So I guess I should start. Brit's feeding that fatass cat for the tenth time, and the day's not even over yet. Honestly, he should be on the biggest loser cat edition or something. He also smokes cigars. So there's that. Kitty's gonna kick the bucket soon, but don't tell B I said that. Anyway, on with the story.

A long, long time ago. In a galaxy not too far away...wait, no. Just a long, long time ago. It's not even that long ago, actually. If Lord Tubbington still hasn't used up all his nine lives on smoking and whoring himself around, stuffing his face with cheese shamelessly.

I was what you'd call "homework sexual", considering the frequency with which I did it, the wide variety of which I did it and how long it went on for. All through my school years, plus a master's degree from one of the most prestigious schools in the world which shall be unnamed. Because let's face it, I don't do free advertising. Basically, I was a bona fide nerd. A hot nerd, but nonetheless, a nerd. I mean I had a bunch of guys inviting me to go to prom and the lame school dances McKinley offered its students on V-day. I turned them all down, obviously, because I wanted to hang onto my v-card. Of course there was also the problem of me not being into guys. At all. Not even the nice, hot guys on the basketball team.

I had all A's in high school (GPA wise, not...), I was captain of the chess team, I had connections inside all of the other EC clubs, including the Black Student Union, and I'm not even black. Between you and me, I even had the key to the school pool because I helped out the captain of the synchronized swimming team with his trig homework. I mean come on, you're in high school, you should know your sine and cosine backwards and forwards.

But the most important thing to remember is this. I fell and hit my head once, resulting in me applying and (of course, with my brilliant qualifications) getting a part time job at Breadstix, delivering pizza. Yes, I was the hot pizza delivery girl. It was a sweet job, considering I got paid in barrels of breadsticks and got an employee discount. Say what you will, but those breadsticks must have had crack in them, because they were so addictive. Plus the health department shut the whole place down a few months after I graduated. I've searched everywhere for the goddamn recipe, but it's never quite the same.

So one day, while I was covering for my buddy Puck aka 'head squirrel', referencing the dead animal on his otherwise clean shaven head, I got an order that, I guess, changed my life.

Because it was late as your mother's period (oops) and everyone else who worked as breadstix at the time were lazy fucks, I had to pick up the phone. I recognized that voice instantly. It was whiny and obnoxious and loud.

Rachel Berry.

Glee club geek loser turned top of the social ladder Glee club geek. She somehow managed to snag onto the idiot Finn Hudson who thinks he's so great because he's quarterback of the shitty McKinley high team. Then she befriended the head cheerleader from whom she stole Finn. Complicated? More so than on your hardest philosophy exams. I only knew because she did not shut up about any of it all throughout out junior year. Yes, I was in Glee club, and I kicked all the gay asses, might I add.

So Rachel called up the place for a "medium pizza with extra everything on it. Especially the crust and toppings and cheese."

Unsurprisingly, when I suggested for her to order a large pizza, she quickly declined, claiming they would never be able to eat it all.

What was surprising, was that she was high as a kite. I still remember how I identified who was high and who was sober just by their voices. The people who were on drugs just had that edge of incoherence and ready-to-laugh-at-any-random-thing-ness in their voice. Some were harder to tell. Rachel wasn't one of those people. To this day, her exact words were, "Sshhh, I've had some specccialll brownies, but don't tell anyone, mmkay? Who is this anyway, do you go to McKinley high? We should meet up sometime and eat some pizzaaa." Then she hung up on me. Or, more likely, dropped the phone somewhere. Whenever I ask her about it these days - yes, we did end up being something alike to friends - she says she 'forgot'.

30 minutes later, I was at the Berry household, pizza in hand and ready to sprint out of there as quickly as possible after the purchase was made.

The doorbell opened and I saw the popular gang sitting in a circle in the middle of the spacey living room. Music blasting at maximum volume from the speakers. They were all clapping and hooting like some deranged monkeys that's just escaped from the zoo.

But standing before me was the only tolerable one of the lot. Brittany. Brittany Pierce. Yes, the Brittany Pierce who's currently still feeding her cat in the next room while I'm re-telling you this infinitely fascinating story.

"A dare's a dare, Brit!" Kurt Hummel practically yelled out, right hand clutching a bottle of something. Left hand on Blaine Anderson's (his boyfriend at the time)...leg. I think it was his leg...

She turned to him and presumably rolled her eyes, then turned back to me, with this look in her eyes. She didn't seem as drunk as everyone else was.

She just took a deep breath, slid her hand around my neck and pulled me towards her with intent.

Then she kissed me. Just like that. The whole 2 seconds, I was like, what the actual fuck. My dysfunctional brain at the time started playing "I kissed a girl" in my head for some reason. I quickly shut that off. My ears even blocked out the deafening screams, clapping and wolf whistling from the intoxicated popular crew watching. I remember clear as day how her lips tasted like soda and lip gloss.

"How much for the pizza?" She grinned, reaching into her back pocket for cash.

I almost told her it was on the house. Almost. Then my brain kicked back into gear. I actually charged her double for the pizza that night.

That was the first time she kissed me and spoke to me. It's funny because she kissed me first and then talked to me.

That was how the story started. Our story started, I guess, if you're one of those people.

I should probably thank those guys for daring her to do that. I have, actually. Because I don't know if me and Brit would be here right now, if it weren't for that dare.

Hi guys. Brittany S. Pierce speaking. So Lord Tubbs is fine, in case anyone wants to know. He doesn't like cheese anymore though, and I think he's even kicked his cigar addiction. I just gave him a salad for brunch.

I just wanted to clear a few things up with Santana's story. I mean it's probably accurate, plus it's her side of the story, but y'know, I took a course in journalism back in high school, the hard-hitting department, and you have to make sure that what goes out to the readers is 100% true or there might be backlash. Once something's published, you can't un-publish it. There's also my reputation as a web show producer on the line here. Fondue for two is now the number one ranked web video series behind homosexual pornography. Which makes it the number 22139214213324 web series overall, officially.

First of all, Santana didn't actually get all A's in school. I heard one time, she got an A- and she cried about it for an hour in miss Pilsbury's office (she was our school counselor). Mike Chang and Tina Cohen-Chang (when they got married, Tina didn't even have to change her name, by the way) were also there and were consoling her. I have no idea why it was those two and not Puck.

Second of all, there were no hot guys on the basketball team. They were all too tall and awkward. Also, in all of our 4 years at McKinley, they won two matches. One against a team on wheelchairs (for a charity benefit) and the other because their opponent forfeited due to the heat wave.

Third of all, there was never a chess team. Santana got to play chess against another school's player once. She lost.

This isn't an inaccuracy, per se, but the way Santana's told it, it seems as if she's hinting at the fact that the guys who invited her to prom were all popular jocks. That is definitely untrue. I know because I was elected fair and square to be the student body president and therefore knew everything. It was my job to keep up with everyone, and I had promised them that I had their best interests at heart.

Although a few girls from the golf team did ask her. Do the golf team girls count as jocks?

I think it also goes without saying that I am not just 'tolerable'. I didn't "tolerate" my way into the voters hearts and become student body president.

There were no pot or any type of drugs in the brownies that Rachel ate. It was just an ordinary brownie made by my mom for the sleepover. I had no idea why Rachel was talking like that, she only drank a couple of wine coolers too, so it probably wasn't the alcohol. Everyone else was just too drunk to care. What they never did realize, was that me and Quinn, as a joke, got rid of all the vodka, and stuck the vodka labels onto bottles of alcopops. I drank about 3 or 4 that night and wasn't even tipsy, neither was Quinn. The morning after that, everyone else complained about having killer hangovers but still high-fiving each other on the wild night of drinking and debauchery.

Last but not least. The night of the pizza delivery wasn't the first time I spoke to her. Two weeks earlier, as I sat a few seats from hers in English, I turned and asked out loud which day it was. Santana didn't actually look up from her notebook, but she was the only one who replied, "It's October 23rd."

That counted as a conversation, right?

Anyways, Lord Tubbs is meowing in that tone again. I think he's sick. He's been very anti-social lately. Maybe we should get him to a psychiatrist.