Okay, Monica, you can come fix me now...

"The parallel universe does exist, and it's in a 3-foot-by-3-foot cubicle."

I can't help but think back to early 2002, when B and I used to talk about how we could date each other if we lived in a parallel universe - only this time it's me with the extenuating circumstances (or the more obvious ones) that force that big if.

Needless to say, Irish and I finally rehashed the elusive conversation while sober. And we both probably said things that crossed the line we're walking, but it does feel safer, somehow, to have it all out in the open. One reassuring thing is that he admittedly agreed with C-List (whose comment he hadn't even heard), saying that sitting in reclined car seats, especially after drinking, is always a bad idea. The rehash took place in upright seats. So at least there's that.

He tried to kiss me on Friday. Not actively tried, just - we were outside his house where we'd been washing cars. He was bumping a volleyball around with his cousin and his nephew. I'd just come outside after changing from car-washing clothes to going-to-see-Nightmare-Before-Christmas clothes. I don't remember what I said to provoke it, but I distinctly remember him laughingly running up to give me a hug - and you know when you just know someone's going to kiss you? I felt that sensation wash over me, and I froze. But he didn't kiss me. But he later admitted that he almost had, that he'd had to stop himself. Then he apologized.

Which isn't to say there haven't been similar offenses on my part. Incidentally, he found it hilarious that I equate his begging me to hit him with foreplay.

Amanda & I made last-minute plans to go to Rocky that night, and I convinced Irish to tag along. We had fun - all of us, I think. In the car on the way home, he looked at me, smiling, and said, "I've never seen you so perfectly happy," and, as a result, "I can sum it up in three words: Sarah. Jessica. Parker." (His most beautiful woman on the planet.) He promised he'd never make a move on me, although, he said, if I were to make one on him, it would be really hard to say no - but that he would have to, he would stop it, maybe after just one kiss, just to know what that would be like.

I told you things were said that crossed the line.

Yesterday afternoon, we went to the mall to look at puppies. There's this amazing pet store there that lets you sit in a little room and "exercise" (translation: fall in love with and want to buy) the puppy of your choice. We chose a female beagle, who Irish affectionately named Daisy, after she kept trying to eat the flower adornments on my flip-flops. And the pet store employees let us stay in the cubicle with her for about an hour, either because they thought we were a couple seriously looking to buy, or maybe just because they could tell we needed it.

So for about an hour, we sat too close on black leather footstools, while this awkward, wiggly little bundle of adorableness climbed all over us and ran between our feet. His head on my shoulder, my cheek on his head, his hand on my leg. When we finally left, he started in with his "the parallel universe does exist" comment, and we both cursed the mall for its resemblance to reality, and then he jokingly pushed me over the back of a couch in between mall kiosks, and suddenly we were fine again.

But later we also breached the subject of what we're going to do about it. I mean, I feel better having it out there as opposed to bottled up, but that doesn't mean we can keep talking about it whenever we're around each other - we'll drive ourselves crazy, not to mention that it wouldn't be fair to, well, any of us.

I told him he had to come up with a plan because I had nothing.

"Well... Can we go to Vegas?"

"As in, 'whatever happens in'?" I laughed. "Sure."

I was in my car, about to go home, about to go out for dinner with Lui to talk about all our problems (maybe for another entry). "So that's the plan," he said. "We'll go to Vegas."

"And that'll fix everything? One weekend." Because, seriously? I doubt it.

"Only our Vegas can be Disneyland instead." He was referring to the trip we're taking after Christmas - I already have permission from Lui to go. And with that, he shut the door on me and walked up the driveway.

Suddenly, I knew how he felt the other night in the hotel. I rolled down my window and called after him, "Not fair!"

Twenty-two hours later (but who's counting?), I still haven't heard from him.