So, what of my adventures you ask? Well, firstly, I'm terrible with names, much more of a face person, so I began numbering the physics boys. And, as should be duly noted, the numbers are not indicators of hot factor...simply the order in which I sampled. Unfortunately, the first benefit of physics labs doesn't seem to apply to me, so Physics Boy Numero Uno is definitely not on the hot list. Oh no honey, this boy is in a class of his own. Ugh. Just my luck.
Apparently, relying on the fact that I was one of three females in a class of twenty to get me in the hot loop wasn't enough. I swear to god I must emit some kind of repellent, for males and females alike. Do they sense that I'm ornery? Cranky? A downright bitch?? Bleck, they must. Maybe I should change perfumes. Either that or find a way to restore my good karma so the whole of existence itself will stop slighting me. At any rate, on the first official day of lab, I was ignored fiercely. People were as cold as a witch's tits in a brass bra. Just refused to sit next to me. And of course, class begins and I'm shitting my pants thinking I'm going to have to partner-up into an awkward threesome (under other circumstances, this might not be so bad...). But then, at the eleventh hour, my knight in shining armor comes waltzing through the door.
Fuck me.
A frat boy.
Seriously?? Thanks so much guardian angel.
This, ladies and gentleman, was Physics Boy Number One. Or as my friends and I fondly refer to him as, Violent Physics Boy. Holy hell. This kid was buzzed off his ass and adamant as all get out that the horizontal component of projectile velocity is non-constant among other physics fallacies. And who was scared for their life and limb to oppose the towering redheaded giant of a man who basically oozed alpha male from his every pore? Yup, that would be me. At one point he even massaged my shoulders and made some idiotic sexist comment about how typing must be so exhausting, how do women secretaries do it?? (to which I retorted "Oh, it's not the typing that's exhausting, it's all the thinking"). Jesus. And of course, of freaking course!, of all the wonderful guys in the room, who actually remembers my name?? Who goes out of their way to say "Hey Holly, how you doing darlin'?" Yessir, Violent Physics Boy.
Why me??
Okay, I have a million hot physics boy stories; Hot Physics Boy #3, the one I sat on for a good ten minutes before realizing, HPB #8, the one who complemented my singing (literally the sole being in this universe to ever tell me so), HPB #1 (who was the second hottest), the one who I couldn't stop smiling over and who walked me to my next class...I mean the list goes on and on...to ten. O.o But the most upsetting HPB story is of HPB #2. The hottest of them all. And one of the smartest most sensually attractive and well dressed men I have ever come within a meter of. And of course, because I am of the eternal damned the guy is a good five inches shorter than I am. FML. But that, that ladies and gentleman, is not the kicker. The kicker is that this guy's last name is Jolly. JOLLY.
Do you understand the horror of this?!?!?!
Holly Jolly.
Oh hell no. HPB #2 and I can never be. He was cruelly ripped from my clutches and our future as husband and wife vehemently shredded by the Yuletide horrors of my acquisition of a name with a theme song. A song, which by the way happens to be my LEAST favorite song ever. Why!?! Why oh cruel and heartless world!?!? Why must you spite me so???
BTW, if you would ever like me to indulge you with my many HPB stories, let me know. A coffee or sushi bribe almost always does the trick...that and I get an immense joy from sharing the outrageous comings and goings of that course with anyone and anyone who will listen and laugh believably when I raise the cue card.
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