Me: Look, you shouldn't try that hard with girls.
Him: I was thinking when she break ups, I'll swoop in.
Me: Rebound man?
Him: I saw it on TV. That's how you fall in love.

You know, the alarming thing isn't that he has a strategy or anything. It's mostly that she's "seeing", for value of that in the pre-puberty stage, a chemistry geek, for value of that in seventh grade. I don't know if the hard sciences cross over; he's more physics with a heartstopping love of genetics in ways that make me worry about my hairbrush and bone fragements.

Can you go from chemistry to physics? Do you want to? That's the question I'm pondering. Should I push him toward one of the bio girls?

...his school actually has kids who self-identify by hard science. You try navigating that one day without feeling alarmingly uncomfortable with your self-identification as geek, untyped. Apparently that is not on without a specialization. Fandom geek? I don't even know.

So finally finally got the name of the Guy I Have That Crush on (under Unrequited).

Wait. I need a soundtrack. We'll go with The Finer Things by Steve Winwood. You can judge later.

This continues the adventures that began in discovering my libido has decided it's time to reawaken.

( I'm a fucking fifteen year old girl )

Seriously, universe. So not funny.

In continuing adventures of How Jenn Got Her Libido Back--this is tagged 'unrequited'.

Relates to my startled realization I am, in fact, human, and suddenly find myself in the middle of a crush. So embarrassing.

So class. Funnily, I fell asleep during class on Tuesday, so homework was extra bizarre in that all my notes were written in a way that didnt' encourage reading them. Randomly--I still can't IPO or diagram a program before I write it. I mean, I can, but it's impossibly hard. Whereas I can get the skeleton of a program up and boom, I can do everything. Part of it has to be how I write as well--I can't really pre-plot an entire story all that well either before writing it. I mean, I *can* and have, but usually it works a lot better if I wait until I'm a bit in and can see what patterns are already there and how the shape will develop.

Beside the point.

We were talking with some other people before class about using tabs in output text, and etc etc etc--anyway, during the lab I was having my professor check my flowchart (Okay, I admit, I get a kick when he writes on my charts stuff like "nice design!" I am very in need of outside approval. Judge all you like.), and while waiting he went to print his; since our professor had been working with him on his, I appropriated it to read, and he gave me a look and then asked if I'd lost weight since the beginning of the semester.

*facepalm*

Jesus God. Also, I realized he's taller than me, and I remembered he used to do calesthenics regularly and carried large firearms and probably sweats attractively. At some point in his life, not too long ago, eh wore BDU's. He's also smart.

Will not throw self at guy-with-girlfriend. I actually won't and wouldn't--that alone actually acts nicely to kill libido quickly--but seriously. My physical type. And I'd love arguing with him, and I'd enjoy mocking him, and I'd enjoy both coming from him.

My only real solace is hoping he's actually a total asshole and the charm of arguing with him is actually him on his very best behavior. Or he is a playboy. Or he eats raw squirrel. Kills cats for fun. Hates Atlantis. Please.

( you may think this started in Atlantis fandom, but sadly no: this dates to Fort Hood )

It's not like I'm reading anything into it--I just had one male coworker ask if I gained weight, and my BMI still sits stubbornly at just-overweight that annoys me. Stupid weird inappropriate girl reactions. I need to find my zen. And he needs to stop arguing with me so much because hey, that's foreplay to me and wow, I am so glad class will be over in a few weeks.

In closing: damn him. Also, I looked like hell because I am determined to never look like I am at all trying to in any way appear attractive. OTOH, I finished all my programming up and got to leave early before I did something idiotic like wander over and ask to read his etchings.

Maybe I should get another rabbit?

I think I'm in some kind of bizarre post-porn slump. I mean--sure. It's all good and orgasmic, but then you think, what will I do now?

Apparently, that would be rebundling my del.icio.us tags.

*frowns*

It's--I open them at home, and stare at them, thinking, how can I be *more descriptive*, and merryish asked the other day, do you do your own stories? And suddenly, this entire new vista of opportunity presented itself.

Tagging my own stories.

I know them! Finally, finally, I would have a use for the tag Clark-apocalypse and for One Word in Voyager, I could totally have ten separate pairing tags. Ten! And that's before you get to the amnesia and adultery and attempted murder and Q and self-injury and I was like, twenty-three when I wrote that, so judge not, man. That was my Trekkie soap opera. Good times.

Anyway, right.

Del.icio.us, the cure for post-porn depression.

See, I had a theme here.

*****

In other news:

Okay, no, we don't have a hotel, but svmadelyn has her ticket and Child and I have our tickets, so we are definitely going to Chicago and I can honestly state the best thing I can imagine right now is Child's face when he sees dinosaurs and lizards, cause man. So awesome. It's--well. Okay. It's hotwire's fault. We had a hotel picked out. It had breakfast and music during breakfast. It was close to Navy Pier.

Then hotwire wiggles its tentacles at us all "oooh, look, you can get four star for so much less if you just waaaatch and waiiiiittt." Which we did. And are still doing. It's kind of addictive, isn't it? That and priceline, which both me and Madelyn are fascinated by yet terrified to use.

Now, paying deposit for cruise and I am *free*. Well. No. But I could be. Eventually.

*****

*winces*

Remember when I mentioned the at home parent-teacher conference adn was confronted by Incredibly Attractive Math Teacher? My son came home the other day, giving me a knowing look, which always come across as a fairly disturbing smirk, and sidled up to tell me he isn't married.

You know, I do not want to know how the hell that came up during class. I just don't. Don't, don't, don't.

Well. To reinterate how pathetic my life is....

Today, I had an ego-boost. Random client told me I was attractive. Which of course, I have no idea how to deal with. But good thing. Made me put on lipstick and check my teeth for broccoli.

I learned things, also. One, lipstick is good for making for relaxation. Two, the interpretation people are in Panama. Ah, you ask, how did you find this out?

His name is Luis.

For those following the saga of my flirtations with interpreters and the frightening level of my social life, Luis is a new one to me. Gorgeous voice, faint accent, very interesting. How would I know this?

Why, that would be the fact I spent thirty minutes on the phone doing my level best at flirting cross-culturally while he translated for me with a client.

Yep, thirty minutes. Because I wanted to be THOROUGH in understanding what the woman needed, and yes, I admit it, I'm a phone slut.

We're about five minutes in and Luis stops me while I'm mumbling to myself while trying to get the computer to give me info and asks me my name.

Huh, thinks I.

"Jennifer. Jenn."

"Jennifer." He made me love my name. "Your Spanish is very good."

Okay, that is totally some kind of translator pick-up line. Him and Juan. Phone-flirters.

"No, really, senor, I'm seriously not."

"Your accent is very good."

Well, maybe. I practically hear nothing but Spanish all day, so everything I'm learning now is pretty much exactly as I hear it. But I blush, because, again, pathetic. And God, he must be bored.

And God, I'm an easy phone-lay.

"Thanks. That's really nice of you."

work stuff, work stuff, work stuff, then....

"I had problems learning English."

"Really? You barely have an accent." Only a sexy one, I might add, but didn't, because I'm kind of a shy phone slut sometimes. "Where did you learn?"

"//insert random Northern state here//, but it got easier."

"Did you enjoy it?"

At this point, office is listening in and grinning.

"Very much."

work, work, work....

"My aunt is from //insert South American country here//. Her English is perfect except right after she's spoken Spanish for a while."

"I'm from Panama City, Panama."

*jenn thinks*

"Are you in Panama now?"

"Yes."

Question answered. I'm calling Panama to get an interpreter. Dearest God.

work work work

"Como se dice 'weird' in espanol, Luis?"

Luis laughs. "Raro." Sexy rolling rrr's. Dearest God times two. Say it again, Luis.

"Que?" I'm subtle like that.

"Rrrrarrroo."

God is good.

"Gracias, senor."

Work, work, work. Flirt, flirt, flirt.

Dammit, client is leaving.

"Okay, Luis, gracias for your help. You've been amazing." Because he gives good phone and deserves praise.

"If you wish to request my services, my extension is letter-number combination. I'd like to be of service again, Jennifer."

He seriously makes me love my name.

And jenn dreamily writes it down, wishes him buenos dias, and gets off the phone.

Office is giggling hysterically.

Jenn is blushing. Everyone is laughing. I'm amazed that I have so little shame.

Yep.

Coworker asked me what I'm doing for teh fourth of July. I was like, sleeping, of course. At this point, everything is charged with sexual energy, because, well, see above, pathetic.

Okay, that thing where I swore off dating until I felt I was emotionally ready? Oh please. Emotionally ready my ass. I'm hitting on foreign interpeters via phone. This says seriously scary things, dont' you think?

Breathe.

But man, that voice....