"I live in a Sitcom", by Rox Midge

Read parts one and two first, even though they're really long, blah blah. This is the third installment and likely the THRILLING CONCLUSION of the series, for reasons which will be obvious in a few short* moments.

Sunday afternoon Lizzie got on ICQ and basically said "You. Me. Food. Now." Not being one to argue with a beautiful person, I agreed and we went to a burger joint near her place. We got food and chatted, and I learned several interesting facts, such as: she's not a lesbian. She is, in fact, completely straight, and thinking about experimenting with SSG. SSG, for her part, is not a lesbian, but is rather bi.

Yeah, you're thinking OMG OMG HOT HOT 3-WAY SEXXOR SO HOT U'LL CUM UR PANTS!!!!1 but that's not what happened. Instead, Lizzie and I spent a few hours in the burger place talking to each other, and then we decided to rent a video and go back to her apartment. We watched the movie (Jerry Macguire) halfheartedly while cuddled on her couch, until we decided we were more interested in taking each other's clothes off than SHOWING HIM THE MONEY.

We flipped off the TV and went to her bedroom, which is actually just in the corner of the room since she has a studio. She insisted we turn off all of the lights and light candles, which prompted no argument whatsoever from me since I don't have the world's greatest body. We had agreed (earlier) that were we to hypothetically play around, there would be no hypothetical penetration, because hypothetically we both think that hypothetical sex on a hypothetical first date is bad. Hypothetically.

I'll omit the details of the encounter. Yes, I got head. No, I don't have pics. (No, I'm not likely to be able to get pics any time soon.)

After we were both done and satisfied, a towel was called for. I, really needing to pee, voulenteered to go get it. I stepped up from the bed and took (tried to take) a step toward the bathroom. However, her cat decided that this would be the perfect time to be friendly, and placed itself under my foot.

Having lived with a cat for years, I have mastered the bizarre contortions one must do in order to avoid stepping on a cat who is directly underneath your foot. Those who have performed similar contortions know that it involves twisting, leaning, and reaching out for something solid to grab on to. So I twisted, leaned, and reached out for a nearby shelf.

The shelf was not mounted firmly to the wall. The shelf was heavy. The shelf contained china.

Gravity took over and the shelf and its contents went down toward the cat, who screeched and bolted across the room. The shelf beat the china to the ground by microseconds and provided a firm surface upon which the china could shatter and spread itself across the floor.

I now faced a dilemma: if I put the foot that was in the air down, I would get cut on the shards of china. If I did not put the foot that was in the air down, I would fall over into the shards of china. Things being as they were, I put my foot down into the shards of china, which hurt.

My next move was made primarily out of despiration. I took a step backward, trying to extract myself from the blast radius of the china, but in doing so knocked over a table. By this time Lizzie has said the token "what the fuck?" and has risen from the bed. She hasn't had time to get mad about all of her china being broken and is currently trying to see how bad the cat is hurt.

Then the pain registers, and I say "holy SHIT". I hobbled over to the bed and try to survey the damage by candlelight, as we hadn't bothered to turn on the light. It becomes easier to see in short order, though, because the room was progressively getting brighter. And what was that smell?

Lizzie suddenly says "oh FUCK!" and jumps from the bed. I look up and there is a full-scale fire breaking out; the table I had tipped over had candles on it, which had rolled into a nearby curtain. The fire was spreading fast since it knows how to go upwards quickly, and it had already started to spread to the rest of the drapery.

I jump up too, momentairily forgetting about my foot. At about the same time the fire alarm goes off and stuns us both. Lizzie is trying to put the fire out with pillows, but is just fanning the flames. I pull her back and tell her to put clothes on and get out of the apartment. She grabs her cat and a blanket and leaves, stark naked.

I pull the curtains down and smother them with the non-burned parts, in the process probably breaking whatever they were attached to (at this point I'm just trying to put out the fire and avoid burning her apartment down, or any parts of my body I cared about). When I get the curtains put out, part of a chair is on fire, so I put it out, too.

I kind of stood there for a minute to make sure the fire was out, and I hear a voice which does not sound like Lizzie say "good job." I look up; it's an 80 year old woman standing next to her similarly aged husband. They are sillouetted in the doorway looking in to the apartment.

I am not wearing any clothes and am now looking back at them.

After a beat, the husband says something like "Come on, Emma, lets go," and pulls his wife away from the door.

I want to die, and my god I wish this story was over.

I blow out the candles and grab another blanket and go looking for Lizzie. She has gone all the way outside: down three flights of stairs and out the front door to her apartment complex. I walk outside and start to explain the situation, and she makes a run for me. I assume she wants to hug, so I'm thinking that all is forgiven.

But she runs past me, saying "wait, don't let it-" and tries to grab the door before it's shut. She's naked and doesn't have the key. I'm naked and I don't have the key. Her cat doesn't have the key either, but at least it had fur.

The door shuts, and she slaps me, and starts yelling at me. About ten seconds later, the fire department comes by and opens the door. She continues to yell at me while we walk back up to her apartment. When we get there, she walks in, turns on the lights and picks up my clothes. She throws each article of clothing at me, losing more and more of her blanket each time. The clothing served as punctuation for the following sentence:

quote:
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Lizzie came out of the closet to say:
DON'T. EVER. CALL. ME. AGAIN. YOU. FUCKING. ASSHOLE.
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The last two were shoes, which she threw hard and which connected. Now that she's done throwing all of my clothes into the hallway, and has completely lost her blanket in the process, she walks into the doorway, says "give me my fucking blanket," and yanks the blanket away from me.

She wraps the blanket around herself, glances at the three firefighters who are standing there amazed, says "go away," and slams her door.

The firefighters look at me. One says "girls," with a note of disbelief, while the others try not to obviously ogle me like I'm sure they ogled her. They leave, I put on my clothes and leave. I thought about knocking on her door, but judging from the way she threw the shoes I figured she needed some time to cool off.

SSG and I talked a little yesterday. SSG was pissed because she'd been trying to convince Lizzie to sleep with her and now it's not likely to happen. She hadn't yet talked to Lizzie, but agreed (after much negotiating on my part) to get an idea of how pissed Lizzie is. I haven't called Lizzie yet because I'm afraid she's filed a restraining order against me.

Anyway, that's why I should have waited to post the second chapter. I'm scared shitless of seeing Lizzie again even if she's not upset, since I seem to bleed every time we see each other. What's my next move?

* compared to part 1