Thanks to Pete for proving me wrong and finding that Oingo Boingo tune on Audiogalaxy for me.

Last Exit's show this weekend was cancelled. Apparently the drummer forgot he has to be in a school play that night. I'm actually cool with this because it has lightened my load considerably, which is a good thing, considering I was at the breaking point.

I'm 29. How 'bout that? Last Friday my sister's class threw me a birthday party. It was so sweet. They made me a card, which I'd scan in if I hadn't left it downstairs, but I don't feel like going to get it, so you'll just have to trust me when I say it was cute. The actual birthday was pretty uneventful, which is just how I wanted it. I actually got to sleep and laze around all day, then Tess came over that night and we had a Season 4 Spike-a-thon. Now she's all caught up on the chip saga.

Speaking of Spike, James Marsters was on Politically Incorrect last night. Hee! My boyfriend's opinionated, ain't he? He's so cute when he gets all fired up. Yup, I'm all about the James love. So what else is new?

The conclusion of DL3.3 is going just as fast as it possibly can, but it still seems to be taking forever. Only 3 scenes to go, but one of them is a big climactic fight and I'm not sure how adjrun and I are going to split that up, or even if it can be split up. But once the fight's done, the fic's done. Thank God. I'm so ready to move on to other things.

Like this, for instance. Here are some more (extremely) rough cuts from the Fic With No Name. I haven't even put in dialogue attribution yet, but I'm betting it'll be obvious enough who's who on most of the lines.:

She flipped through his CDs. Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Ramones, The Clash, more Ramones ...

"God!" she said, setting them back down in disgust. "What the hell ever made you think we'd be compatible?"

Spike laughed. "Believe me, pet, if there's one thing makes me doubt you're the girl for me, it's your taste in music."

...

"We don't have to listen to anything, y'know. We could always talk."

"Hey! How 'bout those Sex Pistols?"

"Why don't you want to talk?"

"Because I don't want to talk about ... what you want to talk about."

"I just mean a ruddy conversation. About anything you want. Doesn't have to be about us."

"Just a conversation?"

"Yeah. Like we were beginning to have not 30 seconds ago."

"Okay, fine."

"Fine."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"You pick."

"I don't know. You go first."

"Bloody hell, Slayer! Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Make everything about a billion times more complicated than it has to be!"

"I thought we weren't gonna talk about us!"

"I'm not talking 'bout us, pet. I'm talking about you."

"I don't want to talk about me," she said. "I'd rather talk about you."

"Right. Fine. What about me?"

"How many people do you suppose you've killed?"

"What?"

"I mean, I figure one person a day from the time you got vamped until you got your chip is a pretty conservative estimate, but even then that's like ... a whole lotta people."

"Forty-three thousand, give or take. And you're right. It's a lot more than that. Your point?"

"No point. Just ... thousands of people dead. Because of you. Sometimes I forget that."

"Yeah. 'Course, since meeting you I've helped avert two apocalypses. Not to mention all the demons I've killed since I got chipped, and last summer playing superhero with the Justice League. So that's billions of lives saved thanks to yours truly. Kinda balances out, don't it?"

Buffy shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."

"No. Because that would be too simple. So, how does it work? Please. Enlighten me."

She sighed. "Are you sorry for the people you killed?"

"Will my being sorry bring them back?"

"No."

"Right. Sorry's a waste of time."

"No it's not!" She sighed. "You just don't get it, and I can't explain it to you. But the only reason you're not still killing people is the chip. If it stopped working tomorrow ..."

"What?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't. But I guess I don't need to, 'cause you're bloody well certain enough for both of us."

"Look, I don't believe you'd turn on us. You've got that much decency. But are you telling me you wouldn't sink your fangs into the first non-friend-of-Buffy human you see?"

"No. I'm telling you that I don't know what I'd do." He sighed. "I tried it, once."

"What? When?"

"When I found out I could hit you, without any pain. I thought the chip quit working. So I hunted."

"You're not exactly disproving my point, here."

"I found this girl. Young. Tender. Alone and scared. I could smell the fear coming off of her from clear across the street. God, it was delicious. So, I cornered her, and tried to bite her. That's how I found out the chip was fine."

"Why are you telling me this?

"Because I didn't bite her."

"Because of the chip."

"Right, yes. But also because as much as I wanted to, I also didn't want to."

"Huh?"

"I had to talk myself into it. Had to remind myself that I'm evil and this was what I was made for. And all the while I kept wondering what her family would do when she didn't come home. How they'd feel when the police found her body. If they'd hurt as much as I did when you --" He glanced at her and cleared his throat.

"But you still tried to bite her," she said quietly.

"Yeah. But aside from the rush, there was no joy in it. Not like there used to be. And I still don't know if ... if I'd've drained her dry or stopped before I did any real harm." He glanced at her, and gave her a rueful smile. "So honestly? Chip stopped working? I haven't a clue what I'd do."

"I hope we never have to find out," Buffy said. "For both our sakes."

"Yeah. Me too. So. Your turn."

"What?"

"I just shared something personal. Now it's your turn. Spill."

"What is this, truth or dare?"

He smiled slyly. "It could be."

"In that case, I'll take the dare."

"Right then. Next car we pass, show 'em your bum."