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Yesterday B asked me to come to dinner with him and some friends. An old friend of theirs was back in town and they wanted to welcome him warmly.

The friend who was back in town is the older brother of a kid who used to be one of M's best friends. This kid hanged himself.

This is such a small town in spite of itself.

Anyway, I dragged LN along with me because I'd already agreed to give her a ride home, and I didn't want to be the only vagina in a huge sea of sausage, the inevitable when I go out with B and his friends.

After some of us dined and some of us didn't and LN had a couple beers, I drove her back to her house where we had a couple more beers and sat around listening to XM radio and talking for hours.

We talked about our boss' criminal record and Dali and parental favoritism and astrology and walking anachronisms.

Before this entire outing, I'd been reading LN's girlfriend's myspace blog. I realized I am intimidated by this girl I barely know because she's a much better creative writer than I could ever hope to be.

Academic writers don't intimidate me, and I'm so thankful that B is one of them because his brain is already intimidating enough without him encroaching upon one of the artistic endeavors I love.

I drove home mildly inebriated behind a Red Bull Jeep. B bonked me on the head with a foam hammer for driving in that state. Then I had some tea and passed out in the bed while listening to the Twilight Zone.

Hours later, B's game of Diplomacy with his friends was over, and he came to bed and rudely awoke me for snuggling.

I'm not sure if this happens to anyone else, but for a hair of a fraction of a second after waking (long enough for me to get about half of Who? out in my mind), I have no idea who or where I am. I have always been fortunate enough to see something that brings all my memories of life rushing back so I may exist as usual. B is that something, for months upon months now, and the comfort is so great that I have an almost desperate urge to curl back up next to him and sleep some more. Usually, one of us has to get out of the bed--what a buzzkill.