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~Thursday~  This morning Library Guy—who wears glasses, is usually totally silent on the bus, doesn't make eye contact, and almost always reads, usually a magazine in his field of study—was yammering away with the lady behind me, who was the lady I mentioned a week or two ago who at that time was reading a children's book in the seat in front of me.

Library Guy is also the guy that I mentioned in the last month or so who talked to me for the first time while we waited for the bus home, in front of the credit union, and he actually turned out to be quite the Chatty Kenny once he got going. And to think I had written him off as a total nerd with no social skills.

These two people are so unalike in appearance and manner that I was totally shocked to learn, as their conversation continued the entire trip to work, that they seemed to even know each other's children. This Children's Book Lady has been on the bus several times with a baby boy, and today she talked about him being at Duke with some not life-threatening, but serious, ailment.

She said to Library Guy, "Yeah, I tried to get his mother there to sign some consent form, but she evidently couldn't stop doing her drugs long enough to be bothered. I went ahead and signed since I got custody of him. What was I supposed to do, let him die?"



I attended mandatory Computer Use Regulations training this morning, and the presenter (and a colleague of mine) made it as interesting as one can make a presentation about regulations. He injected appropriate humor often.

What was most interesting about the hour, though, had nothing to do with computer use regulations, but was the fact that this was the first time I've seen him without a hat for a month or two now. He's been growing his hair out long enough to make dreadlocks, and today they made their debut—at least to me.

I was surprised at how ethnic they made him look. I've always thought of him as just another "average white guy," but with his dreadlocks I thought, "Is that an almond shade to his skin tone, or am I projecting that now?" If I were meeting him for the first time looking like this, I might assume he was from one of the Caribbean islands. Don't worry. Be happy. But, please, no racial profiling.



During lunch, I saw the following headlines on nc.rr.com. Good lord, people!
1 It's bestiality, not beastiality? Really???



On the bus ride home, I had to take the center seat of five in the very last row of the bus, so two people sat to my right, the seat directly to my left was empty and there was a woman in the window seat to the left.

When I took out my Kindle, the man sitting next to me said, "Is that a book?"

"Actually, there about 30 books on this thing, and I'm reading one of them," I replied.

"Hm," he said.

Just ahead of me on the right side in a center-facing seat, on the phone the entire way, in brown Petal Pushers and a pink blouse that was untucked, sat Miss Grand-Larceny-I-Stole-the-Kids'-Food-Money. Fortunately—for all of us, I'd imagine—the engine noise was so loud back there that we were spared from hanging on her every word.



After a dinner of a mixture of white steamed rice (Minute Rice, which takes five minutes to cook so technically should be called Minutes Rice; I'm just saying...), diced boiled chicken, and some grated cheddar cheese, I went to the gym where I did 300 (15 sets of 20 reps each of) ab crunches, followed by 45 minutes on the elliptical machine burning off 820 calories.

During the 45 minutes on the elliptical, I listened to a playlist I created quite a while ago, but haven't listened to in several months. At one point, these three songs came on in a row and I got to jammin' on the thing: Irreplaceable, Fergalicious, and Hollaback Girl.

With about 20 minutes left in my workout, this guy with the most incredibly hot legs—specifically the hairy calves and thighs—got on the elliptical machine next to mine. There were four other empty machines to the right of mine that he could've chosen. Things that make you go, "Hmmmm." (Not that selecting an available elliptical machine necessarily follows the same rules as selecting an available urinal.)

Of the five TVs within a reasonable view of our machines, one had on some entertainment show that was showing the top sexiest men of all time, starting with JFK Jr. "The thing about him was that he had perfect hair!" one girl being interviewed screamed. Well actually, I was reading the closed captions and they were not in all caps, so I can't swear that she screamed, but the veins in her neck were engorged with blood.

As I chose to openly stare at that TV (as opposed to the one more to our right that had some woman exercising with a great body and skimpy clothing) and watch JFK in a plethora of shirtless shots, followed by Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and Leo DiCaprio, Calf-and-Thigh (reminds me of hoof-and-mouth disease) Boy was looking more often to the left than the right himself. I repeat: "Things that make you go, 'Hmmmm.'"



I met Alex out at Flex at 11:30 for Trailer Park Prize Night, where we proceeded to drink too much and too late. "Trixie" was the emcee, who I really don't care for. Hate is such a strong word, so I didn't explicitly use it.

"Candice Cox" was also in the cast tonight, whom I also don't care for. I don't believe there's anyone who thinks she is more talented than she does herself. Her boyfriend, though, is totally sexy in a young-dumb-and-full-of-cum kind of way.

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