Emerz' Dangerous Thoughts

"What's that movie with Michelle Pheiffer and all the black kids?" It's on the tip of my tongue. "Necessary Roughness," says Emerz. "But what's that movie with Mekhi Phifer and all the white kids?"

Baby It's Cold Outside

Waking up to room service trays banging against the door frame. Toni likes to order food over the phone and watch it shrink in the air-conditioning. There's a tropical storm warning screaming and streaming at the bottom of the screen. Me and Emerz are like, no kidding. We've taken to betting on Toni's next mood swing. I got five on manic, Emerz is going with his gut and saying depressive. No matter who wins, we all lose. Laying on the bed with her robe split open, I take a look at what I used to be so jealous of, and feel nothing but a pang of pity, drowning in irritation. "There's something to be said for a little mystery, babe," says Emerz, who has already solved the riddle.

Meanwhile at Club Med...

The baby's hungry and the money's all gone. The folks at home don't want to talk on the phone. We sent a long letter, get back a postcard. Times are hard. (Image courtesy of Dolph.)

Love In The Lost City of Atlantis

We're in the elevator on the way down to the pool. Emerz is readjusting the drawstring of his Vilebrequin Salamander trunks. Toni is upset that we are all sharing a room. Trouble in paradise. Literally. "What's he even doing here?" she asks in a stage whisper.

"Blog fodder," says Emerz.

"Bog flodder," says Toni.

The weather is here, I wish we were beautiful.

You know me and Emerz, always finding cities and parties we were told never existed. This pool is no exception. Toni finds a frenemy from Dwight. I'm suddenly hungry for Jell-o. "Virgin pina colada," says Emerz to a cabana boy. "I really can't stress virgin enough."

If you like pina coladas... Well, let's see. Forecast calls for oppressively sunny skies, no one's making love at midnight unless one of us orders a cot, Toni's heavy into yoga and the last half of her brain seems to have crawled inside a bottle of Xanax. For the flight, she says, clearing a nostril.

I get nice and lobstery and head back upstairs, buy the full porn-pass (can't afford not to), but soon I'm roaming the channels. There's the old, familiar back-and-forth: porn, Love Actually, porn. Lather, rinse, repeat. Cable's been taken over by romantic comedies, supposedly as fluffy as the pillows on our bed. But they still pose a threat. That hidden stinger of romcoms--copious and lengthy bouts of infidelity on behalf of the woman who is not sure that what she thought she wanted all along is really what she actually wants. It just sort of happened, she says. I tried to tell you, she says. Didn't you notice my declining interest in the flower arrangements for the wedding we've been planning? My growing ambivalence over the decorating scheme for the house you bought me?

Well, you know me and Emerz. The completely acceptable, hoodwinked alternative.

Emerz Biopic

"Man on Wire" says Emerz, drawing question marks on his chin. "Unauthorized biopic?"

"Why not?" I say. Like, who hasn't wished that they could still feel that monstrous breeze?

Mayer Seating Tests Emerz' Team Aniston Status

"This is important," says Emerz. "I mean, the second row? In front of God and everybody?" He has Toni dialing her godfather's contacts. Full-steam ahead on this one.

"Since when does John Mayer get Jack Nicholson's Oscar seats?"

Spectator Sports, Spring Break '09

Emerz followed my advice and now he's hooked. Sometimes I forget about his addictive personality and introduce him to what would be a benign or even positive influence for anyone else and he turns it into an excuse to trip the blinds and hit the message boards and splash photos of Aimee Teegarden all over his desktop screen saver. I mean, remember when we had a Bangbros password?

But this is a good time to get into Friday Night Lights. Smash is gone, safe at school, Saracen is demoted to part-time QB and full-time BF, Riggins is experimenting with the power of his position and home-ownership. The economic climate of Dillon, Texas allows the show to delve into and comment on things as they are right now. Emerz prefers The Real Housewives of NYC. After all, he expects to be one someday. But for now he's slumming it and enjoying it, the pick-up trucks and Applebees and soft-serve smiles.

Emerz has time for this because Toni is busy planning our Spring Break. Spring Break '09, baby. Last year I spent Spring Break speed-dialing drug dealers and slipping in and out of cabs, looking for the last laugh of the night. This year we are going to Atlantis. I tried to invite Kenzi, but she's going to a Club Med somewhere with her grandmother. We'll be swimming with dolphins, she'll be swimming with some guy named Dolph.

After Saracen and Julie roll to the ground by the lake and make things official, the whole show took on a glow, that secret glow that follows any non-regrettable devirginizing. The whole world has opened up to the two of them, and no one's the wiser. Making furtive eye contact in the dusty church, that glow seemed to spread to Emerz' den as well. After all the windows are nothing now but thin cracks of afternoon light. We've got tears in our eyes. My Summer Glow moisturizer got in mine; I don't know what Emerz' excuse is.