I want you...

(bum-bum-bum)
I want you so ba-a-a-a-a-ad
(bum-bum-bum)
I want you-oo-oo-oo-oo
I want you so ba-a-a-ad, it's driving me mad
It's driving me mad.

This is what plays in my head every time I come within 5 feet of Maybe Crush. And I've determined a few things:

1. He is completely unaware of how ridiculously sexy he is; and
2. He is completely unaware of how desperately I want to jump his bones.

He came to see a play on campus with me this evening, as I oh-so-conveniently had an extra ticket. We met for a drink beforehand, saw the show, smoked a cigarette, and walked to the train... and the entire time all I wanted to was pounce on him and make out like teenagers right there beside Duane Reade.

I don't know how much longer I can take this. It's like that episode of Seinfeld (god I hate myself for making a Seinfeld reference) where not having sex makes George smarter and Elaine dumber.

This past week I've had trouble forming complete sentences, and I thought it was just due to my insane schedule and lack of sleep. Now I think it's because all of my braincells are being consumed with playing out every potential scenario (for good or for ill) when I finally break down and just blurt out "damnit, I like you!"

Honestly, I could write a dozen romantic comedies (or really depressing chick flicks) with the material I've created while smoking on the fire escape this past week.

Hmmm, well I guess it's comforting to know that if my teaching career fails, I could always get a job writing for the CW. Think I'll head out to the fire escape and work on my portfolio...