Not again

It's official, my inappropriate crush on my new coworker, Conrad, has turned into a full fledged and equally inappropriate--well, I don't really know what to call it. Let's put this simply, I like him like him. It seems it has nothing to due with him being fresh new hot man meat nor will it be going away anytime soon. We've hung out a lot since my realization a week ago, sometimes with other people, sometimes alone and each time is always flirty and fun.

Though I've obviously had a ton of fun with him on all of these occasions, I've noticed his presence has a strange reminiscence of my ex-Imaginary Boyfriend. Here's why:

1. We work together. Obviously this complicates things, but at least this time, I'm not his superior.
2. We keep quiet. No one in our department knows we've seen each other outside of work.
3. Three's company. Conrad, 8-year-Lisa, and I seem to enjoy hanging out together just like the Imaginary Boyfriend, Lisa and I enjoyed hanging out together. I actually blame her for this crush as she's the one that invited him over in the first place.
4. Fast-paced. Though nothing has happened (yet) the amount of time we've spent together has been occurring at an alarming rate (movies, dinner, Cranium, Oh My!), just like things did with the IB.
   
5. Personalities. Though there are a ton of differences, Conrad and the IB have many things in common, things I am most attracted to (smart, funny, goofy, beard).
6. Imminent departure. The IB left 3 months after it started. If this actually does start, I'll be leaving and doing the same.
   

As we here at WWBD? know, Imaginary Boyfriends are the Devil in human form. It would be extremely unforunate if I let a seemingly innocent and likable guy, such as Conrad, become the Devil. However, these similarities will not deter me from--well, whatever this is.

From the list of Things You Never Thought You'd Hear a Man Say...

I've been seeing The Highlander now for nearly 3 months, so of course I know to expect (but am not looking forward to) The Conversation, wherein we decide if we're going to be exclusive or not. Which translates to be exclusive or break-up. I don't like these conversations, which is probably why I've only had imaginary boyfriends and not a real-life boyfriend in a few years. But I know it can't be avoided this time, especially because we've been having regular sleepovers and trying to socialize our cats.

The Conversation didn't happen on Saturday, but we got a bit of a precursor to it. I certainly don't want to rehash the whole convo, but will instead skip directly to the highlight. At one point, The Highlander said to me, "I think you may have a problem with emotional intimacy." I'll get to what I think of my ability to be emotionally intimate in a moment, but first...seriously? I know he continued to talk and was saying something about how maybe I've been hurt before, but all I could do was concentrate on not smiling. This was a serious topic he was broaching, but all I could think of was the unlikelihood of having a man, who is a potential mate, sitting in front of me, wanting to talk about my issues with emotional intimacy. Has any woman ever had a man accuse them of not being emotionally intimate? Because I think I may be the first one.

I know you're probably thinking that I've taken the whole Ice Queen routine a bit far, but from what he said, this actually has nothing to do with my busy schedule, but instead by my squirminess in moments like these, my unwillingness to discuss my romantic past (and especially his), and my lack of verbalizing my feelings, so to speak. I don't actually come out and say, "Hey, I really like you." Sadly, I had to do that with McNerdy once upon a time (because he refused to talk about any of these things either, most likely the reason we were such a disaster) and my entire face twitched the whole time. I know that I am capable of emotional intimacy because I've been there before. I do, however, believe it takes me a bit longer than the average person to get there. It's just how I'm wired. I'm skeptical.

The newest revelation

My new coworker has been driving me crazy. He's immature. He's cocky. He's constantly giving me a bad time. And I totally have a crush on him. Don't ask me why. If I have a type, he's definitely not it. He's skinny and has multiple large tattoos. He drives a little sports car. He's not a mans man, he's a computer/science geek. Oh, and his name is Conrad.

I don't know what is up with this. I do love a crush but this is just ridiculous, he's 3 years younger than me (yes, he can drink but barely). I'm attributing this recent development as an excitement to have a new person, a new boy (and I do love boys). On the other hand, he's smart, reasonably attractive, and funny in a dorky way (like me!). Oh, and he has a beard.

I'm currently away for the weekend but after an afternoon/evening of flirtexting yesterday, I now keep checking my phone for that next text. That is not healthy! I'm really hoping this will just go away, but until then I'm just going to enjoy this crush. Flirtations, sexual tension--it's bloody fantastic! Oh, and I'm pretty sure this is mutual.

What Would Bridget Do: Exam Edition

So I thought since Violet has a v. important test tomorrow that she may have been thinking to herself "What would Bridget do if she had a v. important test tomorrow?" Well here is my version of things...feel free to make up your own.

1. Sign up for test. (Hoorah! You have completed this step! Move on to step 2.)
2. Gather studying materials. (If you surround yourself by them maybe you will absorb information through osmosis.)
3. Sit down to study.
4. Correct flat feng shui as cannot study effectively without the right balance. Consult self help books re: feng shui.
5. Check to see if you have miss any calls. Decide not to call Scarlet for hourly update because of v. important test.
6. Consult multiple horoscopes till you find the one that tells you tomorrow is an excellent day for test taking.
7. Really must study now!!
8. Daydream about Duke Logan and the Highlander fighting over you in a soap opera type setting. (Make a note to revisit this daydream later.)
9. Research methods of reducing test anxiety.
10. Check to see if Scarlet called or emailed to report on latest date with MM.*
11. Decide that studying is v. exhausting.
12. Congratulate self on a productive evening of studying and go to bed. Afterall don't they always say the most important thing is that you are well rested?

*Note: Yes, I am still dating MM (Meetup Matt) and apart from a brief commitment phobe setback things are going quite well.

"You're Pretty" "Shut up!"

I have an unusual problem. It's a problem most women can't fathom having, and may even wish that they had. I have a really, really hard time accepting compliments. When a man tells me I'm pretty or even dares to use the word "beautiful" (gag me!) I get all squirmy and uncomfortable and never know how to respond. It didn't take The Highlander very long to catch on to this, and as a result, it's been awhile since he's dropped any of these compliments on me.

The question is why? In order to get to the bottom of this, I consulted with Grayer to ask if she had the same problem. Grayer and I come from the same parents, and as everything is a result of how you were raised, I figured I'd start with her to see if she has the same problem. She said she does have a bit of the same problem, and we can only assume we have this problem for the same reason. We came up with a few theories.
1. We're not used to hearing it. I don't want to sound completely cocky, but I don't think this is the reason. I've been complimented enough by enough different people that this just isn't the case. Moving on...
2. Overconfidence. Grayer and I have more confidence than either of us have any right to have, and as we all know, this always goes directly back to a woman's father. And we have a ridiculously awesome dad who has always been supportive and thinks the world of us. Maybe we don't like compliments because we don't need them?
3. The I Hate Romance theory. Romance in general makes me uncomfortable. I don't like talking about where we are or where we're going, unless we're on a road trip. Could probably psycho-analyze that one too, come to think of it.

So what gives? Why can I not smile graciously and say thank you, while looking up from under adorably fluttering eyelashes? Help!

Letting Yourself be Chased

The following comes to us from guest blogger Fenella. Please excuse her British spellings ;)

After analysing my recent break-up from every single angle possible and then every past relationship/potential relationship/I really wish he'd have noticed me non-existent relationship I came to the conclusion that with all the aforementioned I have been the chaser and not the chasee. My chasing hasn't been desperate, pathetic or cringey but I have been the one to make the first move or send the first text. And it's fair to say that method hasn't really worked out for me. So I came to the conclusion that I would no longer do the chasing. From now on I'm going to sit back, relax, be nonchalant and let the guys chase me. However, guys being guys you have to give them something to work with, so obviously I would still have to register my interest with them (hair flicking, meaningful glances, etc.) and give them my number if they ask for it, that sort of thing. But after that, my work would be finished. Then it's up to them to make the first move, send the first text, or buy the first drink...
I put my steely new resolution to the test the other night. My friend and I were out to dinner and I was pleasantly surprised to see a very attractive (Spanish) waiter serving tables near us. Luckily my friend's boyfriend is the manager so my friend knew all the waiting staff including said cute waiter. I thought this would work in my favour, and it did. He came over quite frequently, laughed and joked (flicked my hair) and I even managed to slip into the conversation that I speak a smattering of Spanish. Surely, I thought, I've got him hooked. And when I came back to the bathroom to discover that he'd asked my friend if I was single I was waiting for him to ask for my number. But he didn't. Instead, I was left wondering why he didn't and what had I done wrong and generally feeling pretty despondent and low in the self-esteem department. Which was exactly how I felt when I was the chaser. Which leads me to the conclusion that the only benefit of being the chasee is that you don't embarrass yourself with drunken texts. So now, instead of thinking my new resolution is going to lead me to become a steely ice-queen with the attitude of 'if a guy really wants to call you, he'll call you' I've ended up obsessing why a guy who I thought was clearly interested didn't even ask for my number. You just never can win.
But I'm over the Spanish waiter, he was too short for me anyway.

The quest: The official report

Introduction
I've said it before and I'll say it again, as a scientist, hot colleagues are few and far between. I'm not saying we're bad-looking, I'm just saying years in the lab have made us a little more pale, out of shape and socially awkward. As Violet pointed out, "hot scientist" sounds like an oxymoron, just like "interesting accountant" or "ugly quarterback." Biologists aren't too bad, but I've noticed in my years of science that those that study life science (that's me) are far better off than those that don't (Don't even get me started the pale/awkwardness of chemists and physicists, yuck!).
Honestly most people in this field are decent looking but none of them have the classic Whoa-that-guy-is-so-hot-I-don't-even-need-a-Punnit-square-to-determine-the-likelihood-of-our-children-being-hot! (commonly referred to as the "Whoa factor") good looks (what doesn't everyone think like that?). So many creatures in the scientific field lack this Whoa factor, that it leads experts (me) to ponder it's existence. This brings us to The Quest. The purpose of this study was not to meet and live happily after with this proposed model of a Hot Scientist, but to merely prove that they do, in fact, exist.

Methods and Materials
This was an observational study conducted on an aclectic gathering of scientific communities over the course of 7 days. To determine hotness, subjects of interest were thouroughly "checked out" by performing a complete characterization without making direct contact. Subjects were evaluated qualitatively based on face, hair, body, clothing, overall appearance/awkwardness and credentials. A generous (and borderline embarassing) amount of time was given to making these assessments.

Results
In a gathering of approximately 320 participants, 90% were estimated to be married. The Whoa Factor was not present in the population, though several males achieved an above average rating of "I'd date him." The Hot Scientist remains elusive. Severe head-turning was found in the college downtown area. Though these men presumably were not scientists, they were so hot that a permanent move into the area is under further consideration by researchers (me).

Discussion
Though results were disappointing, findings in this study indicate great potential in this field. Within my conference I checked out several good-looking men, my age, who were not completely socially awkward. Though they lacked the Whoa Factor, I'd be more likely to date them than a true Hot Scientist. The fact that these above average looking men exists greatly increases the chances that the elusive Hot Scientist exists as well, I just need to attend a larger meeting. I would say I remain hopeful for further studies, though one of my greatest professors once corrected me with this by saying, "there's no hope in science!"
This week has made me wonder if I really want to date a scientist at all. Some of them can just not turn off the science talk (what a drag!). Besides, as a student of "science school" (as HOG and MF call it) I can say just about anything that sounds remotely scientific and people will believe me. And that can be pretty darn fun.

Sexy Bruises

On Saturday, I managed to get absolutely nailed with a softball, producing (very quickly, I might add) a lovely purple bruise surrounding the imprint of the softball stitches on my leg. Duke Logan insisted on examining it up close. He called it sexy. I called him weird.

On Monday, I slid on a very hard surface into second base, scraping up my knee. Oh, war wounds, how I've missed you. My legs looked like I was 15 again. Duke Logan wasn't at the field, which is very odd, as he is a softball whore. (I am merely a slut, mind you.) I texted him to point out how shocking this was. He said he knew I would miss him. I told him he missed my slide. He asked if I was going for matching leg wounds. I told him that since he said it was sexy, that maybe this was the secret to meeting the man of my dreams, and maybe I would go to a bar that night? (I didn't, The Highlander came over. We had fun.) He said that was "totally hot."

On Thursday, he asked me if I was busy Sunday. I told him I was. He wanted to know if I was interested in going to the baseball game, which is funny, because I was thinking of asking him if he wanted to go, but The Highlander is taking me to a game on Saturday, and I don't have time to go to both.

Duke Logan is too old for me. He is most likely not interested in being my friend. I am most definitely "seeing" The Highlander. Had I not been busy this weekend, I would definitely have taken him up on his offer to go to the game. My question is: Would that be wrong?

Who's on First?

It was during a recent conversation with Scarlet that I realized we really need to cover our bases. Scarlet and I both had different ideas as to what, exactly, constituted getting to third base. A quick look at the urban dictionary didn't really help, since it produced 14 definitions. First and second seem to be pretty clear: kissing (with tongue) and grabbing a feel. But if you ask me, that still seems to leave a lot of uncharted territory between second base and scoring. A few of the urban definitions suggested getting to third as oral sex, but doesn't that seem like a pretty big jump from having your boob grabbed? Maybe I'm just out of the loop, but it seems more likely that teenagers today are simply much more desensitized about oral sex. Actually, if what I've seen on Oprah is true, oral sex could almost be first base. I guess the kissing (with tongue) is a mere sacrifice fly. It won't raise your batting average, but it will get you some pats on the back in the dugout.

If first base is kissing (with tongue), and second is above-the-belt feeling, it seems that an advancement of 90 feet would be anything below the belt. Just like in baseball, I don't really think any more bases need to be covered. If you can acquire a venereal disease, you've scored. That may be old-fashioned, but I also believe they should do away with the DH. I'm a purist.

The quest

Tomorrow I’m flying out to the Midwest to attend a conference. Though I’m a nerdy, biology-loving-lady, an entire week of symbiosis lectures, posters and presentations does not have me enthused. I’m attending with three of my labmates, who I get along with in lab, but an entire week in a new city is different. Already I think one of them is scary/crazy, another I bicker with like we’re married, and the third just started and I hardly know him. And of course our boss will be there too, keeping an eye on us. It’s bound to be a long, difficult week. This is why I’ve given myself an assignment. A quest if you will.

You’d think this quest would be to network with people in my field, to perhaps find potential employers, however, you’d be wrong. Instead, I’m on a mission to discover an elusive subspecies of human males--a hot microbiologist. Some say they don’t exist. I can only hope that they do. I thought I saw one once, last year at a conference. He was never seen again, and my sighting has been attributed to either A) a hallucination caused by exhaustion from picking up free pens all day or B) he was just a regular hot male who accidentally wandered into a microbiology conference.

This is not a large conference so chances of a sighting are slim. However, I swear to Charles Darwin that if he is out there, he will be found. I’ll report back with my scientific findings.

Puppy love

My apologies. I've been a commitment-phobic, neglecting fuckwitt when it comes to this blog. But baby, I can change (we've heard that one before). I am sitting at my desk (for the first time in say, 2 years?) with my laptop at the window and I am totally channeling Carrie Bradshaw. (Did Carrie Bradshaw have a cat draped across her laptop repeatedly hitting keys?).

I have recently undergone a major life change, in the fact that I have become surrogate mommy to an adorable, energetic, 2-year-old dog. While my roommate/best friend (or life partner as I tell unattractive/unavailable strangers) goes off to work for a week at a time, I have my very own pup and the perks are endless. Let me tell you, when you have a dog not only do you not need a boyfriend (like usual) but you don't have time for a boyfriend. Taking him for walks, going to the park, and playing on the beach is honestly filling up my free time and I'm loving it.

First of all, although ladies swear its a great way to meet men, I have yet to have such luck. I've decided I must get away from the closest (and best) dog park in my town, full of middle-aged couples, and go to the next town over which boasts a high population in young professionals. Even if I'm not meeting hot men, I'm still getting out of the house, having conversations with strangers and having a good time. And those are some of the primary rules of being a happy, healthy singleton!

As happy of a singleton as I am, it's nice to have someone to come home to, to have someone that needs you. Although my dog-like cat has always greeted me at the door and needed me, the dog is much more emotional about it. Think about it, who else would sit around waiting for you to come home and be sooo excited when that finally happened. It's obvious he absolutely adores me and I can only return the love. He's always willing to cuddle with me, to lay at my feet, and even let me spoon with him (sometimes I just want to spoon!). And it's nice to wake up to someone, even if it's a big black nose just inches from yours. My heart was filled with glee the morning I woke up to find the dog and the cat sleeping on my bed and actually touching.

Tonight I strolled along the beach watching a gorgeous sunset while my pup ran circles around me. This is the second time this week we've done that, and I still absolutely love it. I have not found myself wishing anyone to be with me nor have I wished I was doing something else. With him, I am perfectly content. I have often thought I would spend my impending spinsterhood as a crazy cat lady. Though I still love my cat to death, and I should have named him Trouble, I'm now seeing that a dog may be exactly what we need to complete our happy little family. Either way, I'm sure to be crazy.

Paging Dr. McDreamy

We here at WWBD? love Grey's Anatomy. Seriously. I can't speak for Scarlet and Grayer, but I take the show as gospel truth regarding the happenings at all hospitals. Which is why I was seriously disappointed at how my Saturday turned out.

My mom was visiting over the weekend, and unfortunately, our Saturday plans were derailed when I had to take her to the hospital (nothing serious, she's fine). We were a few hours into our 13-hour stay when I said (in only mock frustration) "This is nothing like Seattle Grace! Where are all the cute doctors?" No sooner had the words left my mouth when there was a knock on the door... and in walked a cute doctor. Cute enough for even my mother to notice. "There you go, Vi," she said after he had left. "There's your cute doctor."

So why was I disappointed? Cute as he was, he was no Karev/McDreamy/Sloan clone, and I saw him for a total of 15 minutes, all of which occured before I went home to shower and change, and was therefore wearing my glasses, no mascara, and had greasy bangs. Ugh. On top of that I was bored all day. I didn't see a single doctor or nurse running, no severed limbs, no bombs in bodies (quite grateful for that one, actually) and worst of all, I did not see a single intern getting it on in the on-call room/supply closet/empty patient room. This is no Hicksville General either; it is a major hospital in the middle of a major city. (Actually, I was told had I gone to the one nearby, I could have possibly witnessed a myriad of gun shot wound victims.) Clearly there is something wrong with this hospital, because there is certainly nothing wrong with my Seattle Grace.