I can haz high schooler?

LOLcat speak. *shudder* The bane of my existence as a grammar freak and general activist for the You Write Well, Not Good movement. Yet it was all I could think for the last hour or so we spent in Greer Saturday.
Context: I did indeed end up going to the robotics scrimmage, waking up at 5:30am and riding a couple hours down the interstate with Bill and 1618's extra shit in his car, eating half a greasy McMuffin and a diet Dr. Pepper (no, I refuse to leave off the period) that tasted funny, taking a couple hundred frames and about half an hour of video footage of 2815's orbit-ball-chucking triumph throughout the day and 1618's eight feet of movement during the last practice match.
It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Embedded in that statement is my dread of waking up before the sun rises (it just seems completely unnatural and so fucking quiet I feel like I'm watching a secret death that happens every night) and the resigned boredom of spending the day with something I only half understand.
Robotics really must be growing on me, though, or maybe it was exciting to walk around looking at different stuff rather than watching the same people rivet (if I never hear the word "rivet" until next year, I'll be so eternally fucking grateful) the same sheet metal for three hours. Time passed quickly.
As I was looking for the extra women's room, I hear a voice behind me say, "Finally, someone else who likes to get their barings in strange places." I turned around and saw a tall-ish high schooler with eyebrow-length brown hair, round brown eyes, and faint whisps of peach fuzz down from his temples and across his lip. We talked a bit and I convinced him to go past the tables that blocked off the rest of the school and who knows what sort of adventure we would've had if an official hadn't come up and told us to get on the other side of the tables. (Who knew they video taped that shit?)
Then we just walked back to the doorway of the room where all the teams were setting up and talked some more until his friends grouped around us and I couldn't wait any longer to piss.
He was cute and adorably dorky, and I felt strong shy attraction (and he was a senior, so he's probably 18...), but.
But then I rode home with my boyfriend and we had such a stimulating Sunrise that his spunk arched into his eye. That's a record for both of us.
"I saw it coming."

The whole physicality of a relationship fasciantes me in ways surprising by their banality. Like, how a person's deoderant can define their whole personal scent. Bill has always smelled like pine needles, and it wasn't until we started getting naked together that I figured out it's because he uses Old Spice. It disappointed me that such a small choice as deoderant brand could be the source of such a deep, physiological-pyschological tie between people. Between lovers.
I love all the weird little ways the human body fits together, stuff we don't think about until it doesn't work anymore. I love the big pale plain of Bill's bare back; I love feeling him rub against mine. I love lying in bed with him tangled together like a couple of puppies.
This morning after his shower he shook his ass for me and I waved him over to the edge of the bed so I could tuck a few dollar bills into his tightie whities. It cracked him up. I don't know why. But making him laugh feels like a personal victory, so I tucked two quarters into his front little pocket too.

Alas, today has not been all sex and sleep and junk food (mostly, though). The astronomy unit 7 lab I attended lasted an hour and a half (sixty minutes more than the average goof-off session) and left my brain wrung dry with no new and/or useful knowledge whatsoever.
I hate this self-paced abomination of a class and sometimes wish it were a person so I could punch it in its face. The good news is I have two more labs and two review units to do and then I can dance the jig out of that forsaken basement (in the Earth and Water Science building, which I persist in thinking of as the Earth, Wind, and Fire Building) and go back no more.

Some of the old Sunday melancholy is creeping back. For the first month of this semester (month? Really? Damn. Could have sworn it'd been a year already.) it didn't make much of a peep at all. Tonight I am alone (roommate at her boyfriend's, boyfriend returned home) and I like the solitude but it reminds me how much of a hermit I truly am.

Current project:
Have not written still, as robotics lives on for one more long session (tomorrow), but I fleshed out an idea in my head while falling asleep Friday night. It'll be called "Protest" and it'll be about a girl watching her lover (although I need a different word for their relationship: "lover" seems way too old fashion and Victorian for a couple who gets naked together on a regular basis without wedding bands) get killed by an angry mob. Like, he'll just be walking back from her place, innocent, and they'll tear him to pieces simply because they're furious at something and he's the first person to cross their path. And then she can't do anything about it because of course he has a real girlfriend, so the girl can't even look like she's mourning or she'll become suspect...etc.
Not the most original plot in the world, I'll grant you, but it's something I want to write and that's the most important part.
Finished Godless (pretty decent but nothing unexpected from a guy who trumpets his atheism both on and off the page) and am now diving back into the comforts of Hello, I Must Be Going again. I've read this novel about a weird family trying to keep it together after the Vietnam vet dad kills himself at least three other times this school year.

Must find the motivation to take a shower. Where'd I put the blasted thing?