Every Day's a Holiday I: Summer - Scribe

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Notes: Hand on Bible, I swear that I am not making any of these holidays up. You can check this out at this site. For those of you who have never seen chattery teeth.

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June 1, Tuesday

When Jim came into the Bullpen Blair was perched on the edge of Megan's desk. They both had their heads bent over a snapshot and Blair was saying, "So, this is the new love of your life, eh? Damn, he's cute, Megan."

This took Jim aback. He knew Blair was bi--his ride-along partner had never made a secret of the fact--but Sandburg was usually pretty discrete during working hours. The thought that he might be openly ogling a picture of Megan's new boyfriend was, to say the least, startling.

Megan was saying, "How could I resist him? There he was, staring at me through the bars..."

Bars? Jim thought. No, Conner would have better sense than to fall for a perp--wouldn't she?

"...with those big eyes. He was black, he was beautiful, he had that long, silky hair..." she shrugged, "and he was already neutered and housetrained."

Jim blinked rapidly. He was over at the desk in two strides, plucking the snapshot from Blair's hands, and staring at it. A half-grown black cat stared back at him. He felt a stab of relief. He knew that some of the more entrenched officers had a hard time dealing with a strong, assertive woman, and Megan had been called a 'ball breaker' more than once. Jim didn't believe it, but that last bit of conversation had given him a turn. He handed it back. "A cat? Isn't that a little stereotypically single female?"

"I didn't plan on it," she admitted. "I'd just dropped by the SPCA to talk to a mate, and she started talking to me about how June was Adopt-a-Shelter-Cat Month. The next thing I knew I was trying to decide between Licorice, here, and a ginger tabby."

Jim shook his head. "Now I've heard everything. They'll promote anything, won't they?"

Blair frowned at him. "Are you saying that adopting shelter cats isn't a noble and worthwhile cause?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Saving some of the innocent creatures who wouldn't even be here if people had paid attention to Spay and Neuter Month in February?"

Jim blinked. "How do you know about that?"

"The Internet is a wonderful thing. Try it sometime."

"But why would you even want to know something like that?"

"I was researching holidays. I got curious as to how many different holidays there are."

Jim started ticking off on his fingers. "There are the biggies like New Year's, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Christmas, Easter..."

ahem "Do I detect a certain religious slant?"

"Hanukah and Passover. Gimme a minute, will you? Then you have the less big, like Mother's and Father's Day, Valentine's Day, Labor and Memorial."

There was a moment of silence. Blair made a please continue motion. "And?"

Jim frowned. "And? After that you get into the more specialized ones--Arbor Day or St. Patrick's Day, Martin Luther King's Birthday... But if you're going to try to include President's Day, forget it. I was raised when we still celebrated Washington and Lincoln's birthday separately, instead of just going for a long weekend."

"And?"

Now Jim was becoming a little irritated. He didn't notice Megan suddenly starting to shuffle papers in an effort to hide her amused expression. It was clear to the Aussie that Sandburg was in 'get Ellison' mode, and she didn't want to hinder whatever he had planned. "And what? I suppose there are a few more, but there can't be that many."

"Au contraire, mon frere. As long as you don't consider just national or religious holidays, but include any day that has been 'officially' designated to recognize or celebrate something, the list is damn near endless. Why, I could celebrate something different every day of the week for months on end."

"Right."

"Do I hear doubt?"

"You hear disbelief. Do you mean celebrate on the days specified?"

"Of course. What would be the point otherwise?"

"Then I figure you might be able to manage two or three weeks where you'd have something going most of the days, but that's all."

"I say I could do it for at least..." he glanced at Megan. "Name a fair figure."

She thought for a moment. "Why not make it one season? Summer, since this is the first of June. June, July, and August would make one full season."

"I could do that." Blair turned challenging eyes on Jim.

"Why are we arguing about this?" Jim asked.

"Can I, or can I not, do that?"

"All right, if you're going to make me say it, I don't believe you can. I'm sure you think you can, but you get wound up in your enthusiasms, and..." Blair was grinning at him. "Wait a minute." He shook his head "No. Oh, no. You wouldn't dare."

Blair's hand shot up, one finger aloft, as if making a point. "I accept the dare!"

"I did not dare you!" Jim turned pleading eyes on Megan. "You're my witness. I did not say 'I dare you'--I said 'you wouldn't dare.'"

"Jim," Megan said judiciously, "I'm afraid that statement could, in fact, be interpreted as a dare in itself, rather than as a simple declaration."

"It wasn't either--it was a warning. Megan, back me up, here. You know what's going to happen if he tries to go through with this cockamamie project."

Megan nodded. "You'll be driven out of your mind. I wondered what I was going to do for entertainment this summer."

Jim was feeling a little stunned when he felt Blair poking his shoulder. "You already know that this is Adopt-a-Shelter-Cat Month, right? Know what June 1st is specifically?" Jim shook his head numbly. Blair's smile was angelic. "Dare Day."

June 2, Wednesday

Megan, Jim, and Rafe were in the break room. Rafe was peering sadly at an empty donut box. "Nothing but crumbs. I say that Vice is sneaking up here and raiding us."

"Damn them," said Megan vehemently. "I'm in desperate need of something sweet right now. If I find out for sure who took the last chocolate donut, I'm going to be up on charges. Speaking of wanting to kill a co-worker, how are things going with Blair, Jim?"

Rafe looked around, interested. "Yeah, Megan told me about that. What did he do for today?"

"Nothing. He hasn't even mentioned a holiday," said Jim smugly. As they walked back into the Bullpen he said, "I think he's forgotten about it."

"Wanna bet?" Rafe pointed at Jim's desk.

He'd left it pristine--all paperwork put away, all office supplies neatly aligned,--but now there was a small white box, wrapped in a shiny red ribbon, nestling in the exact center of the desk.

They all went and stood around it. Staring at the box, Jim said, "I'm almost afraid to open it."

"If you don't, I will," said Megan. "I've found that curiosity is a trait Licorice and I share." Jim unwrapped the box, then opened it. "Chocolate!" Speaking about sharing, Ellison..."

"Sure," snatch grab stuff chew swallow "...go ahead. Damn, you people are fast."

"It's chocolate, Jim," Megan said between bites.

Rafe looked at the chunk he was eating. "Actually, it's chocolate, marshmallows, and peanuts."

Jim thought. "S'mores?"

"Philistine," Megan scoffed. "S'mores are chocolate, graham crackers, and toasted marshmallows. This is..."

Blair came in from the hall. "Rocky Road. Happy Rocky Road Day, everybody."

Rafe took another bite of candy. "Megan told us about that 'every day's a holiday' thing Jim put you up to."

Jim grit his teeth. "I did not put him up to it!"

"Oh, c'mon, Ellison. Maybe you didn't come right out and say 'Sandburg, I want you to attempt to drive me crazy by celebrating some obscure holiday every day for the next three months', but we all know how you two goad each other on."

Jim and Blair, almost in sync, each laid a hand flat on his chest, then chorused, "Me?"

"I could care less who started it," said Megan, taking another piece of candy. "I get chocolate out of it. Though I would have expected ice cream for this day."

"Ah, that would have been too easy," Blair smirked. "But if you want ice cream--wait."

June 3, Thursday

Jim stared at the white and red ribbon wrapped box sitting on his desk. He opened the box, lifted out a bumpy chunk of candy, then glanced at Megan. "Deja vu."

"It's not anything weird, Jim--it's just candy. Hand it over." He passed her the box, and she started rummaging in it.

"I don't understand it, though. He's supposed to be shooting for a different holiday each day." He glanced at Blair, who was sitting at his desk, hands folded over his belly as he watched his friends. "I thought yesterday was Rocky Road Day."

Blair nodded. "I thought yesterday was Rocky Road Day."

Jim frowned. "That's what I just said."

Blair frowned. "That's what I just said."

The frown deepened. "Oh, no you're not."

Mirrored expression. "Oh, no you're not."

Jim looked at Megan. "I'm going to have to kill him."

"I'm going to have to kill him."

Megan smirked. "No, you're not. He hinted that ice cream was coming up later on."

Jim looked at Blair expectantly. Blair smiled. "You didn't copy her."

Blair shook his head. "You didn't copy her."

"Aargh!"

"Aargh!"

Simon came out of his office. "Why are my detective and his tag-along yelling?"

Jim pointed at Blair. "He's repeating everything I say!"

Blair was scribbling on a piece of paper. "He's repeating everything I say."

Simon sighed heavily. "You know, I thought I was going to avoid this sort of thing by having only one child. Just ignore him, Ellison."

"That's easy for you to say," Jim growled.

"That's easy for you to say," Blair chimed in cheerfully.

"See?"

"See?" Blair held up the piece of paper. It read REPEAT DAY.

Jim covered his eyes, groaning, as Megan burst out laughing. Simon shook his head. "So help me, Ellison, if I hear 'he's looking at me!' or 'he's touching me!'..."

June 4, Friday

Simon came out of his office to find Jim watching Megan chase Blair around the Bullpen. Blair was babbling, "Look, Megan--H. is married, and Jim, Joel, and Simon have been married, so they were out."

Megan didn't seem to be in the mood to listen. "You're dead, Sandy!" Even in the confines of the Bullpen, Blair was difficult to catch (he was a fast, slippery little booger), so she was pelting him with what looked like cards as she chased him.

"And Rafe and I don't qualify as maidens. You're the only single woman on the squad, so you were the natural target... oops. Focus! Natural focus."

Megan yelled something that would have given the FCC palpitations. Jim looked at Simon. "I love listening to an Aussie swear. They're so enthusiastic."

"It's bad enough I have to listen to my Mum about this," Megan snarled, managing to nail a dodging Sandburg in the forehead with a card that she skimmed with all the skill of a ninja throwing a spiked star. "Now I have you on my back, too? What next? Gonna start asking about grandkids?"

Simon looked at Jim. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Jim was looking very pleased. "It seems that I'm not the only one who's going to be driven crazy. This time Megan had the gift on her desk." Jim showed Simon a small, brightly colored cardboard box. Scrawled across the picture of a prim little old lady were the words Happy Old Maid Day.

June 5, 6, and 7, The Weekend, and Monday

That Monday everyone in the Bullpen knew about Blair's project, and there was a lot of speculation as to what Jim had endured over the weekend. Consequently, a hush fell over the room when Jim came in. He ignored them, taking his time removing and hanging up his cap, then beginning to check the previous day's paperwork. Finally Jim sat back and said, "Well, who's going to ask?"

Rafe raised his hand. "I'll bite. What happened Saturday?"

"I awoke and went downstairs to find most of the loft papered with sheets from The National Enquirer, The Star, and The World Weekly News. I had my choice of stories about Sasquatch, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Incredible Bat Boy. There were diets that would let me eat jelly donuts and lose twenty pounds a week..."

Megan spoke up. "I want a copy of that."

"There were also a lot of printed out emails. Some from a guy in Nigeria who wanted me to help him get his hands on several hundred million dollars that had been stolen by a corrupt government. Others offered me a free copy of a red velvet cake recipe that a famous restaurant charged a woman $250.00 for when she thought it was $2.50, so now she's getting revenge by distributing it. Oh, and for every email address I send him to check an email tracker, Bill Gates will send me $1,000.00."

Joel, amused, said, "And this was to celebrate?"

"Festival Of Popular Delusions Day. It was rather irritating. Tabloids are good for only one thing, and we already had plenty of toilet paper. Compared to that, Sunday... Sunday was just as irritating, but for a different reason." Everyone made 'go on' gestures. "Well, it seems that the 6th has two designated days--one of them being National Applesauce Cake Day."

Henri perked up. "I love applesauce cake!"

"So do I. And since the second holiday is Teacher's Day, and Blair is technically a teacher, I got to sit there and watch him eat it. I'm hoping for something better today, though, since it's National Chocolate Ice Cream Day."

"Yes!" Megan pumped her fist in triumph. "What do you think? Fudgecicles, or soft serve? And he'd better have enough for the entire Bullpen."

It was debated the rest of the morning. When Blair arrived that afternoon, he looked up from depositing his backpack to find himself surrounded by colleagues. Even Simon had come to the door of his office. "Am I about to be informed of my rights?"

"You have the right to share," said Rafe.

Joel poked at the backpack. "You have the right to tell us how you've managed to bring chocolate ice cream in that, without dry ice."

Blair snapped his fingers. "That's right--Chocolate Ice Cream Day!"

Megan looked at Jim. "Isn't he cute when he tries to act all oblivious?"

"Sure, you can all share in the celebratory refreshment." Blair rummaged in his bag. He came up with a pack of gum, opened it, and began distributing sticks.

In moments the squad was staring at thin, flat strips, which were wrapped in garish paper. Henri said, "May I just be the first to say 'what the fuck?'"

Megan shook her head. "Chocolate ice cream, Sandy."

Blair unwrapped a stick and popped it in his mouth, starting to chew. "Read the wrapper."

Joel read. "Ye Olde Soda Shoppe Confections. Double Dutch Chocolate Ice Cream Gum."

Rafe dropped his stick on the desk. "Oh, that is just so wrong on so many different levels."

Blair pointed to it. "Aren't you going to at least try it?"

"I'm a firm believer that nothing should have the words 'ice cream' associated with it unless it's actually cold."

Megan sighed. "Well, normally I'd agree--but I could really use a chocolate fix right now, and the last of the rocky road is gone." She put the gum in her mouth, chewed for a few seconds, then spat it (none-to-daintily) into a wastebasket. "I need the name and address of that company. There has to be something we can charge them with."

Later that day Simon took Jim aside. "Are you planning to give a party any time soon?"

That was a little out of left field. "I hadn't planned on it--no. Why do you ask?"

"I thought maybe you were, and you'd enlisted Blair to help you figure out what supplies you needed. He just asked me what my favorite drink is. I thought he was making up a list of the booze you were going to need."

"No. But he's obviously up to something, so perhaps laying in a supply of alcohol to help deal with it isn't an entirely bad idea."

June 8, Tuesday

"Bloody hell."

Jim glanced over to Megan, who was staring at her computer. "What is it?"

Megan was smiling. "Sandy, the wily little bugger. I wondered why he was asking me what I liked to drink yesterday. I told him Guinness."

"You too? He asked Simon... Come to think of it, he asked me, too."

"And I know he asked Rafe and Joel, so I'm going to assume he got Henri, too."

"What caused the sudden outburst?"

"Have you checked your email yet?"

"Not yet."

"Do it, and see what you find."

Jim opened his email account. He sighed. "That spam filter doesn't work all that well. Here's yet another ad for Viagra, and one from something called Here's To Ya!"

"Open that."

"Are you kidding? It's pretty big. It could be a virus."

"Trust me."

"If we have to have techs in I'm telling Simon you made me do it." Jim opened the email. He blinked. Before him was a picture of a glass mug of beer. It was lightly frosted around the top, with beads of condensation just starting. The liquid was pale gold, and there was a bare skim of foam, with a few bubbles trickling artistically down the side.

Underneath it he read--

When man first made beer,
he pulled out the stops.
God bless the grain,
And God bless the hops.
It can just quench your thirst,
Or give you a buzz.
It satisfies
Like nothing else does.
Man must believe in something,
That much is quite clear.
Saying that, I believe
I'll have another beer!

Hope you enjoy this Virtual Drink.
Happy Name Your Poison Day, Jim

Jim found that he was smiling, and Megan said, "Penny for 'em."

"I'm just wishing that Blair had done this in Vice, too."

"Why would we wish anything nice on them?"

"Because Wannamaker, in a fit of temporary insanity, once admitted to me that his favorite drink is a Pink Squirrel."

June 9, Wednesday

The men's room on Major Crimes' floor was avoided most of the day. No one could bring themself to pluck the tiny, floating plastic bath toys out of the toilets and urinals, and not even the crustiest among them could bring himself to defile a childhood icon. Jim told Blair that if Disney ever found out, they'd probably sue--Donald Duck Day, or no Donald Duck Day.

June 10, Thursday

whir smack whir smack

Jim: "Blair..."

whir smack whir smack

Jim: "You've been doing that for an hour."

Blair: "No more than twenty minutes, man." whir smack "I dunno what the official record is..." whir smack "but it's damn sure longer than this. Hours..." whir smack "Maybe days." whir smack

Jim: "I will kill you if you go on that long. I'll strangle you with the very cord currently wrapped around your finger."

Blair: whir smack "I know you don't mean it yet--you aren't twitching. Look--front pass." whir whoosh whir smack

Jim: "Watch that thing! If you knock holes in any walls..."

Blair: "Hello, brick? I'm not the friggin' Hulk, so you don't have to worry about your walls being damaged. Here's a hang." whiiiiiiiiiiir smack "Walkin' the Dog." whir bump bump bump whir smack "Around the World." whir swish smack "Kinda quiet there, Jim."

Jim: "You could have at least gotten me one, too." toss catch "Hey! A Duncan Butterfly!" tie whirr whirr smack smack "You know, I bet if we practiced, we could do synchronized yo-yoing."

Blair: "Happy Yo-yo Day, Big Guy."

June 11, Friday

Sunday Jim came down the stairs in his boxers, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Okay, Blair, let's get this out of the way. What are you going to ambush me with... Oof!"

A solid, wiry body was suddenly plastered against him from behind. Sturdy arms locked around him and squeezed, and he felt both beard stubble and silky hair on his bare back. Blair chirped, "Happy National Hug Holiday!" He squeezed again, then let go and stepped back.

Jim found that he was near hyperventilating, but he managed to keep his voice calm, and hoped that the blush he could feel rising wasn't visible from behind. "You're kidding."

"Hey, it was either this, or King Kamehameha Day. I know you hate pineapple, and I didn't feel like wearing a grass skirt. A kilt, maybe, but not a hula skirt. I'll get breakfast."

Blair disappeared into the kitchen; leaving Jim to ponder the thought of Blair barelegged in a kilt. When he got to contemplating what the Scotsmen usually wore beneath a kilt--or didn't wear--he hurried upstairs to put on a few more layers of clothing.

June 12, Saturday

If everyone has been required to come in to work on a Saturday, one doesn't expect the mood to be generally cheerful. The sounds of hilarity coming from the Bullpen, then, were welcome, but puzzling. Simon, trying hard to look stern, stalked out of his office, only to find the Bullpen full of detectives who were howling with laughter. There was also a rather loud, rackety sound that seemed to come from each desk. He raised his voice over it. "Can someone explain this to me?"

Blair spoke up. "Well, today is Machine Day, and I knew I'd get my ass in trouble if I messed with computers, typewriters, faxes, copiers, or phones, so I had to bring in my own machines. My budget doesn't allow for much, but I have a friend who works in a novelties warehouse, and I figured that since they have moving parts, chattery teeth could be considered machines..."

June 13, Sunday

"Sandburg, I'm telling you that it doesn't count as juggling if you're only using two balls."

"Shut up, I'm concentrating."

"You have to use at least three, or you're just playing with a couple of balls." Immediate blush as Jim realizes how that could sound.

"Hey, it sounds like fun to me. Anyway, today is also Kitchen Klutzes of America Day. Imagine what I could do in your kitchen." Silence. "I thought so. Happy National Juggling Day, Jim."

June 14, Monday

"Blair, why is there a Jack-in-the-Box sitting on my desk?"

"Crank it and find out."

"It isn't going to explode, is it? Or spray me?"

"No, but I need to make a note of that for future reference. Lessee... Booby-trapped Jack-in-the-Box, loaded with spray of really strong, cheap perfume."

"I'm warning everyone at the station." Pause. "Except Wannamaker. Here goes nothing."

Crank crank crank tinkle plunk chime plunk...

As the familiar tune was completed, the lid snapped up and the box disgorged a grinning clown head. Clamped in its teeth was a note reading HAPPY POP GOES THE WEASEL DAY. While Jim stared at it, Blair clapped him on the shoulder. "It could have been worse. I could have sneaked your cell phone and programmed it to ring with that tune, then changed the password." Jim stared at him. "But I wanted to live."

June 15, Tuesday

Simon: "Why the hell is the Bullpen practically papered with Smiley faces?"

Jim: "Because it's Smile Power Day."

Simon: "Where's Blair? I need to have a serious talk with him."

Jim: "You're too late. He split three seconds after he slapped on the last strip of tape. He said not to bother to thank him for the sweet nostalgia burst from the seventies." Simon covered his eyes. "I talked him out of the continuous loop of 'Don't Worry--Be Happy' on the PA system"

June 16, Wednesday

Jim peered at the sign-up sheet on the downstairs bulletin board. "Hollering Contest?"

Blair nodded. "National Hollering Contest Day, June 16th. I parked that there yesterday. Looks like we have quite a sign-up already."

"You'll get us all fired."

"I'm holding it after shift, down in the garage. Imagine the echoes. And I already have Simon's permission. There's his signature, right there."

"I'll be damned. How can you judge something like this?"

"I believe it's usually done by crowd approval, but that wouldn't work here, so I borrowed something from the media department at Rainier that measures decibels."

"Megan has signed up, and so have Rafe and Joel. Henri hasn't."

"That reminds me." Blair took the pen hanging next to the sign-up sheet and scratched a name on the paper. "He asked me to sign for him, since he can't get downstairs till the contest."

"I don't believe they're willing to humiliate themselves like that."

"You haven't read the grand prize, have you?"

Jim read. He picked up the pen and signed his name, then walked away silently. "That's it--conserve your voice." Blair chuckled. "It's amazing what a bunch of police will do for a box of donuts."

June 17, Thursday

Jim stared at Blair for a minute, then sighed. "All right. I wasn't going to ask, but it's eating away at me. What's up with the Richard Nixon mask?"

"Happy Watergate Day."

"Oh, for crying out..."

"It was either this, or Eat Your Vegetables Day. You could have had me pressing spinach and beets on you all day."

"Happy Watergate Day, Tricky Dick."

June 18, Friday

"Heads up!"

Jim managed to catch the towel just before it wrapped around his face. "I guess I should be happy this isn't National Snap Your Roommate With a Wet Towel day. What's this for?"

"Heads up again."

Jim caught the book. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?"

"Have you read it?"

"Of course. Douglas Adams was a genius."

"I concur. So, towel... Guide..."

"National Babblefish Day?"

"Nope."

"Ravenous Bugblatter Day?"

"Uh-uh."

"Uh... Pangalactic Gargleblaster Day?"

"No, but that would be a good one. It's International Panic Day, but I figured that it would be better if we took the Guide's advice and..."

"Don't panic. You never cease to amaze me."

"I try."

June 19, Saturday

"Sandburg, I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"C'mon, Jim, it'll be fun if we can get them to ask. After all, everyone is a little pissed about having to come in the second Saturday in a row. And it isn't as if it's going to be a big effort for you."

"I said I couldn't believe I let you talk me into it--I didn't say I wasn't going to do it."

"Great. Remember--keep it at half speed. Here we go."

They entered the Bullpen and both went about their usual routine in a slow, almost lazy manner. Both were watched suspiciously by the other members of Major Crimes. They were all waiting for some indication of the day's celebration, but there were no unexpected items sitting on desks, and no noticeably bizarre actions.

Near the end of the shift Henri said, "Okay, I've been elected to ask. Blair, have you given up on your holiday thing?"

"Perish the thought," said Blair. "In fact, I roped Jim into joining me today."

"But you two haven't done anything," Megan protested.

"Have so," Jim said firmly. "We've been celebrating all day right in front of you. It isn't our fault if you didn't catch it and join us."

Rafe folded his arms. "National Breathing Day?"

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. In unison they got up and moved to the door at a leisurely pace. Blair opened the door and held it, bowing to Jim to precede him. Jim bowed in return, then passed out into the hall. Blair turned and bowed to the room. "Happy World Sauntering Day." He sauntered out, closing the door.

There was a moment of silence in the room. Megan looked at Rafe. "You know, they're kind of cute together."

June 20, Sunday

Jim: "Why is there club soda out on the counter?"

Blair: "Guess."

Jim: "Hm... You know, Sally used to use club soda to make her waffles. Those suckers practically floated off the plate."

Blair: "Sounds delicious, but you don't own an waffle iron, do you?"

Jim: "Somehow I missed that in 'kitchen essentials'. Pancakes?"

Blair: "National Pancake Day is September 26th. Or you can have National Pancake Week, the last week in February."

Jim: "The only other recipes I can think of with club soda are cocktails, and I'm not drinking alcohol for breakfast. I've never even done that 'hair of the dog that bit you' thing after I've gotten drunk, and..."

Blair: "Will you chill? It isn't for a cocktail."

Jim: "Then what?"

Blair takes a bottle of chocolate syrup out of the fridge, and a carton of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer.

Blair: "It's Ice Cream Soda Day."

Jim: "Ice cream at this time of the morning?"

Blair: "Channeling William, are you?"

Jim: pause "You know, a little shot of vanilla extract really improves these things..."

June 21, Monday

Blair was sitting on the couch, watching The Weather Channel when Jim came down. Jim went to stand behind him. "You usually find out about the weather by sticking your head out the window. What gives?"

"Sh," Blair said. "He's about to give the extended forecast."

"How extended?"

"He's going to be giving the next two months an educated guess."

"And you need to know this why?"

"Sh."

The weathercaster was speaking, "...so the North-West coast up around Washington and Oregon can expect an even higher rainfall than usual this summer. Keep your umbrellas at the ready, Seattle and Cascade..."

"A-ha!" Blair punched PLAY on the tape player he was holding in his lap. cuckoo cuckoo He punched STOP. "There. Consider yourself warned." He got up and headed for the kitchen.

Jim followed him. "What the hell just happened?"

Blair was pouring juice. "We just celebrated Cuckoo Warning Day. Before you ask, if you hear a cuckoo on this day, it's going to be a wet summer"

Jim stared at him as he drank the juice. He went out into the living room and returned with the tape player. "Blair? I now have no doubt that you are..." He punched PLAY. cuckoo cuckoo He punched STOP and left the kitchen, followed by his Guide's laughter.

June 22, Tuesday

Tuesday was National Chocolate Éclair Day. Megan said, around a mouthful of pastry, that she might end up having to buy her jeans a size larger before the summer was out, but that she was considering asking Blair to marry her on Sadie Hawkins Day.

June 23, Wednesday

Blair: "It's Shrimp."

Jim: "No, it isn't."

Blair: "Coral?"

Jim: "No."

Blair: "Watermelon? Fuchsia? Flesh? Flush? Blush? No, no! Not blush. It's, uh, salmon! Yeah, salmon is a nice, manly color. Think of the virile salmon, swimming upstream to spawn." Blair hopefully holds out the shirt currently under discussion.

Jim: "I don't care what you call it, I'm not wearing that color to work, even if it is National Pink Day."

June 24, Thursday

Everyone in Major Crimes found a different present on their desk--a plastic dinosaur, an arrowhead, a postcard featuring a Toulouse Lautrec poster, a tiny crystal... Blair wasn't in till that afternoon, so there was a lot of speculation as to what sort of holiday this eclectic group of objects represented. Once again all attention was focused on Blair when he finally arrived.

He went right to the desk he'd been assigned, dropped his bag, and opened it. He pulled out a hat--the sort that might be worn by a uniformed officer--plopped it on his head, and turned to Megan, who was closest. She had the post card, and held it up expectantly. Blair pointed at the card, and began speaking. "This is a representation of a Toulouse Lautrec poster featuring Jane Avril--a famous Parisian cafe dancer before the turn of the century. The son of a French nobleman, Toulouse was the victim of a genetic bone condition that made him prone to fractures, and never grew taller than four feet, eleven inches tall. Always in frail health, his adulthood was marred by his physical handicaps and alcoholism, but he still became a great artist, creating an easily recognizable style, evoking in his own way a world of gaiety and humor. Born 1864, died 1901."

He bowed, and moved over to Rafe, who held up his plastic dinosaur. "This is a model of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The Rex is believed to be the largest meat eater to ever live. He was approximately thirty-seven feet long, and stood as tall as a giraffe. He had up to sixty teeth, some as long as your hand. Actually, as long as Jim's hand. Had men existed at that time, they would have slid down his gullet quite easily. They lived in the late Cretaceous period--about sixty-five to eighty-five million years ago, but they weren't officially named till 1905, when christened by Henry Fairfield Osborn."

"Son of a gun," said Rafe. "You really can learn something new every day."

Blair moved on to Henri, pointing at his crystal. "This is a quartz crystal. Quartz is one of the most abundant..."

Jim had come up behind him. He reached around and clapped a hand over his mouth. "The next words out of your mouth had better be an explanation of just what the heck all this is about, because I'm pretty sure there isn't a Talk Your Co-Workers To Death Day. Are you going to tell us?"

Blair nodded. Jim released him. "It's the only way I could figure to celebrate the Museum Comes to Life Day. Well, aside from showing up in costume--say a suit of armor--and disguises of any kind are generally not a good idea in a police station..."

June 25, Friday

Jim beamed. "Pancakes! I can't believe you got up early enough to cook pancakes on a weekday."

Blair said, "Well, I wasn't going to, but I decided that what I had planned wasn't enough."

"What did you have planned? I wonder if I should have honey on my cakes."

"No. And hang on a sec." Blair stepped around the corner, out of sight.

Jim lavished butter on his stack. "If we're out of honey, where's the syrup?"

"I said one sec." Blair stepped back into the kitchen. He was wearing an extremely fake beard that just hugged his chin and jaw line, and a black stovepipe hat made out of construction paper. He set a plastic bottle of syrup down before Jim. "Happy Log Cabin Day."

Jim stared at him, then finally said, "I'd prefer Mrs. Butterworth."

"Quit complaining, or the next time I fix you breakfast it will be to tear open a pack of granola bars."

"I don't deserve you, Sandburg."

"That can be taken two different ways, and I choose the positive one."

"Yeah--you chose right."

June 26, Saturday

Jim: "Okay, yesterday you threatened me with granola bars for breakfast. Now I'm being confronted with a pudding cup?"

Blair: "Happy National Chocolate Pudding Day."

Jim: Peel eat "Megan is going to be so pissed she missed this one."

June 27, Sunday

Blair: "Jim, have you read Dear Abby yet?"

Jim: "Hm? I don't think this paper has her--I think this one is Ann Landers. Anyway, you know I'm still working on the sports section."

Blair: "Oh. Did Howard Cosell ever write a sports column?"

Jim: "Probably. He was never shy about sharing his thoughts."

Quiet, save for the rustle of paper.

Blair: "You know what I miss? I can't find movie columns by, like, Rex Reed, or Pauline Kael anymore. All anyone wants to talk about is box office returns."

Jim: "M-hm."

Silence.

Blair: "Are they still running Dave Barry?"

Jim: Flips a few pages to check. "Yeah." Goes back to reading.

Blair: "We've lost a lot of good humor columnists. Lewis Grizzard, Erma Bombeck..."

Jim: "Blair?"

Blair: "Yes?"

Jim: "Happy National Columnists Day."

Blair: Silence "You checked the Internet, didn't you?"

Jim: "Uh-uh."

Blair: "You think you're hiding behind that paper. Well, I may not be a Sentinel, but I can sense that smug look, mister."

June 28, Monday

Henri stepped out of the Bullpen into the hall as Jim approached. He was shaking his head. "Okay, I thought that Sandburg was only eccentric, but I guess he's actually crazy."

"Not that I don't think you have reasons for that statement, but what makes you say so now?" Jim asked.

"You know, every place else in America they use handguns and rifles. Trust Cascade to be the first place to have someone come to work with an axe"

Jim didn't run into the Bullpen (he knew Blair wouldn't really be running amuck with an edged weapon--unless you counted his tongue. He could get pretty tart when he wanted to), but his steps were a little hurried as he entered the office.

Blair was, indeed, holding an axe--not a hatchet, but a great, honking, double-bit axe. He was wearing his usual jeans and flannel shirt, but he'd added a knit cap--with top pom-pom--pulled low on his forehead.

There was a small, stuffed, blue bull sitting near his booted feet. Jim pointed at it and said, "Please tell me that thing isn't named Babe."

"Since I couldn't grow several feet overnight, this was the best I could do. Happy Paul Bunyan Day."

June 29, Tuesday

"I don't care if it is Camera Day, Sandburg," Jim growled. "You keep that thing out of the men's room."

"Party pooper."

June 30, Wednesday

whish

The Nerf ball that flew past Jim's nose had jagged, red-and-yellow crepe paper streamers fluttering behind it. "Hyakutaki!" Blair said.

"Is that Japanese for 'duck'?" Jim asked. Blair shook his head. "Fore?"

Blair tossed another fluttering Nerf ball. "Shoemaker!"

"What? National Cobbler's Day? National Jockey Day? National Payless or Hushpuppies Day?"

"Maybe this is less obscure." Jim had to dodge another projectile. "Hale Bopp!"

Rafe, who had been watching the proceedings with a grin, perked up. "Oh! That's..."

Blair pointed at him. "Don't say it! He has to figure it out himself!"

"Hale Bopp?" Jim said. "Uh... Not the black actress who won an Oscar recently, huh?"

"I should nail you in the head with the last one for that," Blair scolded "If you don't get this one, I'm going to have to think up something really irritating to do to you." He tossed the ball, crying, "Halley!"

Jim's hand shot up, and he caught the ball. "I know! Rock and Roll Pioneer Day!" Blair groaned. "Bill Halley and His Comets, right?"

Blair groaned again. "Even making allowances for generational pop culture references..." He noticed Jim's grin. "You! You're teasing me!"

"I got it before Hale Bopp. Comet Day?"

"Well... Meteor Day, but I have to admit that the only thing I could think of that might approach a meteor shower would have been sparklers or fireworks, and given fire safety regulation..."

July 1, Thursday

Jim: "Why does Megan look like she's ready to either cry, or whip someone's ass?"

Joel: "Blair has ice cream in the break room."

Jim: "That doesn't make any sense. She loves ice cream."

Joel: "The green bits in the vanilla weren't gumdrops, like she thought. They were pickle chunks."

Jim: "Ew!"

Joel: "And the brown bits in the chocolate were not chocolate chips, but lentils."

Jim: "Good God! We're lucky she wasn't carrying her service revolver! What's gotten into him?"

Joel: "Apparently Creative Ice Cream Flavor Day."

Jim: "He lives dangerously."

Joel: "I'll say. Did he ask if he could borrow some of your clothes?"

Jim: "As a matter of fact, he did borrow my best turtleneck. I was wondering why, because it would swim on him."

Joel: "It's also Build A Scarecrow Day." Silence. "Jim?"

Jim: "He damn sure better stuff with newspaper instead of straw."

July 2, Friday

Blair: "The reason there is a dashboard icon on your desk is that I couldn't figure out any other way to celebrate Visitation Of The Virgin Mary Day without riding into work pregnant and on a donkey."

July 3, Saturday

Jim lay in bed, listening to Blair downstairs in the bathroom. He found that he did this occasionally. Usually all he heard was humming, or perhaps a little singing in a pleasant baritone voice. Today Blair seemed to be feeling talkative.

Blair: "Hey, Handsome. Lookin' good this morning. Hm." Scritch scritch "We can do with a shave today. Heh. Like that's a surprise." Psssst "So that's what I'll look like when I'm seventy, with a long, white beard." Scrape scrape "You're lookin' better than a razor ad, you stud, you."

"I don't believe this." Jim got up and went downstairs. The door to the bathroom was ajar, so he pushed it the rest of the way open. If Blair didn't remember to lock the door, then started talking to himself when he knew Jim would hear and be curious, he could damn well do without the privacy.

Jim found his roommate standing in front of the sink, staring into the mirror as he shaved the last patch of lather off his jaw. He glanced at Jim and said cheerfully, "Hey."

Blair was wearing nothing except a towel wrapped low around his hips. At least Jim assumed that was all he was wearing. The only way to be sure would have been to walk over and jerk the towel off to see if he had underwear or swim trunks underneath, but the small chance of that being true (and the fact that Blair was still holding a razor) sort of ruled that action out. "What are you doing?" Blair wiggled the blade, then rinsed it in the sink. "Yes, I can see that. You've shaved most mornings since you moved in here, and you haven't done a monologue. What gives? It's something having to do with the holidays, isn't it?"

"Clever boy." Blair bent and splashed water on his face, then shut off the tap and took a hand towel from the rack. As he patted his cheeks dry he said, "But what is the holiday?"

There was a sharp, coppery scent, and Jim said, "You cut yourself."

Surprised, Blair peered in the mirror. "No, I didn't."

"Who's the Sentinel here? I smell the blood."

Blair was dripping some aftershave in his hand. "Hey, I know you can scent blood. I'm just saying that maybe the steam, soap scent, etcetera.."

"I'm telling you that you broke skin, even if you can't see it, or feel it."

Blair had rubbed his palms together, and was patting his cheeks. His eyes suddenly flew open. "Yow!"

As he quickly splashed more water on his face Jim said, "Told ya so, Kevin. Since I was right about that I think it's only proper that you tell me what today is instead of making me guess."

"Do you know you have a high potential for being insufferable? It's Compliment Your Mirror Day." He stepped aside and gestured at the mirror. "Your turn."

Jim shrugged and leaned closer to the mirror. He studied his expression, then picked up a clean towel, and polished away a couple of water spots. "You're looking particularly shiny today. I don't think I've ever seen such a perfect reflection. Well done." He looked at Blair. "Don't forget--towels go in the hamper, not on the floor."

Jim walked out, but he grinned at the shout of, "Insufferable!" that followed him.

July 4, Sunday

"Bubba shot the jukebox last night..."

"I was borned a coal miner's dotter..."

"Hello, darlin'. Nice to see you. It's been a long time..."

"Crazy. Crazy for feelin' so lonely..."

"Don't tell my heart--my achey-breaky heart..."

"That's enough!"

"Aw, c'mon, Jim."

"I don't care if it is National Country Music Day! Plays something that doesn't twang."

"If you insist."

Thump thump thump

"Save a horse--ride a cowboy..."

"You're staring, Jim."

"That's country?"

"They did it on the CMA Awards show--right after Gretchen Wilson sang Redneck Woman." Jim looked skeptical. "I think at least one of the guys was wearing a cowboy hat."

"Oh, well, then..."

July 5, Monday

Blair: "What am I doing for today? I don't think it's necessary for me to do anything. You sort of naturally celebrate this holiday."

Jim: "If you say something like National Anal Retentive Day..."

Blair: "Workaholics Day."

Jim: "I can live with that."

July 6, Tuesday

The detectives of Major Crimes stared at the red-and-white striped cardboard bucket. Megan suggested National Fast Food Day. Rafe thought it might be Kentucky's admission into the United States anniversary. Joel told them to quit tap dancing around the obvious--National Fried Chicken Day. For that he claimed a breast and a drumstick, and two of the biscuits.

July 7, Wednesday

As they ate the ice cream concoctions Blair made to celebrate National Strawberry Sundae Day, Megan announced that she had forgiven him for the pickle ice cream. She still wasn't going to marry him, but if he kept up with the goodies, she'd let him father her first child some day.

July 8, Thursday

Simon confiscated the Gameboy on Video Games Day, but despite his acidic comments about time wasting, Jim confided to Blair that he heard suspicious bleeping and blooping noises coming from Banks' office later.

July 9, Friday

On National Sugar Cookie Day, over a plate of still warm, home baked, vanilla scented cookies, Rafe warned Megan that if Blair kept bringing these sorts of goodies he might have to reconsider his sexual orientation and take Blair away from her. He didn't notice the glare Jim gave him. Blair did.

July 10, Saturday

"A clever detective named Ellison, could put the fear of God in any felon While he was big and buff, it was his wit and super senses that did the stuff." Blair looked at Jim expectantly.

"If that was supposed to be a limerick, there weren't enough lines..." Jim said.

"And the rhyme scheme was wrong--I know. Captain Simon Banks, keeps order in the ranks. His patience must be inordinate, for him to deal with his subordinates."

"He'd agree with that."

"Megan Conner is a wonder, she's visiting the squad from Down Under. But if you're tempted to make a pass, remember she's trained to kick your..."

"I dare you to tell that one to her."

Blair stuck out his tongue. "She'll probably want a T-shirt with the saying on it. Figured out the holiday?"

"I know it's for some form of poetry, but I admit it escapes me."

"To your credit, it isn't as well known as, say, haiku. It's called a Clerihew, after the man who created it. It's a witty satiric verse containing two rhymed couplets and mentioning a famous person. Well, or just mentioning a person, in our case."

"Actually, that's pretty cool."

"I thought so."

They went back to what they had been doing before--watching television. At the next commercial, Jim shifted to half-face Blair. Blair raised his eyebrows questioningly. Jim said slowly, "Blair Sandburg can obfuscate, at a perfectly alarming rate. But I know that finesse lurks, beneath his many glaring quirks."

Blair stared at him. Jim had several seconds to regret his impulse--then Blair grinned. "Jim Ellison--master of the backhand compliment. Thanks, man. I like you, too."

The program came back on and they went back to watching television, but each now felt a small, private, inner glow of warmth.

July 11, Sunday

"What are we doing here, Chief?" They'd just parked before a low brick building. The sign in front of it said Crescent Managed Living. "An old folks home?"

"A managed living facility, Jim. Mostly old folks, yes, but some younger ones who can't quite live on their own." He opened the door, picking his guitar up from where it had rested on the floorboard. "I'm going to do a little entertaining--say ninety minutes, two hours--then we can go to dinner."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Come inside. My singing doesn't make your ears bleed, and you might find something to do."

Jim muttered under his breath, but followed Blair inside. He was a little surprised when Blair was greeted by the staff with obviously affectionate familiarity. They made their way to a recreation room. There were several elderly men and women sitting and watching television, but when Blair came through the door, the set was eagerly turned off. He greeted most of them by name, took a chair, and started off by obliging one blushing lady with lavender hair by singing I Gave My Love a Cherry.

Jim sat off to the side, watching as Blair sang, and charmed the residents between songs. The young man flirted shamelessly with the women, and listened with close attention to whatever the men wanted to talk about. A thin, reedy old gent, bald as an egg, sat beside Jim and looked at him. "You must be a good friend of the young feller."

Jim regarded him. "I'd like to think so."

The old guy nodded. "Must be. You're the only one he's ever brought by. He's gonna go on for some time. Wanna play checkers?"

"Sure."

The other man beamed, flashing an excellent pair of dentures. "Great! Nobody wants to play plain checkers these days--they all want chess or that fool Backgammon. The set's on the table over there."

They went and played checkers, several games. Jim learned that his checker partner was named Hiram, that he'd outlived two wives and two children, and that the two surviving kids (both in their fifties) never seemed to find the time to come visit. "Too busy livin', they think. Hah. Got news for them--if they don't drop dead from a stroke or crack up one of their fancy cars, they're likely to end up just where I am now, wonderin' why their kids never come by."

When they were ready to leave, Jim noticed that one of the ladies took Blair aside. Their heads close together, she whispered to him, glancing at Jim. Blair looked over, too, smiled, and whispered to her. She giggled, blushed, and hurried away. As Blair approached, Jim said, "What was that all about?"

"That's Clarice. She's just seen Hello, Dolly! too many times--thinks she's a matchmaker." Jim could feel himself gaping, but before he could form a response Blair said, "Figured out what today is?"

"No, but I've kind of enjoyed it."

"Good! It's National Cheer Up The Lonely Day. I was a little surprised to run into this one, but we need more like it. I usually come by a couple of times a month, so it wasn't a hardship."

"You've got a soft heart under all that hair."

"Says the man who once told me that checkers were the gaming excitement equivalent of picking your teeth."

July 12, Monday

Blair: "I can't help it if the commercial snack cake version isn't as good as home made. I got this at the corner store. If you wanted home made pecan pie to celebrate National Pecan Pie Day, you shouldn't have eaten that bag of pecan halves when you found it. By the time I realized they were gone, it was too late to buy more."

Jim: "I didn't know you were saving them."

Blair: "Didn't the fact that I've never bought them before, and I had them hidden behind my box of herbal tea tell you anything?"

July 13, Tuesday

Jim woke up to find a series of Post-It notes on the stairs. He read them as he came down.

The hole in the ozone has closed!

Crime rates are down!

Peace has been declared in the Middle East!

The Catholics and the Protestants are partying together in Northern Ireland!

A Wonderburger and large fries has been declared the world's healthiest meal! Add chili to fries, and lose weight!

Donald Trump envies your financial stability!

Mensa won't have you because you're overqualified!

He located Blair in the kitchen, waiting for him with his hands behind his back and a sly smile on his face. "What gives with the Pollyanna notes?"

"I've found my own place and will be moving out." Jim stared at him a moment, then turned and left the room without another word. Blair was bewildered. He hesitantly went up the stairs to find Jim sitting on his bed, back to him. "Jim? What's wrong?"

"That's a hell of a thing to spring on a person right out of the blue." His voice was grim.

"But you've been after me to move out for ages. I thought..."

"When was the last time I mentioned it?"

Blair thought. "You know, I can't remember the last time. You don't even do it when you're pissed at me."

"Right. And you just throw that at me like it's nothing. If you have problems with this arrangement, I would have thought you'd talk about it. You've always been Mister Express Yourself."

Blair got brave and went over and sat beside Jim. "I don't have any problems with this arrangement. I've never had it so good. You're the best roommate I've ever had--including Larry. Besides," he touched Jim's shoulder. "We're friends, right?"

Jim finally looked over at him. "That's what I thought. But this..."

Blair sighed. "Well, at least one of these things had to backfire, and this did so rather spectacularly."

"You mean this is part of the holiday thing?" Blair nodded. "Good Christ, Chief, what the hell could scaring the pants off me like that celebrate? Give Your Roommate a Heart Attack Day?"

"I was going to clap this on you, but I think it's more appropriate for me to wear it." Blair reached into his back pocket. He donned a multi-colored cloth cap--one with three dangling points, each tipped with a bell. "Fool's Paradise Day."

"You thought that abruptly moving out would be part of my idea of Paradise?" Blair nodded. "Maybe the fool's cap is appropriate. I'll fix breakfast." He stood up and flicked one of the bells dangling before Blair's face, making it jingle, then went downstairs, leaving his Guide with a pleased, goofy smile on his face.

July 14, Wednesday

Simon: "Why are there large posters of The Birth of Venus and Michelangelo's David on the wall?"

Jim: "Because it's National Nude Day, and I wasn't going to let him streak, even if he had planned to."

Megan: "Damn!"

July 15, Thursday

Jim stared at the dish of pale yellow stuff in front of him. "Banana pudding?"

"Do you smell bananas?" Blair asked.

"No."

"It's tapioca."

"National Nursery Food Day? Bland Diet Day?"

"Do you look for zebras instead of horses when you hear hoof beats? National Tapioca Day."

"Oh. Okay." He ate a bite. "A little bland, but okay."

"Just a second." Blair got a package out of the cabinet, and crumbled some brown granules on the pudding. "Try that."

Jim took a bite, and beamed. "Maple sugar!"

"It's also Respect Canada Day."

"Mm. Have you seen that show Due South--the one with the Mountie? Man, he's enough to make you respect Canada." Jim continued eating, purposefully ignoring Blair's speculative look.

July 16, Friday

"Look! Three balls! I've been practicing. Oops."

"Blair, you're not supposed to repeat the holidays."

"I'm not. Oops. Damn, the Flying Karamozov Brothers make it look so easy."

"You are so. Why do I usually feel like I'm about five when I argue with you? Anyway, you've already done juggling. It was on, uh... Sometime around the middle of last month." He blinked. "I just realized how long this has been going on. But you're repeating yourself."

"No, I'm not. That was National Juggling Day."

"So what it this?"

"International Juggling Day. Oops." Jim walked off. "And quit muttering under your breath about semantics!"

July 17, Saturday

It was another working Saturday (there were rumors that The Brass were shooting for a record), but everyone in the Bullpen was busy scraping the last of their ice cream out of their Styrofoam dishes, so they weren't as gloomy as they might have been. "That is some of the best ice cream I've ever had," Rafe declared.

"I second that. Blair, why couldn't you have done this Peach Cobbler Ice Cream on the unusual ice cream day instead of that pickle monstrosity?"

Blair set aside his own empty cup. "Because it took me some time to get my hands on this. You through, Jim?"

"I don't know," Jim replied. "Is there any left?"

"Some. You know where to find it in the break room."

"If you're getting seconds, I want some, too!" Henri said quickly, handing over his cup. Jim ended up going for a second round for everyone, grumbling about needing a tray. When he was gone, Henri said, "God bless National Peach Ice Cream Day. My grandma used to hand crank it when she got the notion, but she didn't very often. And I'm going to risk having her rise from the grave to kick my ungrateful butt by saying that this was even better than hers. I've never seen this brand before, though. Where did you find it?"

Blair grinned. "You're out of luck, Henri. I had to have this sent to me. It's called Blue Bell, and it's only available in the South. I just happen to have a friend in Texas, and I talked her into having some shipped to me. I checked, and there's a place online that will ship you two half gallons for just under ninety dollars." He got lots of stares for this. "That includes shipping with dry ice, and yes, she's fond of me."

July 18, Sunday

"Is it just me," said Jim, "Or are there an awful lot of ice cream days?"

"It isn't just you." Blair set the bowl of vanilla ice cream, covered with tiny black dots in front of Jim.

"Hey, chocolate sprinkles!" He reached for his spoon.

"Wait a second." Blair hurried over to the front door, opening it. "Okay, go ahead." Jim looked at him suspiciously. "Hand on my heart, it's National Ice Cream Day." Jim took a bite. He dropped the spoon with a clatter, clapping his hand over his mouth as his eyes went wide. "It's also National Caviar Day. Enjoy!" Slam

It took Jim a fast gargle with mouthwash to get the taste out of his mouth. He muttered at his reflection. "We are going to have to figure out some way to get him for this, you know that, right?" He closed his eyes for a moment, and smiled. And getting him sounds like a real good idea.

July 19, Monday

Henri came into the Bullpen. "Why is there a gift wrapped package in the refrigerator in the break room?"

"It's got your name on it," said Blair. "Go find out."

Henri went back to the break room and returned a little later, looking not at all enlightened. "You're giving me a pound of bacon?"

"Rath thick cut--premium stuff, if you're not worried about sodium and nitrates."

"I may regret asking this, but why?"

Blair started to say something, but Jim broke in. "Because you're the only married member of this group."

"Oh-kay."

"It's Flitch Day." Henri stared at him. "As in flitch of bacon."

"Say what?"

"Okay, I couldn't afford a whole flitch--that's a slab--so you have to make do with a pound."

"That doesn't explain why I'm being gifted."

"The tradition is that a flitch of bacon went to any married couple who had lived together in harmony and fidelity for the last year. Have you?"

"Fidelity? Sure. Harmony..." He paused.

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

"Have you priced this stuff lately, Jim? Hell yeah, we've been as harmonious as a barbershop quartet."

July 20, Tuesday

"Jim? I'm not actually doing anything to celebrate today, but I am letting you know it has a special designation. I'm just too full of loyalty to you and survival instincts to do anything about it."

"What is it?"

"Ugly Truck Contest Day."

"I always said you were intelligent. What about that sign-up sheet you put on the bulletin board downstairs?"

"That's for tomorrow. Did you read it?"

"I couldn't get near it. There were too many people waiting to sign up. I know it can't be another hollering contest, so what is it this time?"

"You'll find out."

July 21, Wednesday

SWAT won on National Tug-Of-War Tournament Day. Major Crimes consoled themselves on the fact that at least they didn't end up with sore bottoms, like Vice did when the rope, uh, slipped out of Major Crimes' hands.

July 22, Thursday

Yap!

Simon came out of his office. "Did I just hear a dog bark?"

Rafe, Megan, Joel, Henri, Blair, and Jim all bunched up in front of Blair's desk. Blair said, "Dog bark?"

"Don't play cute, Sandburg. It sounded like one of those little yap-machines. The useless sort who don't do anything but make noise."

"I can swear to you that there is not a useless, noise-making dog here."

Simon grunted and started to go back in, then paused, with a suspicious look in his eyes. "Is there any other kind of canine present?"

Blair sighed. "The jig is up." The group parted to reveal a small dog standing on Blair's desk. It had a smooth, mostly white coat, with a black head and large black spot on its back, with tan over bright, lively eyes. It noticed Simon watching it and pranced excitedly. Yip!

"Sandburg, no dog is supposed to be inside the station unless it's a K-9, or a service dog, and somehow I don't see that beast in a harness. I'm going to guess that this is one of your holiday stunts."

"It's Ratcatcher Day." He stroked the dog's head, and received a quick lick on the wrist. "Verminator here is a champion Rat Terrier. He has great bloodlines. Back when they still held ratting contests, one of his ancestors killed one hundred rats in six minutes and thirteen seconds."

"If you need vermin caught, why not just get a cat?" asked Megan. "When they looked at her she said, "Just because I have a cat, I'm not prejudiced. I want to know."

"Because a cat will kill a mouse and stop to eat it. Kill a mouse and stop to eat it. When he's full, he'll stop, unless he feels like playing with them. But a dog... A trained ratter would not be interested in eating his prey. He'd just exterminate till all the ratties were gone."

Rafe was petting the dog. "Still, that number you quoted seems a bit high."

"You have to remember that the rats were dumped into an enclosed pit, and couldn't get away."

"Ah."

"And have you ever seen one of these guys move when they get excited?"

"This is fascinating, but you need to get him out of here," said Simon.

"No prob, Captain. His owner will be here in about ten minutes. Vermie also works as a therapy dog at the local hospital."

Simon shook his head. "He removes vermin, and does volunteer work. Maybe the dog is a cop after all."

Jim was tickling the dog under the chin, making its stubby tail wag briskly. "You forgot one other copply attribute, boss."

"That would be?"

"He's cute as hell."

July 23, Friday

Rafe sighed. "Vanilla ice cream again?"

Blair put his hands on his hips. "It's National Vanilla Ice Cream Day. What //else// should I have brought? You know, you people are getting fucking spoiled."

July 24, 25, and 26, Weekend and Monday

The moment Jim walked through the door on Monday Joel said, "Report."

Jim gave him an innocent look. "I finished all my paperwork on Friday."

"Can it, Ellison," said Henri. "Your 'who, me?' act is getting better, but you're still a long way from Sandburg standards. You know what we mean."

Jim sat down. "Saturday was Amelia Earhart Day. I found a toy bi-plane on the kitchen table when I got up. And I want to find out where Blair gets his costumes because I can't imagine that leather aviator cap, with goggles, was easy to find. The bomber jacket looked cool, though. On Sunday..." He sighed. "As Sandburg said, I can't prove that he snipped the buttons off my shirt and let down the seams in my pants' cuffs. We might very well have had an intruder who was into alterations, but was scared away before he could finish. Anyway, he knows how much having something half-done like that irritates me, so I ended up..."

"Treading a needle," said Megan. "My sympathy. My mother tried like hell to get me to learn how to sew. I finally gave in and made one dress. When she got a look at it, she gave it up as a bad job. So, what's today?"

"Today is All or Nothing Day, and it scares me to think of what he might have planned."

There was a lot of speculation that morning--some of it ribald--about how Blair would recognize this holiday. When he finally arrived, he said, "Jim told you what today is, right? I bet you're all wondering what I'm going to do for this one. Well, I was wondering, too." He placed a tape player on the desk. "I've been trying to figure this one out for over a week, and I had no luck," he held up one finger, as if making a point, "till I thought of musicals!" He stabbed down, punching PLAY. A bright melody flooded out. Ahm jist a gurl who cain't say no... "Oops. Wrong song. One sec." He punched buttons. Ooooooh-klahoma! Where the... "Too far." He punched a little more. "Okay, this should have it."

He cleared his throat, punched PLAY again, and began singing along. "With me it's all er nuthin'. Is it all er nuthin' with you? It cain't be "in between". It cain't be "now and then". No half and half romance will do! I'm a one woman man, home lovin' type, all complete with slippers and pipe. Take me like I am, er leave me be! If you cain't give me all, give me nuthin', and nuthin's whut you'll git from me!" He shut off the tape and bowed to a smattering of applause.

Rafe said. "Why did you pick that one? There are all sorts of other bands who've done songs about All or Nothing--O-Town, Frank Sinatra, RATT..."

Blair just looked pained. "I'm surrounded by the culturally deprived."

July 27, Tuesday

Jim blinked. "Blair? Why do you have a pair of chinos folded over your arm?"

"It's Take Your Pants For A Walk Day. I'd suggest your khakis."

"No. No way." Pause. "Maybe the charcoal gray..."

July 28, Wednesday

On National Milk Chocolate Day the break room was stocked with Nestle Quik, Hershey bars, and Hershey Kisses. Megan hugged Blair so much that when he came up behind Jim, Jim mistook his partner for her because of the scent. Jim realized that, while Megan had nice perfume, he preferred Blair's usual scent of herbal shampoo, after shave, and chalk dust.

July 29, Thursday

"Okay, anyone here have mice?"

Everyone in the Bullpen looked up at Blair. Henri said, "We have a mouse that we haven't been able to catch, but I gotta warn you, if I bring home Verminator, my wife will skin me."

"Not that. Here." Blair handed Henri a very small bundle, wrapped in white butcher paper.

Henri opened it. "Cheddar. Thanks, Blair. I'll need a snack later."

"No, you don't. You take that home and put it in a mousetrap. Today is Cheese Sacrifice Purchase Day. If you wish to catch some mice, first some cheese you must sacrifice. So, purchase the cheese upon this day, and a mouse-free house is yours to stay."

"Interesting. Will this work since I didn't do the purchasing?"

"I think so, since you're sacrificing it."

Henri's expression was serious. "I won't need, like, an altar or a special dagger, or anything, will I?"

"Smart ass."

"No, really. There's a full moon tonight, if that helps."

Jim volunteered, "But I heard that peanut butter works better. Cheese they can snatch and run. Peanut butter they sort of stick to. Is there a Peanut Butter Sacrifice Day?"

Blair sighed. "Surrounded by smart asses."

July 30, Friday

Megan sighed as she licked a smear of sour cream chocolate chip cheesecake filling off her upper lip. "National Cheesecake Day. I'd say this pretty much clinches it--this holiday thing was thought up by a woman."

July 31, Saturday

"First off, thank you for not inviting Naomi or William over to celebrate Parents Day," said Jim.

"I'm not quite sure where Naomi is, and I'm fairly sure that William wouldn't be interested," said Blair.

"I believe you are correct, and it's too hot to try to mend fences. Now, I can understand playing M is for the Many Things She Gave Me..."

"I'm not entirely sure that's the title."

"You know what I mean. But Sonny Boy for the father aspect?"

"The selection of tapes available on that subject was remarkably slim at the university. It was either this, or Who's Your Daddy? I figured this was more appropriate." Silence. "Jim?"

"We'll discuss this some other time. Soon."

August 1, Sunday

Bright morning, and Jim was staring at his plate, with a nearly goofy grin on his face. "What?" said Blair.

"I'm just remembering all the times I begged Sally for pie or cake for breakfast, and I'd end up with oatmeal. If I had known about Raspberry Cream Pie Day, I damn sure would have used that as an argument."

"Hey, being able to eat whatever the hell you want when you want is one of the major goals of growing up. Of course if you actually do grow up, you realize that you shouldn't. However, a friend wouldn't point that out, so happy Friendship Day, and dig in."

August 2, Monday

Simon called Blair into his office. "Look, Sandburg, this holiday thing hasn't been quite as intrusive as I feared it would when you got started. But how many more days dedicated to goodies are we going to have? I'm beginning to get worried that half my detectives will be put on probation due to sudden weight gain."

Blair rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, thinking. "Let me see... There's just August left. Um... I think there are eleven days that are devoted to edible elements. However, one or two are pretty low cal. One of 'em I think I can do without any actual eating. Unfortunately that's one of the low calorie ones."

Simon sighed. "What we need is a National Jenny Craig Day. Or a Nutrisystem Festival Day."

"Wouldn't do any good. People never read the fine print--you still have to exercise for it to really work. Don't sweat it. Here, help us celebrate National Ice Cream Sandwich Day."

"No. I'm trying to stay out of this."

"It's made with chocolate chip cookies."

Pause. "Hell, give it here."

August 3, Tuesday

Joel grumbled a little that he'd been hoping for fresh watermelon on National Watermelon Day. "I don't chew bubble gum, so the Bubblilicious was wasted on me. The Jolly Rancher candies were okay, but I have to tell you, it's going to take us forever to get the scent out of the Bullpen."

"You're telling me?" Jim said wearily. "I'm not sure what they use to scent commercial products watermelon. I just know that I can walk into a store two days after they opened a fresh box of watermelon flavored gum, and know it. I tried to talk him into watermelon rind pickles instead, but he couldn't find any at the store, and that's one of the few things that isn't made by someone he knows."

"Never mind the scent lingering," said Rafe. "I don't think I'm ever going to be able to get that tune out of my head."

"Yeah, it was pretty infectious," agreed Jim. He walked away, singing under his breath. "We got a hundred gallons of sweet red wine, made from the biggest watermelons on the vine. Help yourself to some, but obey the law..." He'd turned the corner in the hall, away from Joel and Rafe, and he quickly did a boogie. "If you drink, don't drive. Do the Watermelon Crawl."

"Caught ya."

"Shit!" Jim noticed that the door to the men's room was ajar. It opened the rest of the way and Blair came out.

"You're busted, big time. Jim, you dance. You not only dance, you get down."

"Don't spread it around, huh?"

Blair made zipping motions over his mouth, but he was smiling. "On one condition--we go dancing sometime."

Jim stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Blair moved to stand close before him. "Occasionally."

Jim stared at him a long moment. "Together?"

"Well, not slow dancing, but yeah--as much as people dance together these days."

Jim stared at him another long moment. Blair began to hope that Jim was doing to consider their location, and not punch him out, then... "Okay."

Blair felt his face split in a grin. "Okay?" Jim nodded. "Whew. I can resume breathing now. I was sort of hoping, but I didn't think..."

He stopped speaking, feeling a little breathless as Jim leaned close and said quietly, "Well, maybe you don't know me quite as well as you think you do." He walked off, enjoying one of the rare times he'd managed to make Blair speechless, and thinking, And I damn sure don't know myself as well as I thought I did.

August 4, Wednesday

"...I--love--when mah team wins... and twins.

"Interesting that all the men in this squad know the words to that jingle," commented Megan.

"She's right," said Joel. "We're being sexist."

"Not that sexist," Megan assured him. "I'd prefer this be Twins Day rather than Swedish Bikini Team day. And who's to say that women don't like twins, too? I'd like a good look at the twins from the Matrix movie without the blonde dreadlocks."

Simon came in. "I can deal with the Bobbsey Twins book on my desk, but the Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen video tape playing in the break room is too much..."

August 5, Thursday

He's too old. He's too old. He's too old to cut the mustard anymore..

"Tell me that isn't Buck Owens?" said Simon hopefully.

"Sorry, Captain." Jim punched the button, shutting off the tape player. "I lobbied for the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band tape, but Blair said the Mean Mister Mustard references weren't enough. I was instructed to give you this." He handed over a small card.

Simon looked at it, then sighed. "Colonel Mustard."

"Somewhere out there are some very frustrated kids, trying to finish a game of Clue. I got Dijon sauce with my breakfast ham steak, which actually was pretty damn good. Happy National Mustard Day."

"Blair fixed you a ham steak for breakfast? With sauce?"

Jim smiled. "It fit into the holiday theme. Besides," he straightened his collar. "He thinks I'm special."

Jim walked away, whistling, and Simon stared after him. Uh-huh. Looks like maybe Megan was right.

August 5, Friday

"Jim, have you put on your shoes yet?"

"I just got up, so no, I haven't."

"Good. Come down here, sans shoes."

sigh pad pad pad "What now?"

"Look at my feet."

stare "Okay."

"Watch." wiggle wiggle wiggle

"Damn, you've got some flexible toes. I don't know why you complained about climbing that tree when we were searching the Switchman hideout site. I bet without your shoes you'd be able to climb like a monkey."

"You're missing the point here." wiggle wiggle wiggle "Well?"

"I have no idea."

sigh "Wiggle Your Toes Day, Jim. Go on."

"Oh, for crying out..."

"I'll just bug you till you do."

wiggle "There."

"You can do better than that."

"Sandburg!" wiggle wiggle wiggle

"Oh, that was wiggling! Well, done, man!"

"You should see me on the beach, when I have some sand to work with."

"I'd like to."

"Summer isn't over yet."

August 6, Saturday

Sometimes you don't have to be a Sentinel to sense someone staring at you Jim looked up from his newspaper, turning his head. He was sitting on the couch, and a sock puppet was peering at him over the back--a green sock puppet with large, dark button eyes, wide circular nostrils, and a red-stitched mouth. "Oh, for God's sake. I guess I should be happy this is happening at home instead of at work. I might have to take time off to attend your sanity hearing."

The sock puppet's mouth worked, and Blair's voice said, "Blair isn't here, but he says that I'm not going away till you guess who I am, and what day this is."

"I'm going to ignore you now."

"That's dangerous." The puppet began to bounce back and forth, singing, "R. R-A-G. R-A-G. R-A-G-G. R-A-G-G M-O-P-P. Ragmop!" The puppet tossed its head back. "I'm ah comin', Beany Boy!" It darted back and forth as Blair made swishing sounds. Finally it paused and stared at Jim expectantly with its button eyes.

Jim stared back. "Are those nostrils made out of Lifesavers?"

Blair's head popped up beside the puppet. "You're trying to avoid the issue. C'mon, you should know this one, and it'll tell you what today is."

"William considered puppets only slightly more masculine than Barbie dolls."

"You're hopeless." Blair petted the puppet's head, and it flopped on his shoulder. "Cecil, the Sea Sick Sea Serpent, of course." Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Of the Beany and Cecil show? Cool 1960s cartoon? The Leakin' Lena? Captain Puffenstuff?" Jim shrugged. "It's Sea Serpent Day."

"Right."

Blair looked at the puppet, which looked at him. "He's hopeless," Blair said grumpily. "I could have just taped a picture of Nessie to his monitor, but no--I went through all the trouble of creating you, and does he appreciate it? No." The puppet kissed him on the nose. "Thank you, but it's not enough."

Jim had been heading toward the stairs. He paused and said, "For your information, Darwin, it was not Captain Puffenstuf, it was Captain Huffenpuff. And you forgot Tearalong, the Dotted Lion, but most of all..." He mimed twirling an imaginary handlebar moustache, "Dishonest John. Nyha-ha-ha. Gotcha."

Jim went upstairs. Blair, smiling, looked back at the puppet. "I've been had."

"Not yet," the puppet replied, "but soon, if you're lucky. Nyha-ha-ha!"

August 7, Sunday

"How I ever let you talk me into this..."

"Chill, Jim. Nothing happened."

"Only through the greatest good luck! Jesus, I should have known better. Henri could have ventilated both of us. He's a terrific shot, and it isn't as if we were exactly hard targets, standing there. You just don't go creeping around a man's house at night, especially when he's a cop--and keeps a gun."

"Oh, come on. He wasn't even aiming."

"Yeah, but the safety was off. When I saw Henri standing there in his boxers with that big ass gun in his hand..."

"Yep. Pretty impressive."

"We scared his wife. We're lucky he didn't just go ahead and shoot us."

"He thought it was funny, once we explained it."

"Well, I guess so. Two grown men, standing on his front porch after midnight, holding vegetables. Who the hell ever came up with Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night, anyway?"

"A desperate home gardener. I've lived on communes that have vegetable gardens and trust me--a bumper crop of anything can make you frantic to find some way to get rid of it without actually destroying it."

"We're stuck with the zucchini now. I hate zucchini."

"Shock, shock. Just leave it on the counter. I'm sure I can find a zucchini bread recipe..."

August 9, Monday

Jim's Truck, on the Way to Work

Oompa oompa oompa pa, oompa oompa oompa pa, oompa oompa oompa pa, oompa oompa oompa pa, oompa oompa...

rip toss

"Jim!"

"It was either it, or you."

"I paid good money for that."

"I'll pay you back. Jesus, why couldn't you celebrate National Polka Festival just by wearing some lederhosen."

"Oh, so you like short leather pants?"

"Stop leering." Pause "No, I don't like short leather pants. Tight leather pants are a different story."

August 10, Tuesday

Roll--out--those--lazy, hazy crazy days of sum-mer...

"And that," said Blair, "is all I can manage for Lazy Day, because if I could eliminate crime, you'd be out of a job."

"That's okay," said Jim. "When we get home I'll sit around in my underwear, drink beer, and watch television."

"Promise?"

August 11, Tuesday

"We're going to celebrate today before we go into the office," said Blair

Jim put down his coffee cup. "Okay, but why? You don't seem to have any problem sharing with others."

"Not in this case. As everyone knows there are two subjects that are so volatile you shouldn't discuss them in public..."

"Today is a religious holiday? Which one? Pagan?"

"Today is Presidential Joke Day."

"Ah--the other one--politics. Shoot."

"Political figures often get nicknames, and presidents are no exception. Calvin Coolidge was very taciturn, so he was known as Silent Cal. Well, at one state dinner, the young woman sitting next to him said flirtatiously, 'Mister President, I made a bet that I could make you say at least three words in a row.' Calvin said, 'You lose.'"

"Funny."

"Well, don't bust a gut. Let's see... The Trumans were taking a tour of a farm, being shown around separately. In the chicken yard Bess said, 'Only one rooster for all these hens?' The farmer told her it was no problem, as the rooster could ahem perform his duty many times a day. Bess said, 'Tell that to the president.' Later Harry was brought around to the hen yard, and the farmer relayed Mrs. Truman's comment. The president said, 'With the same chicken each time?' 'No sir, with a different chicken each time.' 'Tell that to Mrs. Truman.' Ta-da!" silence "Well, at least you smiled this time."

"Those are cute, Chief, but I would have expected something a little more edgy from you."

"And you think you can do better."

"I do."

"Go for it."

"The wives of three presidents and a prime minister are talking together about what a penis is called in their native languages. The wife of Tony Blair says in England people call it a gentleman because it stands up when women are entering. The wife of Boris Yeltsin says in Russia you call it a patriot because you never know if it will hit you on the front or on the backside. The wife of Chirac says in France you call it a curtain because it goes down after the act. Well, the wife of Clinton says in the USA you call it a rumor because it goes from mouth to mouth."

spew

Jim sighed. "It's my own fault. I should have warned you to stop drinking your tea while I told that."

August 12, Wednesday

Blair stamped his foot. "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!"

Jim blinked at him. "I don't know a Marcia. Is one of your students giving you a hard time?"

"I hate my glasses."

"Oh-kay. Personally, I think you look good in them."

"You like Cindy better because she's a baby. Maybe I should lisp."

"That would be too much of a stereotype. What the hell is going on? I know it has to have something to do with the holiday thing, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what."

"Didn't watch much television in the seventies, did you?" Blair started singing, "It's the story of a man named Brady..."

"Okay, snap. But what day is it? Big Ass Family Day? Too White Bread for Words Day?"

"Note who I was focusing on--Jan. It's Middle Child Day. Since you only have one brother and I'm an only child, this was the best I could come up with."

"But there was a middle brother, too. Why not concentrate on him?"

"Peter? Gawd, talk about bland. What could I do for him?" He lisped in a near-Humphrey Bogart voice, "Pork chops and applesauce."

"Sounds good. I'll pick up some loin cut chops on the way home tonight."

"Jim! Death in five syllables--cho-les-ter-ol..."

August 13, Thursday

Jim eyed the steaming cups of coffee in Blair, Megan, and Rafe's hands, then said pointedly, "The carafe had about an eighth of an inch of sludge in it when I went in there. Who didn't make a fresh pot?"

Blair pointed at Megan, Megan pointed at Rafe, Rafe pointed at Blair, and they chorused, "Him/her."

Jim grunted, and set the coffee dripping. He examined the pasteboard box sitting on the counter. It was empty except for smears and crumbs. "And someone ate the last donut I was saving." This time Blair pointed at Rafe, Megan pointed back at him, and Rafe pointed at Megan. "This is turning into a comedy routine. There's no sugar left."

"Simon." It was a three-part chorus.

Captain Banks was just entering the room. "Simon what?"

"You're being accused of taking the last of the sugar," Jim informed him

"I'm what?"

"It's Blame Someone Else Day," Blair informed him quickly. "And Jim, if you'll check the drawer, you'll find some packets."

As Jim opened the drawer, he said, "You might have told me sooner."

Simon said, "Jim, where's that expense report you promised me this afternoon?"

Without losing a beat Jim replied, "One of the K9s ate it."

August 14, Friday

Word had gotten out that Major Crimes was getting a steady stream of goodies, due to Sandburg's holiday binge. The inevitable happened. When the Major Crimes squad gathered in the break room to celebrate National Creamsicle Day, all that was left was an empty cardboard box, and a few sticky papers.

It was agreed that they could not say with complete certainty who the thieves were. It was also, as Megan pointed out, damn peculiar that almost everyone in Vice--including Wannamaker--seemed to have chosen that day to start wearing Tangerine lip-coloring.

Revenge was plotted.

August 15, Saturday

Blair gave Jim a model of an Edsel to honor National Failures Day, and they spent the rest of the day vegging out in front of the television in honor of National Relaxation Day. This was a way of charging their batteries for the next day, which was...

August 16, Sunday

Everyone showed up at the loft to celebrate the Bratwurst Festival. Jim tended fat Bratwurst, sizzling on a grill, and Blair dispensed plenty of beer. He also scolded Jim for having tossed his polka tape, which would have been perfect for the occasion.

Simon was the first to leave, but not because he was feeling antisocial. It was because the others were plotting revenge on Vice, and he wanted to be able to deny knowledge.

August 17, Monday

There was consternation in the locker room when the members of Vice went to change clothes at the end of the day. The changes of clothes that had been left there were gone. All that was left was a card from the Salvation Army, thanking the squad sincerely for the wonderful donation they'd given in honor of National Thriftshop Day.

August 18, Tuesday

"It's Bad Poetry Day."

Everyone in Major Crimes looked up at Blair. Finally Megan said, "Define 'bad'."

Blair held up a finger. "Exactly! One person's 'bad' is another person's 'I wish I could write like that'. Bad is in the eye of the beholder. Academic careers have been built on the works of Pound and cummings, but people raised on Carl Sandburg and Hallmark greeting cards would tell you frankly that they are drivel. What I want is for each of you to give a personal interpretation of what constitutes bad poetry." He grinned. "Preferably something you wrote yourself."

"I'm game," said Megan.

"I've heard that," joked Henri, "but I try not to believe what I see written on bathroom walls."

"Wait till you see what I write about you in the ladies," Megan shot back "In any case, I have a haiku I wrote in grade school." She cleared her throat. "See the brown monkey, swinging gaily through the trees. Are you my uncle? My teacher gave me a failing on it, and recommended that my parents have a talk with me."

Joel was counting off on his fingers. "I don't see how you can count that as bad. You nailed the five-seven-five thing, and haikus don't have to rhyme."

Simon said, "Traditionally, haikus use nature imagery to evoke an emotion, or atmosphere. I guess the monkey counts as nature, and it evokes humor."

Megan grinned. "Well, y'see, my teacher was a Fundamentalist Charismatic Christian with no sense of humor, and I titled the poem 'Darwin'."

"I guess I'd have to say that the poems I wrote to my wife when we were courting were pretty bad, but she liked 'em," Henri admitted, "And before you ask, no, I'm not going to tell you any of them. It's bad enough that she saved 'em, and is threatening to show them to our kids--when we have kids."

"I can't," said Joel, "because all the bad poetry I know is not fit for mixed company."

"Joel," said Megan, "Did I ever tell you that I grew up near a naval base? You can't tell me anything worse than what I've already heard, and can probably shoot back at you."

"If he won't, I have one," said Rafe cheerfully. "When I was a lad and had little sense, I saw a woman straddle a fence. I thought of how nice it would be if she would do the same for me. I asked her once and she complied. When she sat on my face, I damn near died." It took several minutes for the others to stop howling, and Rafe used the time to take several bows. "Thank you. I intend to sell that to a T-shirt company some day."

"You'll be able to retire if you take a commission," Jim declared, wiping tears from his eyes.

Blair pointed at Jim. "Your turn."

"I'm pretty sure that I must have written some bad poetry back when I was in school," said Jim, "but none of it has survived. And before you ask, no--I don't remember any of it. Haven't you ever heard about the mind wiping out things for survival's sake?"

"You're not getting away that easy, man," Blair declared. "I want bad poetry before the day is out. Jim just grinned, muttered something, and walked away. Blair looked at Megan. "Okay, what did I miss?"

"He said something about being careful what you wish for. Sure you don't want to sleep over at my place tonight?"

"No way."

Blair reflected that it was like waiting for a shoe to drop. All that evening he waited for Jim to spring his creation on him. Several times he almost gave in and asked, but decided that pestering Jim would only make him mulish. Besides, Jim was so obviously having a good time making him wait.

Finally, just before bed, Jim came to stand before him, hands clasped behind his back. "Blair, you've seen Laugh In?"

"Sure. God bless Nick at Night."

Jim pulled his hands from behind his back. He was holding an outlandishly large faux flower. "A poem--by Jimmy Ellison. Roommates. Roommates come in all sizes and shapes, and can act like friends or hairy apes. Some make messes that will drive you wild; some get in touch with their inner child which also can make things crazy. Some are hyper, some are lazy. Some stay up all night, some sleep late, some are too honest, some obfuscate. When you get a roommate, you're never sure what they'll do. Sometimes it comes as a big surprise. I know this did. I'm glad I got you." He bowed.

Blair clapped as he stood up. "Would it embarrass you if I hugged you for that?"

"Hell yes."

Blair didn't get a chance to hug Jim--Jim hugged him first. It lasted a loooong time. When they broke apart, Blair said, "Um..."

"It would be badly poetic if anything happened tonight, but," Jim pointed at the clock. "It's past midnight, and no longer Bad Poetry Day." He smiled, and went upstairs.

Blair stared after him, caught between a laugh and a growl. Finally he yelled, "Is it Support Your Local Prick Tease Day?"

August 19, Wednesday

Joel, Henri, Rafe, Jim, and Megan were gathered around the table in the break room, staring. Finally Joel said, "Plaster of Paris? Bread dough?"

Jim shook his head. "Mashed potatoes. I wondered what he was going with all those boxes of Hungry Jack Instant Mashed Potatoes. He'd usually rather grout tile than use instant when he can make from scratch."

Megan was peering at the object on the table more closely. "What are the red boulders?"

"Baby new potatoes. I happen to know that he took almost a half hour sorting through the pile in the produce section, trying to find the smallest, smoothest ones." Jim pointed. "See, he's used sprigs of rosemary for trees. He's an artistic little booger."

"Where is he right now?" asked Rafe.

"Well, he decided he wanted some fallen logs and tree stumps, so he ran to a diner for an order of fried Tater Tots."

"I'm sensing a theme here," said Henri.

Jim nodded. "I mentioned the french fry log cabin that guy made in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, but he said the ketchup mortar would ruin the color scheme."

Simon came in, stopped in his tracks, stared, and sighed. "Jim, you let him watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind, didn't you?"

"Happy Potato Day, Simon."

August 20, Thursday

Instead of just playing the Radio for National Radio Day, Blair brought in a tape of old radio programs. They listened to Fibber McGee and Molly, The Shadow, Inner Sanctum, and a slew of detective shows. Megan noted that judging from the number of times radio detectives got bonked on the head, they all must have had brain damage.

August 21, Friday

In the break room, Henri looked at his plate. "Thanks, but I had ice cream for dessert at lunch."

"It's not ice cream," said Blair. "It's spumoni. Today is Spumoni Day."

"Looks like ice cream to me. What is spumoni?"

"Spumoni is a frozen molded Italian dessert consisting of two layers of ice cream, such as chocolate and vanilla, between which is sandwiched a layer of sweetened whipped cream that has been flavored with rum and mixed with toasted nuts and candied fruit. Sometimes the ice cream is lightened with whipped cream or beaten egg whites before being spooned into the mold. See, spumoni is cut into slices, it should never be scooped."

"Like I said--ice cream."

"Plebian."

Jim came in. "Hey, ice cream!"

"It's spumoni."

"What's the difference?"

Blair sighed, handing Jim a plate. "Have some ice cream."

While Jim was eating, Henri poked Blair. "Aren't you going to call him plebian?"

"No." Blair watched Jim licking a chocolate smear off his lips. "I like him better than you."

August 23, Saturday

"Jim, be an angel and start the coffee, wouldya?"

"Sure."

Later

"Jim, be an angel and hand me my glasses."

"Here ya go."

Later Still

"Would you be an angel and go stir the chili for me? I'm in the middle of something."

"Right. I'll add the beer while I'm at it."

"You're an angel."

Later that evening

"Jim? Jim!"

"Ye-ah?"

"Where are the towels?"

"Out here in the living room. I just got through washing and drying all of them."

"All of them? I thought I had one ready when I got in the shower."

"Oh, I took that one, too. Remember when I opened the door for a minute?"

"But that one was clean."

"Was it?"

"You know very well that..." pause "What are you up to?"

"Why, nothing, angel."

chuckle "Okay, you figured it out. Be An Angel Day. I figured this was cheaper than asking you to donate to fund a dramatic production, and after buying all the potato products; my budget didn't really stretch to renting wings and a halo. Now hand me a towel."

"No."

"What?"

"Come out and get it."

"But Jim, I'm... I'm..."

"Exactly."

"You think I won't do it."

"I know you will."

"Why, you..." The door opened. Blair came out, wearing nothing but a washcloth clutched over the most significant area. Jim whistled. Blair stalked over to the couch and snatched up a fresh towel. With a move worthy of Gypsy Rose Lee he got it wrapped around his hips without actually exposing anything. Blair grabbed the back of Jim's neck and laid a fast, hard kiss on him. "Devil." Then he went back in the bathroom.

Jim stared after him in stunned pleasure, then muttered, "I wonder if there's a National Extended Foreplay Week?"

August 23, Sunday

"Jim, I appreciate the new lunchbox, spiral notebook, and backpack, and there's an actual chance of my using them, but I hate to tell you this--it's Spongecake Day, not SpongeBob Day."

August 24, Monday

Before Blair could say or do anything at the office, Megan whipped out a huge, Crocodile Dundee style knife and said, accent thicker than it had ever been, "Now that's a knife!"

As if on cue... Hell, it was a cue. Blair punched PLAY on his tape recorder, and the voice of Billy Joel filled the room.

"She cuts you once,
she cuts you twice--
but still you believe.
The wound is so fresh you can taste the blood,
but you don't have strength to leave.
You've been bought.
You've been sold.
You've been locked outside the door,
but you stand there pleadin'
With your insides bleedin'
'Cause you deep down want some more..."

When Simon came in the entire squad was singing along--"She's so good with her stiletto, you don't even see the blade..."

Blair said later that Simon shouldn't have been so angry. How was he supposed to know that the police commissioner was going to be there--and that the man hated eighties music?

Jim reminded him that they were called 'surprise inspections' for a reason, and Simon wasn't really pissed--he'd seen pissed. It was just lucky that the commissioner had a public relations liaison with him who thought that it was great that the officers were 'just like regular people' in the office.

Blair asked if Jim thought that since tomorrow was Kiss-and-Make Up Day he could smooth things over with Simon. Jim asked him if he'd lost his freakin' mind.

August 25, Tuesday

Simon looked at the balloons floating above his desk. The Mylar poofs were emblazoned with sayings such as 'Oops!', 'Sorry!', and 'Boy, Is My Face Red'. They drifted from crinkly ribbons, which were tied to the handle of a coffee mug. The mug bore the image of a sad-eyed cocker spaniel, which would have had to have had blue eyes to bear a closer resemblance to Blair. The mug was filled with silver Hershey kisses. Simon sighed. "Oh, hell. Ellison doesn't stand a chance."

August 26, Wednesday

"Yes, I've forgiven you," Simon growled, "but I don't care if it is National Cherry Popsicle Day. You eat those things outside my Bull Pen. There's only one frozen thing messier than cherry popsicles, and that's Sno-Cones."

As they left the room with their drippy treats, Jim said, "Say, do you suppose they have a day dedicated to...?"

Blair slurped. "I can always check."

August 27, Thursday

When Jim got up, the kitchen table was spread with items. He studied them, while Blair watched. Finally Blair said, "Figure out what these all have in common, and you'll know what day today is."

Jim started ticking off items. "Paint thinner, Quaker State Oil, candles, matches, shoe polish, chocolates, antibiotic ointment, a small chunk of asphalt, a roofing tile, and a Tupperware container. Let's see... all use petroleum in their manufacture. Not bad, Einstein. The candy one might have stumped some people, since they don't realize petroleum relates to paraffin wax, used in the coating process. Very clever, but you could have celebrated Petroleum Day with a lot less effort, and possibly less expense."

"How?"

Jim flashed his Exxon card. "You could have filled the truck's tank for me."

August 28, Friday

"But Blair, we celebrated this day back in June."

"I can't help it," said Blair. "They must have enjoyed sauntering so much that they gave it two holidays."

"Want an 'isn't it ironic' moment?"

"Speak on, Alanis."

"On August 28th in 1960, over 200,000 people marched through Washington in a civil rights demonstration, led by Martin Luther King."

"I don't think that quite qualifies as 'sauntering'."

"Probably not."

pause "Sooo--Jim... Were you with him?"

"I wasn't old enough, and if I had been, William probably would have locked me in the cellar. On the other hand, I can easily picture Naomi, out to here with you, walking along and singing 'We Shall Overcome'..."

August 29, Friday

"I don't care if it is More Herbs, Less Salt Day. Get that bottle of Mrs. Dash away from me before I cram it somewhere very uncomfortable, and hand me the salt."

"Now, see how the insidious addiction makes itself known? I think that salt is the most widely addictive substance used in the world. I think it's easier to quit smoking than it is for most people to go no sodium."

"I think that the main thing screwing with my blood pressure right now is the fact that you're trying to serve me french fries without salt."

"Okay, okay. I'll use a little salt if you'll agree to at least try the herbs."

"Hell. Okay." sprinkle "Oh, come on!"

"Try it before you add more salt."

"All right." munch pause

"Well?"

"Shut up. Needs more garlic."

"I can do that. And don't accuse me of trying to be a diet Nazi on you, man. Not after the junk I've shoveled out all summer."

"Speaking of which, what's tomorrow?"

"A Saturday, and I'm glad. After the cherry popsicle rant, I hate to think of what Simon would make of National Toasted Marshmallow Day."

August 30 and 31, Saturday and Sunday

What Jim and Blair made of National Toasted Marshmallow Day was S'mores. Just before midnight, Jim's temperature went up several notches watching Blair lick melted chocolate and marshmallow goo off his fingers. "Blair? Don't you think this dance has gone on about long enough?"

"Just a minute, Jim." Blair went and got a package out of the cabinet, then stood before Jim, watching the clock. "Five--four--three--two--one. It is now officially August 31st, and the end of the dare." He handed Jim a baggie. Jim regarded it, then looked up at Blair questioningly. "Raw nuts, raisins, banana chips, dried apricots, toasted sunflower and pumpkin seeds, and carob chips. It's National Trail Mix Day."

"Um, great. But I just got through eating..."

"Jim, hikers carry trail mix for quick energy." Blair leaned down and kissed Jim square on the lips. "Can you think of anything you could do right now with a burst of energy?" He turned and went up the stairs.

Jim ripped the baggie open and stuffed a healthy (literally) amount into his mouth. As he chewed, he carefully closed the baggie, laying it gently on the tabletop, then stood up. Just before he went upstairs he hesitated. Going back he got the bag of trail mix and stuffed it in his pocket. He turned glittering eyes toward the loft. Blair was looking down at him, unbuttoning his shirt. Jim started up again, muttering, "Never can tell when another energy boost might come in handy."

In the next few hours, Jim's bed saw more action than it had in months. Of course, it was a different kind of action than the mattress had seen, too. Though Jim had no practical experience in gay sex, he made up for it with the planning he'd been doing the last couple of months. He mentioned this to Blair when they were finally laying side by side, catching their breaths.

"And enthusiasm," Blair panted. "Enthusiasm counts for a lot." Jim was leaning over the side of the bed. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." He came up with the baggie Blair had given him just before they came upstairs. "I just wanted this out of my pants pocket." He opened the bag and started munching.

Blair stared at him. "Tell me you're not refueling."

"You really want me to lie to you this early in our relationship? You know, Blair, you've given me all sorts of ideas. I think it might be good for me to loosen up some."

Blair smiled wickedly. "Hand me the lube."

Jim snorted. "Not that." pause "Maybe later. No, what I mean is the holiday thing. It's been a little crazy this summer, but it's been a lot of fun, too. Want to make a bet?"

"What kind?"

"That I can do the same thing, but going from September through November."

Blair was smiling slowly. "You mean you providing the celebration of daily holidays for the next three months?" Jim nodded. "You're a good man, Jim, but I don't think you're up to my standard of weirdness."

Jim closed the baggie, setting it aside. "Sounds like a bet to me. Stakes?"

Blair considered him carefully. "Well, by three months, we should have an idea of how this is going to work out between us. How about one fantasy fulfilled?"

"Very good. You know, this all got started because it was National Adopt-a-Shelter-Cat Month. Do you know what September is?"

"Tell me."

Jim dived on top of him. "National Bed Check Month." grope "Check."

The End

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Acknowledgments: Thank you to Mary for the beta and to Ankaree for the gorgeous artwork.