marcus.

Today Marcus officially gets the boot from our country. Lovely. If you know anything about Marcus and me, you know we've had our ups and downs. And ups and downs.
And ups. And downs.

I was so relieved to find a fellow movie talker when I went on my first office expedition to see SpiderMan 2 on opening day last summer. He also gave me all of the geek knowledge I lacked.

The first and only time we went to Jack Quinn's for a drink was also the first time we had an actual conversation, I think. That was back when my job was bo-ring. We compared notes on members of the opposite sex (the Celery Stick and L) and decided relationships (quasi- or otherwise) were lame.

Then there were many ventures to the record store or the coffee cart for the afternoon caffeine fix. Random Saturday nights at WonderBar, Scotty Quixx, Guadalajara. Lunches at Hell's Kitchen or noodles. British comedy. Random email conversations. Trips to Best Buy, even when particularly large electronic purchases did not fit in my compact sedan. Rebounding. The most uncomfortable, and yet liberating, return flight of my life. More WonderBar, British comedy and general debauchery.

Unless you want to lose an arm, don't try to take away Marcus' coffee, nicotine, 7 or DVD player.

Last night it was a reunion of all the old folks, with one or two newer ones thrown in, as we all said "see you later" to Marcus. Pictures to come later, when they've been approved by certain married straight men. And once Breadhouse has Photoshop'd me into looking more pretty and less inebriated. It was a night fitting of Marcus, I think, with much whiskey consumed and nerd-burglaring accomplished.

As fun as it was, though, I was glad to have some time with him alone (though still drunk) on Monday, with my three boys Tuesday and early last night(although for it to really be like old times we should've had Hard Hat there) and will be honored to have the last goodbye this afternoon.

We will start your personal Seagram's 7 delivery service soon, I promise, M.