Geek Life; or, Psi Phi

My initial order from the Science Fiction Book Club arrived today, and I now have an eighteen-inch-high stack of hardback books on my floor. Yippee! I won't list off all the titles, since some of 'em are gifts for people who read this journal ... but I have a copy of the Silmarillion now, and it is mine mine MINE.

The DVDs of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and The Shawshank Redemption also arrived. This, of course, is a cunning ruse to spend time at Colin's parents' house over break, enjoying their home theatre system and getting them to take us out to dinner.

Christmas is going to be kind of lean this year. I haven't had a real job all semester, other than teaching, and my attempt to start teaching for Kaplan has been foiled by the evils of scheduling. They told me at the interview that they'd put me with a GRE class that met during the week, but last night during training I was informed that they had me doing SAT classes. Which I knew paid less, but which I didn't know till today met on weekends. Never mind that I'd told them up front "I can't work weekends because I have to be at drill once a month." So I'll be paid for last night's training session (a whopping $24 less taxes), and I'll start training over if they need a GRE or GMAT person at some point. I'm starting to believe Paul's fevered rantings about the malice of HR people.

So, that settled, off I went to catch the end of the SF meeting. Meeting ensued, and as everyone started to leave, Scott asked if I'd managed to find a copy of The Big U yet; apparently he'd picked up one at Prairie Lights, one of the many local indie bookstores, and thought they had another copy handy. So, he showed me how to get to Prairie Lights, and we hung out upstairs talking for about an hour.

I just don't know what to do about Scott, to be honest. He's genuinely a nice guy, but he is also plainly Not My Type. Normally, this is not a difficult thing; I have many male friends who are Not My Type. JJ. Kean. Roger. Chris. Slave. Josh. Austin. I could go on for quite some time, but these are only examples to illustrate: I can hang out with JJ for a couple of hours and feel perfectly comfortable because it is perfectly obvious that JJ looks at me as a worthwhile friend.

Scott, on the other hand, looks at me through the rose-coloured glasses of a guy with a seriously hardcore crush.

This is not my fault. I have done nothing to encourage this. I played the I Have a Fiancé card early on. I avoid lengthy eye contact. I establish what to me are huge personal-space boundaries, though admittedly they may just be average for Iowans based on the discussions we had in Language and Society about unspoken social rules last week. I have talked at length about my plans to get a house with Colin and Alex. And I feel bad, because I've been in Scott's position before, and it's dreadfully uncomfortable. We were talking at one point about the labyrinth of SF markets out there (I'd mentioned the guidelines for SFF.net's Beyond the Last Star anthology), and when he asked, "Would you be willing to be my Virgil?" (ie, advice-giver about the circles of hell that are the publishing industry) my immediate reaction was "Good God I'm glad he didn't say Beatrice." And felt really tacky for it, too. But there it is.

This would be a lot easier if Colin were here, natch. The sight of Cute Boyfriend Surgically Attached To Girl's Hip tends to go a long way toward convincing people that someone genuinely is unavailable (and while that may not be 100% true in the general case, it is in the specific case, i.e. Not Available To X, where X is "anyone affiliated with the legal profession" or "frat boys" or "Cat Piss Men" or whatever). Bringing him up here to house-hunt during Spring Break will be extremely helpful. I hope, anyway.

Sigh. I don't want to be a jerk to anyone, and I don't see any way to avoid that.