My short story prof tends to stand and lecture at the sides of the class, rather than front and centre, and likes to idly squeeze his nipple through his three sweaters, between his index and middle finger. Why do I KNOW that?! He tends to do it a lot. I'm forced to watch him talk, otherwise I lose him with the accent. The least he could do is try to hide his tweaking ways a little by crossing his arms or something. Actually, I don't even think he realizes he's doing it, but still. Ewww. Old man nipple scratching. Ewww.
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Beware of Squiggly Excitement Levels

On a lighter note, Squiggly came over for about 20 minutes yesterday to say "hi" and to watch the last two minutes of the 4th quarter of the Raptors/Houston game. (I'm sure you know of this kick-ass game.) 83-80 for the Rockets, less than 24 seconds left on the clock, Raptors' possession. Now I don't tend to watch basketball on TV, but for this kick-ass game, I sat down on the armrest next to Squiggly, leaning forward in anticipation. Raptors sub-on all their field-goal shooters...Vince brings it up the floor...passes to the rookie...Bosh takes the 3-point shot...HE MAKES IT TO TIE THE GAME AND PUSH THE ROCKETS FOR OVERTIME!!!

In his excited frenzy, Squiggly grabbed my legs and waved them around like one of those giant foam fingers as I fell off my perch onto the couch behind him. When he'd finished waving my legs, he still had energy to expend so he cried "Hold on!" which I did, and found myself hoisted onto Squiggly's back as he did a lap around my living room/dining room before finally dropping me back onto the couch in a stunned heap. I (voicelessly) laughed and pointed at him for a good 30 seconds after that, rasping that he was the biggest loser ever. I probably would have kept teasing and pointing at him, but the overtime had just started.

We settled back onto the couch for the beginning of the first overtime. Again, down to the last few seconds on the shot clock and Raptors were down by a basket. Again, Raptors' possession...all top-shooters on the floor...a pass to the Raptor Rookie...he throws up the shot...the seconds go down...and IT'S IN! HE MAKES THE TYING SHOT AGAIN!!! This time in his excitement, Squiggly threw his arms out in a backwards pump and cried "Whoo-hoo!!!" à la Homer Simpson, only about ten times more enthusiastically (for those who know, Squiggly's reaction could be more accurately described as a "backwards birth"). Thank goodness the Raptors clinched it and crushed Houston in the second overtime--I was pretty sure Squiggly was going to explode upon his next excited outburst. That and I feared for my personal safety. :p

Squiggly once text messaged me from his workplace in Stratford: "I have so much energy right now, I wish I could just bottle it up!" I secretly think he found a way to do so and bottled just a leetle too much for this game... :) 1334
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Excuse Me, Could You Pass Me My Lung?

My first day of class in almost a week, and I was all ready to be the best student I'd been all semester. I had my pen, my paper, my notes, and I was paying attention, scribbling furiously. I was even able to focus completely without having to worry about having to answer any questions because my profs knew I had no voice with which to do so. But then, it happened. Halfway through my second class, something started to tickle in the back of my throat. At first I tried to discreetly "ahem" my way out of it, but what started off as a quiet little clearing of the throat turned into a nearly full blown hacking attack. I nearly gagged, trying to hold in my coughing. It was bad enough for the prof to stop lecturing to ask if I was okay. I threw him the thumbs-up from the back and managed to stifle my hacking for about 20 seconds as I tried to sit still. The 20 seconds up, I started to hack again. Grabbing my wallet I dove for the door, all the second-years trying to give me cut-eye for cutting into their note-taking "zone."

A bottle of water and seven straight minutes of coughing later, I knew it wasn't going to let up. Most people to pass me in the hall smiled sympathetically as I tried to keep it down, but there was one chick that threw me a glare for my unsexy hacking background sound accompanying her attempted strut down the hall. I wanted to chase her, cough a big loogie on her (if only I knew how) and then tell her that I was suffering from SARS. Lucky for her I had to double-over just then to keep my lung and diaphram from flying out my throat. I decided that my attempt at being a good student had failed at that point and would have to wait for another day. So when my class broke for break, I dove back in and gathered my stuff, feeling the relieved eyes of the prof and those second-years as I made my exit with an hour and a half of class still left to go. I hate being sick.