on his stomach, his wrists and ankles at straight angles with his limbs, his eyes screwed shut in contentment, his mouth pulled into a tight-lipped smile, his hair sticking up weirdly, his chest rising with every deep breath...

I know him. I just do. My body knows. I'm doing the same.

Finally, he releases the tension and says, into the phone, with a satisfied mumble, "So, yeah. See you later."

"Okay," I say, sighing. "I'll call you before I leave."

"Good," he mumbles, and we both hang up.

When I did come up to his home, both garage doors were open, and his parents and sister were there, cleaning the large area. Slim was there, chatting with his father, and as I stepped out of the car, both his mother and sister greeted me cheerfully.

The first thing they asked me, by the way, was, "CM! Tell us what you think of Slim's new haircut!!"

They all eyed me expectantly.

I said, happily, "I really think he's cute like that!"

From behind Slim, who was eyeing me with a look I can't really define because it carried little meaning, Slim's father motioned exaggeratedly 'He's HANDSOME. HAND-SOME. SAY IT.'

"We like that he's clean-cut now," his mother comments.

"Thanks, Mom," Slim replies, his tone sarcastic.

A short chat with his family, and suddenly they all made themselves scarce, save for Slim. I followed him downstairs so he could grab a drumset piece he wanted to replace (a visit to Steve's music store was in order), and as he swiftly worked the keys and screws, his fingers familiar with all motions, I couldn't help myself. I said, "You know, your parents are right. You really are handsome."

He looked up, his brow furrowed, as though he was wondering where I'd hidden the insult in my statement. But I was honest, and he didn't seem to know what to make of it. So he shrugged awkwardly, and looked back down at his working hands. "I don't know... I didn't really fix my hair today..."

His profile is just beautiful. "You look like a really good guy now."

"You mean I don't look like a hobo," he jokingly comments. He brings a greasy hand up and brushes his cheek absently. "Didn't shave this morning, though." He returns to his work until he finally looses the piece he was looking for. It's the connection between his double-pedals.

"What's wrong with it?" I ask.

"Missing a screw, and it squeaks. I tried Jigaloo but it just keeps squeaking. It's a really bad distraction."

"Huh."

He hands it to me, and wipes his smeared hands with a dirty cloth. "Can you carry it in your bag? I won't have my backpack with me today."

"Sure, provided you give me a plastic bag for it."

He waggles a finger as we leave his drum room, and finds me a plastic bag. "Exploitation," he teases.

"You know it."

"Come on," he says, guiding me back outside, cheerfully, "let's get moving."

It's a beautiful sunny day. We listen to Dream Theater on the way over, singing along to Ministry of Lost Souls at the top of our lungs, until he parks behind Taco Bell (no parking fee, and no questions), and we walk to the Côte-Vertu station, buying tickets and finding seats in the metro. I chose a window seat, but there were plenty of empty seats to choose from.

Slim chose the one next to me rather than the one across.

The ride all the way down was silent, but we started talking again the moment we stepped back out into the sunlight, across the street from Archambault Musique. I handed Slim his CV (which I'd been carrying as well) and he filled in an application form.

We then walked back out onto the street, and strolled down Ste-Catherine street, aka one of the busiest boulevards in Montreal, discussing university, zombies, and the dream Slim had the night before (involving vampire bats and getting eaten alive... yeah, I know), until I spotted an Omer DeSerres, the ultimate art supplies store.

I had been telling Slim that if he wanted to, he was allowed to punch me for making really stupid comments when drunk. He'd raised a brow, fisted his hand.

And then he lifted it to his mouth, kissed it gently, and shot me a grin. He didn't even pretend to hit me. He just let it go.

Flustered, I asked Slim whether we could go into the art store, and he humoured me.

I was looking for one of those soft-tip markers, and found the Faber Castel brand. I didn't have money for a twelve-pack (65$), so I chose three colours from the individual selection, one red, one green, and one blue.

I was hesitating between two blues, though, so I turned to Slim then and held them up. One of them was cyan, and the other was more cobalt. "Pick one."

He blinked. "What? Why?"

"I want a blue one. But I don't know which one I should choose."

"Which one do you like most?"

"Both. That's why I'm asking you."

"You shouldn't be asking me. I make bad decisions."

"Just pick one," I said, exasperated, as we both laughed.

"I don't really see the difference," he finally said. "I mean, they're both blue."

"But one of them," I said, "is more cobalt, and one of them is more cyan. Which one do I want?" I turned back to the stand and examined them again, critically.

I swear to God that at that moment Slim mumbled something under his breath along the lines of "You want to have sex with me?"

I know, I couldn't believe my ears either.

But when I turned back asking, "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that?" he played innocent.

Too innocent. He even said, "No, nothing. It's not important."

I stayed bewildered, trying to make sense of what was going on. Then again, he was probably joking, obviously. He doesn't know the effect he has on me, let alone that his suggesting this would actually make me insane. He wouldn't be serious.

As though to avert any further questioning, he pointed at the cobalt blue pen and said, "That one. It's not as pale, but it's brighter."

"Brighter," I agreed.

"Yeah," he then picked the pens from my hands and started giving them voices. " 'Hi, I'm cobalt blue, and I'm bright'; 'Hi, I'm cyan blue and I'm not assertive enough'. There." By now we were both laughing like madpeople, ignoring the indignant looks of onlooking self-proclaimed artists. "You get it, though? One of them is dark but bright, and the other is pale but meh, not quite sure what to make of himself." He rambled on and on. "He has issues in school and the other pens make fun of him, even though he's a good guy, you know."

"Okay," I laughed, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him towards the cash, "shut up now."

"It's a sad, sad story, you know," Slim went on, and we were both snickering like fools, our chuckles resonating in the whole store. "Pens like him don't get much psychological support. If you donate to the Help the Under-Appreciated Pens foundation, we can help him."

We now have tears of mirth in our eyes. I am in love with him. So in love.

"Do you think they sell drum keys here?"

I said, thoughtfully, "I doubt it."

He laughed loudly as an image came to his mind. "No, they sell art supplies, nothing musical, except they mysteriously have a stock of drum keys between the colouring pencils and plastic cut-outs. Just the drum keys. Nothing else. People see them and go 'what the fuck?' " I laugh. He adds, "And, for a limited time only, buy five drum keys and get YOUR VERY OWN signed Tama five-piece drum set!"

"How convenient," I laughed. He was still wiping away tears of laughter from before. We didn't even care that everyone eyed us oddly.

We exchanged more stupid comments on our way out and towards Steve's Music Store. There, Slim bought a new twin-action pedal, fixed the piece that was squeaking, and picked up new sticks, a couple of drum keys and screws. He spent some two hundred dollars.

"Let's go home now," he said as we walked out. "I don't want to carry all this forever." He's cheerful as hell.

"Okay, but can we stop by some McDonald's on the way back? I'm starving."

"Sure, but... Well, if you'd rather, you can have supper back at my place, if you want... Mom said you were welcome."

"Really? You're sure?"

"Of course. She likes you." He says this so matter-of-factly, as though the idea of anything else occurring to me is outlandish and ridiculous.

So we made our way back through subway, then by car. His parents were glad to have me over.

"Are you sure I can stay?" I ask. "Slim told me I was welcome."

"Of course you're welcome," his mother declares. "Supper will be ready in half an hour."

"Perfect," Slim said, "that gives us time to start one of the movies."

He means the movies he made with the kids at daycamp. He's quite proud of them, and while the kids themselves aren't excellent actors, they manage to make things that obviously amuse them greatly. Slim's work is hilarious, and at many moments during playback, I'd suddenly burst out laughing.

One gag in particular made me suddenly bark with laughter, and Slim eyed me in wonder.

"Dude," he said, "I was the only one who thought that was funny! I edited it and thought it was funny, but no one else laughed! Except you."

"Are you kidding me?" I said, snickering, "that was great! The timing was perfect!"

He seemed pleased that the gag didn't go unnoticed and that he wasn't alone to think it was funny. In fact, he seemed amazed that I, of all people, would be the only one to laugh at the same joke as him without being forewarned that the joke was coming up.

We had supper, until Slim made me try out Defend Your Castle for Wii. Which really amuses me.

But then it was getting late. I preferred to get ready for a night out with the others. Slim's work in the morning pretty much keeps him from going out late at night, but I wasn't going to miss out. So I called Mom and told Slim, who was then gathering stars in Mario64 that I was going to wait outside.

I was about to lean down and thank him for everything, but he suddenly paused the game and exited. "Enough of this. Tired."

And he followed me down the stairs and outside. I walked past his front porch and onto the lawn, around the little pond. He followed confusedly, watching as I sat on the sidewalk.

"Why so far out?" He asked.

"I felt like it."

And it's true, there weren't any further motives. He sat down next to me, and before I could say anything, he suddenly said, "I wanna open the pedal box." And darted towards his car, where he'd left the boxes of his purchases. He looked like a little boy on Christmas day when he returned, and sat next to me again.

I watched his hands work at the cardboard cheerfully, the motions excited but careful. He has nimble fingers, but his hands do seem strong. And big. I'd caught myself staring at them more than once during the day, like when he was holding the steering wheel. He has a dusting of light brown hair on the back of his hands, and strong but narrow wrists, attached to forearms so sinewy they make me light-headed. Hands like that could pretty much make me pass out.

"Look at this little baby," he said, excitedly, as he carefully unwrapped the metal pedal.

I looked at him instead. His eyes were bright and happy as he manipulated his newest purchase.

He is so, so handsome. I wanted to kiss him.

I didn't even look at what he was doing with the pedal. I just looked at his face, at his expressions, the way his brows would furrow a split-second then relax the next.

"I can't believe I got a twin-effects for so cheap," he was saying, happily.

"Yeah, you were lucky."

"I know!" He looked up and grinned broadly at me.

Still, every time a car turned the corner and passed us, he would sober up and ask, softly, "Is that your lift?" Like he didn't want me to leave.

All day, I had been carrying a sheet of paper with me, folded neatly into my jeans pocket, with a list on it. Fourteen Reasons We Should Get Together. It goes like this:

1. You make me lose my words, so I actually have to write them down. Like this. I’m pretty sure I’d regain my speech abilities if we got together. And you don’t want me to be useless in an argument, do you?

2. We connect. Nobody connects like that. It’s unnatural. Staying friends would seem like a waste when we’ve got this kind of connection.

3. I’m not a girly-girl, and you’re not a macho-man. Neither of us is what the other finds annoying.

4. You have really soft lips. And beautiful hands. And a nice ass. And you’re handsome. I can’t help thinking about… yeah.

5. It’s fickle, but you really do make my heart go FWOOMP inside my chest.

6. You want a girl who will make the first move. I want a guy who will let me do what I want. And I want to make the first move. It works, see?

7. You’re a relationship guy, and I’m a relationship girl.

8. We wouldn’t have to wage wars against each other’s empire. We’d just rule it together, and that way I’d have more than just Saturn.

9. You don’t like tomatoes. I don’t like peppers. We can unite against red vegetables.

10. Our tastes and opinions are so similar that we already know what the other’s thinking with a single glance. It’s freaky, but it’s way more awesome than anything any one of our friends has ever known.

11. I don’t, in fact, think about other guys wanting to date me but not daring to because you’re in the picture. To be exact, I don’t give a damn.

12. People asking, insinuating, wondering or insisting to know about us dating is getting a little old, and us actually dating would most definitely be new.

13. Michelle told me, open quote, “It'd be weird if you had a boyfriend, but it wouldn't be weird if it were Slim.” End quote. I mean, come on. This is Michelle we’re talking about.

And if you're not convinced already, here is my last resort:

14. I love you.

I considered taking it out then. I really did.

But fate hates me.

Mom's car turned the corner.

So Slim and I stood. He was still excitedly talking about the pedal, until he noticed Mom. He stopped smiling gradually, until eventually he looked disappointed. I turned to him.

"So," I said, as cheerily as possible, "um, we'll talk. I still want you to see the Dark Knight, and we should go on five-bucks Tuesday. So..." I reach out to touch his shoulder, and I see him lean forward, as though he's waiting for the usual kiss on the cheek...

But Mom is looking at us, and I just can't, because I'd never hear the end of it. Mom has been asking more and more questions lately, like, 'When is he going to ask you out, already?'

So my hand trails down his sleeve slowly until I let go, and I smile at him, and he moves back, looking a little disappointed (!!!). He smiles back, a little sheepishly, but the bright spark in his eyes isn't there.

God, life sucks.

I turn towards Mom, and he waves at her politely, putting the pedal box back into his car trunk with the rest. He'll probably take everything in later.

"He looks sad," Mom comments. "Every time I see him when come pick you up, he looks sad and tired."

I frown. "What are you talking about?"

"Was he okay with you today?"

"Yes, more than okay. He was cheerful all along."

"Well, he looks sad now."

"Must be because I'm leaving," I joke, and Mom says nothing.

Seriously, what? I look back at Slim, but he's already heading back into his house. Poop, no way to judge.

Anyhow, I asked Mom to take me straight to the local bar, where everyone else was meeting up. I waited half an hour for them to show up (it was early), but pretty much everyone came in: Kels, Ban, Michelle, Rick, Drew, Fred, Mitch, Isa, AA, Melanie, Maria, PB, and even Gabe and one of his friends.

Gabe, by the way, is so totally flirting with me these days. It's kind of hilarious... considering that if I weren't in love with Slim, Gabe would probably also be my type. He's different from Slim in many ways, but he's quite charming. He's got wit to keep up with me, humour to take my jokes to new level, and we have a few points in common (example: he hates the taste of alcohol, but drinks anyway, like I do).

It helps that he's quite handsome too, and muscled like a soccer player (I have a thing for soccer players). That said, he's not as tall as Slim, and I even think he's exactly my height... without heels.

So I can't wear heels around him or I dwarf him. That sucks. At least I could wear my highest heels with Slim and he was still taller than me (I know, I know, we established already that Slim is perfect, but come on!).

We hung out until 1:45AM, laughing and getting excited over our plans for the remainder of the summer. As usual, people asked me where Slim was (for once, I knew), and why he wasn't there (no one whined about the reason for his absence being dumb, this time).

I ignored Michelle when she asked me "Did you buy condoms?" Her insinuations are just tasteless sometimes.

Slim and Michelle have a sort of hypocritical acquaintance going on. Every time I'm with one of them, they bitch against the other; Michelle says Slim is too much of a baby and a whiner; Slim says Michelle is too much of an anal-retentive bitch. Deciding who's right and wrong therefore becomes a game of choosing between the egg and the hen. I let them talk, but I tend to agree with Slim more. At least HE doesn't bitch against people he has no reason to hate.

So I ignored Michelle's comments on Slim's attitude, of late, and chat with Gabe and the boys. We had a real good time.

Finally, Drew offered me a lift home, along with Ban (since Ban and I live two minutes away from each other, we're a package deal), but not before Rick made sure I was free to hang out with him and Slim later this week.

So I stumbled home, and went to bed, and this is why you get such a late update.

Love,
CM

Broken bones, vodka, recordings, and religious reviews

I have to say I don't make a habit of stumbling into my own home. But stumbling is apparently something Friday called for because my brother was the first to start it. The stumbling, I mean.

In fact, he stumbled straight into a tree while snowboarding with his friends.

I was at home, waiting for news on the outing to a local bar with a bunch of my own friends. It was notably Michelle's idea, but Ban and Slim had also been up for it, and I felt like going out too.

Anyway, I was about to step out of the house when the phone rang.

I expected a call from Michelle to confirm they'd be there, but when I picked up, it was my brother. He sounded calm and rather normal, so I didn't consider a single moment that something could be amiss. I handed the phone to Mom, and followed Dad out the door...

Until I heard Mom say, incredulously, "What do you mean, your leg's broken?"

And that was when we hung around to hear the news.

I could've stayed home on hearing this piece of information, but what would have been the point? It wasn't going to sit around in anxiety waiting for news that wouldn't come any time soon.

So I let Dad drive me to the bar anyway.

Michelle, Mitch, his girlfriend Isa, Ban, and his girlfriend Ronnie, were already seated at a table. They scooted over to make space for me, and I told them about my brother, and about how Slim was supposed to join us in less than ten minutes (I knew this because I'd been talking to him online just fifteen minutes prior to arriving).

Indeed, five minutes later, Slim was there. I told him about my brother, and he immediately expressed cringing sympathy, and offered all his moral support.

By now we would've been crowded at the first table, so we relocated to a larger table. Rick, Guy and Drew were supposed to join us, but were unreachable. Ban, to make me feel better about the whole business with my brother (we were raised like twins, and when he's hurt, I actually am concerned for him), puts an arm around my shoulders and says, "CM, all your drinks are on me."

Now, as you might've read already, I don't drink alcohol. I say this. Ban stares at me like I'm a wonder of nature, or at least like the concept simply doesn't compute.

As people let this sink in, Ban slowly rises an arm to call the waitress over, and calls, "We have ourselves a virgin to debauch, folks!"

To which Slim smirks and says, tapping on the table with the others, "Finally! We get to see her drunk!"

I raise a brow at him, trying to hide my anxiety. "Slim, I don't need alcohol to behave like a complete moron."

He only smiles broadly, eyes crinkling, as Ban explains that it is a tradition for him to educate people in the art of drinking, especially if they've never done so before.

It takes a full ten minutes of intense discussion with the waitress for Ban to give his okay on his order. When she walks away, I shoot him a glance, but he's engaged in a deep conversation with Mitch. Confused, I turn to Michelle, who is sipping her cocktail in relative silence.

We talk until the waitress returns, her tray laden with glasses of all shapes and sizes.

And she lines up four shots in front of me, the liquid bright blue. I blink at them and nearly freak out.

Shots. They got me shots.

I turn to glare at Ban, wondering if he really thinks I'm so stupid that I don't know what a shot is, who notices my alarm, because he says, "CM, it's okay. These are Pornstar shots. They're sweet. They hardly taste like alcohol. They're fine."

I pick a shot glass up. "I've never had one before. I don't know how to do it."

Ban smiles, and picks up a glass too. Everyone is watching me in complete rapture. I must say I am very close to chickening out. I absolutely abhor the taste of alcohol. "We'll do it together, okay, CM?" He's clearly enjoying this. He likes mentoring people, especially in this domain.

Slim is watching me with a grin. Isa is a little drunk already, and Mitch is giving me a thumbs up. Everyone is pretty much waiting for my reaction.

"We'll do a countdown," Ban says. "Okay? ... Three... Two... One."

I down the shot, because I figured I ought to get it overwith.

It burns my throat and tastes awful. I put the glass down and my eyes water, and Ban looks at his own empty glass, frowns and says, "Dude, they made these things bloody powerful."

Slim, meanwhile, is hooting at my accomplishment, and Mitch inquries, "So. What do you think?"

I blink away the tears of shock, try to contain my grimace, and hoarsely mutter, "It's horrible," which prompts a round of amused laughter.

Ban, though, only pulls the next shot in front of me. I feel a little faint. Michelle, apparently seeing that I'm pale, says, "CM, if you didn't like it, you can stop."

All the others hasten to agree with this. Slim adds, "Don't go thinking we're pressuring you into it."

I smile, because I know they aren't. In fact, there's the consideration that I would easily trust them all with my life, and I know they wouldn't let me do anything stupid or reckless. Dad had always told me that I should wait until I was surrounded by people I trust to get drunk for the first time.

And there are no folks in the sphere I trust more than these people.

Ban, apparently deciding that I won't be drinking the second shot, slowly slides it towards Isa, who is already obviously lightheaded.

But the few seconds he spares me are enough to realise that the shot wasn't, in fact, that terrible.

So I stop his arm, and pull it back towards me. A couple of surprised grins erupt of their faces.

"Just because I'm a virgin," I hoarsely say, my throat already irritated from an oncoming cold, "doesn't mean I'm a wuss."

This prompts a new wave of hooting and pounding. Ban slaps my back proudly, and Mitch makes a comment on my newfound guts.

And so they line up the drinks, trying to get me to sample everything. This includes, then, the second Pornstar shot, a Long Island Iced Tea, half of an Electric Long Island, a vodka shot, and a quantity of beer that I had trouble measuring, since Ban and Slim kept refilling my glass before I was halfway through it all the time.

The vodka shot was imposed to me by Slim and Ban, who insisted I try one, to see how it felt. Michelle, though, kept prompting me not to take it, as it was, she said, "The worst, most powerful vodka ever." It was nearing midnight, and I contemplated the shot anxiously. Slim reached over to give me a slice of lime.

"Here," he says, smiling, "this'll wash out the aftertaste, if you want."

I blink at him. "What?"

He'd himself taken two beers and also a vodka shot at the start of the evening. He'd drunk it so swiftly and expertly that I had actually been impressed. He'd licked the side of his hand, sprayed salt on it, taken a deep breath, then licked the salt, brought the shot to his lips, downed it at once, then bit straight into the lime and sucked it dry, then shot me his usual grin, eyes bright.

I had been, to say the least, fascinated.

But as I contemplated the shot before me, knowing very well that it was full of the very thing I hate the taste of most (alcohol, if you paid attention), I felt myself chickening out for the first time in the evening.

"It's okay, CM," Ban assures me, "the trick is to not let it stay in your cheeks. Just pull your head back and get it straight into your throat."

"Like a dick," Slim says, prompting everyone's laughter. I try not to pull my tongue at him. Already I'm feeling pleasantly light-headed and happy, and everything seems beautiful.

But I'm a chicken.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Three minutes to midnight."

"Okay," I say, "then at midnight."

Slim and Ban actually did a countdown... And I downed it.

I would not say that it was a particularly pleasant experience. In fact, I hated it.

But I'd done it nonetheless. The guys seemed prouder of this fact than of any of my prior accomplishments. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but seeing as my stomach felt pleasantly warm, it didn't matter.

As per the beer, it was Molson Ex, and Ban and Mitch convinced me to drink it by telling me to pretend I was drinking liquid bread.

And it totally did taste like bread. I was surprised, and not as disgusted as I thought I'd be.

But the guys never let me finish an actual glass, refilling it all the time.

At this point, Isa was fargone, Mitch was in charge of everyone's car keys, Michelle was almost falling asleep on my shoulder, and Ronnie was tipsier than me. I said, "I'm hungry."

Slim, who had gotten tipsy in the beginning of the night and who was now in his sobering up period (he did have to drive home, after all) shot me a curious look. "Hungry? Why?"

I swayed in my chair. "I only had two toasts this afternoon."

Mitch and Slim stared at me incredulously.

"You realise," Mitch said, "that the alcohol is going to hit you like a gong, don't you?"

"Oh man," Slim said, cringing, "You are so going to get a hangover."

I rolled my eyes. "Guys, I am not that drunk." Proof being, of course, that I remember everything.

"That's what they all say," Slim smirks, looking a little happier than he ought to be.

"I am not drunk."

It's at this point that Rick, Guy and Drew show up at our table, and Isa, Mitch, Ronnie and Michelle decide they've had enough. It's half past midnight. Mitch hands Slim his keys back, deciding that he isn't too drunk to drive anymore.

I wave them goodbye, because the alcohol seriously burned my throat so much that I sound like I ate a truck-full of gravel, and my voice is deeper than I ever thought it would be. The guys seem to find this fascinating. I am a little embarrassed and amused at the same time.

Rick tries to offer me a few more drinks, but I decline his offer. Ban is nearly passed out drunk on his chair, exhausted, and he just finished paying his tab. Besides, my stomach is warning me that I've had enough and that it'd be good to stop before I overdo it. I am, in fact, amazed at the warning. I thought I'd actually have to go over my capacity to find out what my limit was.

But apparently, it is possible to be reasonable, even when you've never had a drink before.

Drew, on his part, is overexcited by the survival story I wrote about the guys, in which he plays a lead role alongside Slim. Guy is looking good and cheerful. Slim is teasing Rick about their being so damn late.

We fool around some more, enjoying the regular insanity. We try our hand at the punching machine to test our strength. The top score, we saw, was 664 on a thousand. Guy pulled a 365; I got 243; Rick got 512; Drew got 491, and Slim got 518.

Don't ask me how Slim got the highest score. He doesn't work out at all, where Rick does.

"Don't credit me," Slim says easily. "I just bashed into it properly. It's more about technique than brute strength sometimes."

We're having fun.

Around one in the morning, Drew, Rick and Guy start arguing about what they'd like to do in NeverWinter Nights 2. It's at this point that Slim and I lived another one of our one-glance moments. NWN2 is one of those games that Slim and I simply don't see the appeal of. The others don't understand why we haven't started playing it yet.

And the moment the guys started talking about it, I raised my eyes, only a fraction of a second, and Slim met my glance. We didn't say anything, didn't make a single expression.

But I knew exactly all he wanted to say, and I averted my gaze to avoid smiling.

By two in the morning, we're sitting around the table, watching girl-on-girl mud wrestling on the TVs around the bar. The guys keep grading the girls, wondering why I'm laughing to myself.

Mud-wrestling for anorexics! Whoo!

"CM, you should apply for that." Drew is only kidding.

"I would probably have more curves than that, but then I'd have to wax my body, and that sucks," I say. I haven't had anything to drink for the past hour and am back to my usual self. The difference is minimal.

"Wax your bikini area, you mean?" Rick inquires.

I'd only been talking to myself out loud, and I notice that they're all staring at me in a lot of amusement.

I roll my eyes. "No, my hairy monkey armpits, and my fuzzy legs, and my unibrow."

They snicker.

Ban, though, nearly falls off his chair. It's at this point that Slim decides it's time for us to head home. I sigh, and ask him for his cell phone. He frowns.

"Why?"

I blink. "To call Dad, of course."

He stares at me like I've gone daft. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Um... To get a lift. From Dad," I say, very slowly.

"But aren't your parents up and concerned for your brother?"

"Dad's home..." I mumble.

Slim shakes his head, incredulously. "I'm not going to force your parents to get over here when they've already got their other kid to contend with. I'm giving you a lift."

I nearly melt with gratitude. "Oh, Slim, thank you so much."

He looks embarrassed. "It's okay... Um... Come on, Ban, I'm taking you home too. You're smashed."

Ban has trouble rising from his chair. Slim passes an arm under his and around his back, and they slowly amble out of the bar, Rick, Guy and Drew excitedly jumping around. They start a snowball fight in the nearly deserted parking lot, while Slim places Ban in his backseat.

"Hey, guys, wanna come to Tim Hortons?" Drew calls.

Slim and I exchange tired glances.

"You know what, guys," Slim says, "I think I'll turn in."

"Me too," I mumble, and Rick darts over to jump me in his own impression of a glomp.

"See you Monday!" He howls, clearly drunk. I laugh.

I don't mind when the guys hug/touch/crush me. It's not an obsessive-compulsive motion, and they only do it in doses I can withstand (as opposed to Bass and his thinking I'm some kind of Carebear).

"See you, Rick."

And I step into Slim's passenger seat.

"Are you sure you're sober?" I ask, as a measure of safety. Slim shoots me a straight, clear look.

"Do I look like I'm not lucid?"

"Don't get offended. I'm just asking."

"I'm not offended. I promise I'm okay." He nods slowly, for good measure. "I wouldn't drink and drive. You know that."

I smile.

He drives Ban home, and stops the car. Ban, grateful for the lift, stumbles out. Slim opens his car door, puts a foot out, and says, "Yeah, okay, let me help you to the door."

"I'm okay," Ban says, and Slim waits until he's inside his house before stepping back in and exhaling. He shuts his door, and smiles at me.

"Alright, let's get you home."

He drives me home, and, unusually, we're exceptionally silent.

"Silence," he mumbles, awkwardly.

I burst out laughing. "I was about to say the same thing."

We grin.

He pulls up in front of my house, and I turn to him.

"Thank you so much for the lift," I say. He shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it."

And he waits for me to be inside the house before driving off.

And so I stumbled in, because the house was so dark. It was three in the morning when I fell into bed, pleasantly light-headed.

I woke up around noon Saturday. My brother was still in the hospital, and we were waiting to see whether he'd have to get operated or not, seeing as both his tibia and his fibula were broken.

I logged in to messenger, and almost immediately, Slim assaults me.

"Get your ass over here, we need your camcorder and we need to record the audioplay for our university application."

A little bewildered, I get my ass over there. Over there being, of course, his house.

He opens the door and looks a little downcast. "Aw, man, I didn't think you'd be this early. I was hoping to take a shower..."

"Sorry, bus driver thought he was an F1 racer."

He snickers. His sister pops in.

"Oh my god," she exclaims. "Thank you so much for coming in!"

Steph is studying to be a preschool and elementary teacher. She certainly has the requisite sunny disposition. Slim eyes her a little stonily, clearly annoyed by her constant good humour. It's the afternoon, but that means nothing about his state of consciousness.

"Well," I say, "you can go take your shower now and I'll wait. I don't mind."

"No, no, don't," Steph counters. "Slim, we'll need to put white colouring in your hair. Wait until afterwards."

"I feel gross," he says, looking miserable. "Can't I take two showers, one now and the other later?"

Steph, though, isn't listening. She's excitedly explaining her plan to me. Basically, she's building an educative program, including videos, audio clips, letters and pictures to teach kids about the cycle of water. It's a cute and brilliantly intelligent idea, and I'm impressed.

"Basically," she says, "the kids have to help an explorer through his adventure to figure out a puzzle. And they learn as they go along."

"An explorer?" I say, interested, wondering how long she's been working on it.

"Yep!" And that's when I notice that she's holding out a Hawaiian shirt to Slim.

It dawns on me, and I finally understand why Slim looks so unenthusiastic.

"Oh my god, that is so cute! Slim, you're going to be these kids' role model!"

He shoots me a stony glare, and slips on the Hawaiian shirt, and ties a bandana around his head, and pulls out a backpack and a small golden spyglass, all the while staring at me in a very, very un-explorer like manner.

I can't help but giggle and clap my hands. "Yay, Slim is an explorer!" He blinks at me and looks seriously pissed off. I prompt more of his anger. "Lookit you, so adventurous and fun!"

He glares some more.

Steph grins and hugs him, and he only glares at my unsupportive excitement.

But for all his annoyance, he really is rather great with kids, and can play the role amazingly well.

As soon as he got into the proper mood, he became eloquent, enthusiastic and cheerful, and he spoke with the clear enunciation required for kids' videos. It was totally cute and fun to watch.

That was, of course, when he didn't mess up his lines and end his sentences with a colourful cuss. At one point, he had to say he was sending the kids this video because their teacher had told them they were the best students in the world.

He messed up a word, and rather than stop and restart, he went on, so that it gave, "I am sending you this video because your teacher told me you were the BEST, most INTELLIGENT, most TALENTED students EVER, and―" Here he tripped on his words, and continued, in the same kid-friendly tone, "―and also because she is trying to get a good grade in her university project so that she can get a low-paying job educating the lot of you, as well as pay her mortgage and health insurance and buy porn because her boyfriend dumped her for some big-boobed ditz. And you will do the exact same thing one day, especially YOU, IN THE BACK, YOU FUCKING MORON!" And he pointed at the camera, at which point we were all cracking up so badly that I had to cut.

Two and a half hours later, Steph's video was recorded, and Slim and I moved into his room to start recording our audio play. It's basically the story of a guy and a girl who once dated, but who recently broke up. It opens as they're stuck on the side of a deserted road in the middle of nowhere because his car ran out of gas as he was driving her back to her hometown, as a courtesy towards an ex. They fight and argue most of the time, until it turns out they still love one another and he actually planned for them to run out of gas, and was only doing it to force them to talk their problems out, to her shock, of course.

We could have done a movie of it, but seeing as I want to be a screenwriter and Slim wants to be an editor, there was no real reason to bother with the video part. We only need to show off our own skills. So I'd written it, and we were each going to take a part, and Slim would edit it properly.

We didn't finish recording it. By 6:00, it was supper time and Slim's mom offered me to stay, because Slim had told her about my brother and the fact that I was pretty much on my own at home all the time because Mom and Dad were in the hospital. I was so grateful for their kindness, and ate with them again.

But after supper, Slim and I didn't feel like recording anymore. Instead, he showed me videos he and PB had done all through high school, and it was seriously a trip down memory lane. They had such HILARIOUS skits and they were so CUTE in their awkward teen years, I swear I squealed and burst out laughing more times than I can count.

And then Slim showed me some songs he'd composed on the keyboard in his room. I was a little stunned. I knew he could play the drums, but I hadn't quite realised he was as good as pianist. He hesitated a few times, and wasn't as good as Guy ―our local virtuoso― but once he was warmed up, he was much better than I could ever hope to be.

"Have you ever taken lessons?" I asked as he played a slow, moving piece. I can't stop watching his fingers as they deliberately press on each key.

"Nope."

I can't believe it, but then again, I can.

"You know what was really cool?" Slim asks, suddenly.

I blink. "No. What?"

He looks at me and though he isn't smiling, I can tell he's amused. "Us. Last night. While the guys talked about NeverWinter Nights 2."

My memory fails me for a few seconds, and then I remember. "Oh, you mean..."

He smirks. "We always do that, don't we? One look, no words needed."

I laugh. "Huh. Yeah." And my reply is a little stunned that he thinks it's that cool, and that I'm not the only one who keeps remembering those looks.

We pretty much lazed around until eleven at night, at which point I called Dad to ask how my brother's leg was faring. After a short conversation, I hang up.

"So?" Slim is currently trying to stay alive in his Call of Duty 4 mission. "He okay?"

"He's in the operating room."

Slim hits pause, and shoots me a sympathetic look. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry."

I nod slowly. I am really worried for him now. "I had hoped we wouldn't need to put a pin..." I take a deep breath. "Actually, maybe I should head home now."

Slim stands, "Yeah, I don't feel like playing this mission anymore anyway. Let's go."

And we walk out in silence, Slim grabbing his keys and me grabbing my coat and bag. I thank his parents again for their hospitality, and we walk out into the cold. I slip into his car, and he puts on the heater for me, then starts brushing the snow off his windshield. We're silent as he pulls out of his driveway, but not for long.

"I had this fucked up dream last night," he says.

I have a lot of fucked up dreams; I don't expect he's safe from them either.

"Tell me! Tell me!" I prompt.

He laughs. "Well, it starts out in Rick's backyard, and we were building a fort in the snow, and at one point I strangle Drew because he stole my keys and went for a ride in my car."

"You strangled him?"

"Yeah, and I was really pissed off at him. I was screaming and punching him."

I raise my brows.

He continues, "And then the next thing I remember was... some kind of huge store, and we were in the electronic department, and... And you were there!" He shoots me your typical ":D" face. "And we spent like, three hours, you and I, debating videogames, and then we were at a resort by the beach and at night, the whole resort would turn into the chasm to hell."

I blink at him.

He glances at me. "And at the end of the worst night of my life, the only survivors were PB and I, and no one would believe us when we told them everyone else was dead at the Devil's hands."

I blink again.

He sighs, and shakes his head. "I think I ought to stop eating before bed."

"I think so."

He pulls up in front of my house, and I thank him once again for taking me home. "I owe you more and more."

He shakes his head. "Don't say that. Anytime, seriously."

We exchange a goodbye grin, and I hurry to my door. News was that my brother's operation had gone well, but that the machine injecting him with morphine on demand was faulty and didn't work, causing the pain to escalate to nearly intolerable heights before the ditzy nurse, who thought it was all very funny, managed to call a repairman.

You'd think by with nws like that I'd head to bed and just sleep.

But no. I logged in instead.

And spoke with Lyx (:D!), with whom I had the following conversation:

Lyx: "Check out this review I got."

And so follows a long review containing quotes from the Bible, prompting her to continue Ordinary Story. I know it's not really my place to talk about this, but Lyx doesn't actually enjoy getting such prompts. I don't blame her. Getting reviews asking for more of something that was put on indefinite hiatus is extremely annoying.

Me: (After reading the long Jesus-quoting review) "... Spelling ... Grammar... X.x"
Lyx: "Jesus."
Me: "Jesus."
Lyx: "Jesus will give me the strength to write more fanfiction."
Me: "Jesus will be the drive for your fanfiction talent."
Lyx: "Jesus doesn't want me to share my talents with the rest of the world."
Lyx: "Jesus wants me to only write fanfiction."
Me: "Jesus wants you to keep writing fanfiction because you love the world and characters as much as Jesus loves you."
Me: "God grant ye peace, peasant."
Lyx: "Amen."
Me: "I think you seriously made my day."
Me: "Seriously, though, I get religious reviews too."
Lyx: "They're always so weird..."
Me: "I know. Like, God wants me to write more Zelink smut? oO"
Lyx: "I got a really freaky email once. Like, it was amusing for a while, but then it just got freaky."
Me: "What was it?"
Lyx: "Like, about how the characters I make are REAL PEOPLE and stuff. Hang on, I'll see if I can't find it."
Me: "Oh man, I hope you can."
Lyx: "There. Forwarded to you."
Me: "Wait, checking it out."

The mail was long, and clearly the work of a psychotic freak, if you ask me. It's true it's touching in the beginning, but then it really does descend into madness. Also, it makes use of one of my biggest pet peeves...

Me: "I love how some people capitalize words that they think are important."
Lyx: "You Are CM, Who Writes Excellent Fan Fiction."
Me: "And You Are Lyx, Who Writes Excellent Vampire/Fanfic Stories."
Me: "Also, 'Continuance'." (Quoting from email)
Lyx: "Your mother continues."
Me: "Continuance, you'll be late for supper again!"
Me: "Dude, WTF THIS PERSON IS A FREAK! D:"
Lyx: "I know! I know! I was like, hahaha .......... O.O"
Me: "They did warn you to Bear With Them."
Lyx: "I did."
Me: "You've CREATED PEOPLE, Lyx!"
Me: "You are Heir Doktor."
Lyx: "DU HAST RICHTIG"
Me: "Bear With Me."
Lyx: "I Will Not."
Me: "Jesus Compels Thee."
Lyx: "No He Doesn't."

And so on. I must say that we hardly ever exchange on the matter of reviews, but this time it was around 1:00AM and we were going a little nuts. As usual.

Love,
CM