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"  Listen, I know global warming is a very serious issue and action must be taken to conserve the Earth&amp;#039;s natural resources. But it&amp;#039;s hard to hate on it when it&amp;#039;s 60 degrees in the dead of winter. Sorry I&amp;#039;m not sorry. Justin came up with a really cute idea to take advantage of this warm front: Taco Wednesdays on his roof deck.  &amp;quot;Isn&amp;#039;t it usually taco Tuesdays?&amp;quot; I asked.  &amp;quot;Josie, don&amp;#039;t question it,&amp;quot; he told me. &amp;quot;Just bring guacamole.&amp;quot;  A few hours later I knocked on his door, Tupperware container of homemade guacamole (the secret is lots of lemon) in hand.   &amp;quot;Hola!&amp;quot; Justin&amp;#039;s roommate, Rick, opened the door wearing a massive sombrero.  &amp;quot;Gracias for having me,&amp;quot; I said.  Rick took off the sombrero and plunked it on my head.  &amp;quot;Aw,&amp;quot; Justin said when I walked into the kitchen, peering out from underneath the brim like a little kid whose mom had pulled her winter hat too far down her face. I placed the guacamole on the counter and removed the sombrero.  &amp;quot;What do you need me to do?&amp;quot;  Justin put me to work assembling a party platter of chips, sour cream, salsa, and guacamole. Together, we carried the food up to his roof deck. Now, when I say &amp;quot;roof deck,&amp;quot; I don&amp;#039;t want you to get the wrong idea. This is no fancy-schmancy roof-deck like the one at The Gansevoort Hotel where the peeps from Bravo&amp;#039;s Miami Social (RIP) used to meet every week. This roof-deck is all but a floor, a table, an odd assortment of chairs, and a moldy couch that I suspect is the original source of the bed bug epidemic in New York. However, Justin and Rick had given the chairs and the table a good scrub earlier, and covered them with plastic tablecloths. A random selection of candles completed the ambiance.  There were seven of us at dinner. In addition to Justin and me, it was Nina, Rick, Rick&amp;#039;s girlfriend, Amy, and two of her friends. I did invite Ashley (and Luke), but she wasn&amp;#039;t able to make it. According to Nina, she wasn&amp;#039;t just feeding me a line either\u2014she&amp;#039;d been burning the midnight oil at work for the last few weeks.  As we stuffed ourselves with tacos, burritos, and buracos (a burrito wrapped around a taco\u2026God, I&amp;#039;m clever!), I noticed that Nina was being awfully giggly around one of Amy&amp;#039;s friends, Jeremy. Nothing like a buraco to bring people together. I was so engrossed by the two of them that I almost missed a very important exchange between Rick and Justin.  &amp;quot;Your girlfriend makes baller guacamole,&amp;quot; Rick said to Justin.  Before I could even make a squee noise in my head, Justin shot back, &amp;quot;Dude, she&amp;#039;s not my girlfriend.&amp;quot;  He said it quietly, and it was only directed at Rick, so no one else heard the comment. Even though we&amp;#039;d had this discussion before, I couldn&amp;#039;t help but feel a little bit hurt that he&amp;#039;d responded so quickly and so vehemently. I also felt confused\u2014I wasn&amp;#039;t necessarily ready to slap a hard and fast label on this either, so why did Justin&amp;#039;s response sting so much?  Later, after we&amp;#039;d cleared the table (and after Nina and Jeremy had exchanged numbers, go Ninsss) and were getting ready for bed, I resolved to say something to Justin about what I&amp;#039;d overheard. I was trying to come up with a non-accusatory way to approach the conversation when I realized Justin was out of toothpaste. I looked in his medicine closet but couldn&amp;#039;t find another tube.  &amp;quot;Justin!&amp;quot; I called.  &amp;quot;Yeah?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re out of toothpaste!&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;We keep stuff like that in the pantry in the kitchen!&amp;quot;  I padded out of the bathroom and into their tiny kitchen. I opened the pantry doors and scanned the shelves. The top one was lined with toilet paper, paper towels, etc., so I figured if it was anywhere, it had to be there. I stood on my tiptoes and pushed the economy-sized pack of TP aside, and without warning, a stack of envelopes fell on my head. I yelped. It didn&amp;#039;t hurt\u2014I was just surprised.  &amp;quot;You okay?&amp;quot; Justin called.  &amp;quot;Yeah,&amp;quot; I called back. But I wasn&amp;#039;t. Because as I bent down to collect the papers, I noticed a letter from Sloan Kettering, the hospital where Justin was treated for cancer. I know I shouldn&amp;#039;t have, but I couldn&amp;#039;t help it as my eyes scanned over the bold dark font that stated that Justin&amp;#039;s most recent scans had come back abnormal, and to schedule a follow up CAT scan immediately. I looked at the date on the upper right hand corner: Jan. 29, two days ago.  &amp;quot;Did you find it?&amp;quot; Justin&amp;#039;s voice made me jump. I quickly gathered up his mail and returned it to the top shelf. I pushed a few things aside until I spotted toothpaste.  &amp;quot;Found it!&amp;quot; I called back.  I shut the pantry doors and quickly brushed my teeth. There was no way I was going to bring up Justin&amp;#039;s comment about me not being his girlfriend now. It seemed like such a ridiculous issue now that I&amp;#039;d seen that letter.  I&amp;#039;m racked with anxiety\u2014what if Justin is sick again? I&amp;#039;m tempted to let him know I read the letter and to ask him if he&amp;#039;s okay, but I don&amp;#039;t want to put him on the spot or make him talk about something he clearly doesn&amp;#039;t want to talk about. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a11563/j-bedroom-blog-abnormal-behavior/>