I finished another tedious reading assignment today for Monday’s class. It was called, “Making Learning Fun: Quest Atlantis, A Game Without Guns.”
If I were a teacher, I would be interested in being involved with this software and project.
Early in the day I thought, “If my throat isn’t feeling better by tomorrow, I’m going to go to urgent care instead of waiting until Monday to see my regular doctor.” At about 3:00, I decided, “Why wait until tomorrow, I might as well get on with it in case I have to get on something.”
I checked in with Joe to see what urgent care he uses, and was referred to Rex Urgent Care off the Cary Parkway.
I HAVE STREP THROAT AGAIN. I had it in December, again in January, and now again. Redamndiculous.
Okay, two or three days ago, I can’t remember where — either at work or school — I walked by a guy who let out this huge sneeze without covering his mouth just as I passed in front of him, and I remember thinking at the time, “If you’re sick, you fucker…”
I’m now on a 5-day 
I had a distinct urge for breakfast for dinner tonight. I went to find a picture of some waffles and some eggs to place side by side, and was too excited to come across the exact thing I made — all in one picture. Okay, so I’m easily excited.
There’s even a recipe for it! [After thought/post: Okay, I got so excited about this that I didn’t even read the recipe before linking to it — just saw the ingredients and the picture. I don’t cook my eggs in the syrup. That a little much — even for me. I just fry the eggs (over-easy, actually), toast the waffles, set the eggs on the waffles, break the yokes and let them run onto the waffles, and then pour some maple syrup on top of the whole thing. This is how my (French Canadian) mom used to make them for us when we were kids, and I love the combination of tastes.]
Dancing was somewhat of a bust tonight. We never had more than four line dancers on the floor at the same time. Carl, Michael, Geromy, Ross, and me were it.
Joe twisted my arm — okay about a quarter-of-an-inch — to go to CCs. I stayed for about 30 minutes. The music is way too loud there. Both Joe and I think that it exceeds the legal decibel limit — whatever that is.
This young Latino boy was looking at me, and when Joe stepped away to use the restroom, he walked up to me.
“I’m Angel,” he said. Which was a little ironic in that a remix from Rent, Seasons of Love, was playing right before he came over.
“I’m John.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“No, but thank you. I’m on antibiotics, and can’t drink tonight.” And after a minute, “How old are you? You look very young.”
“I’m older than I look. Guess how old.”
“Okay, since you said you’re older than you look, I’m going to guess 26, but I really think you’re more like 22.”
“I’m 21.”
“Bitch,” I thought, and then said, “I’m old enough to be your father, honey.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“I’m 48.”
“My father’s 40,” he said just a little too quickly.
“Bitch,” I said out loud this time.
“You’re still very handsome, though.”
“Thank you.”
At home, I started this week’s crossword puzzle in The Independent, and missed Robert’s help doing it.
I started using the Internet pretty quickly to search for answers.