Slap!
Has it been a whole year all ready since the last teacher's Institute and Convention?
Conventional.
Institutional.
Being in a giant room with hundreds of teachers is enough to give anyone the willies, but a giant room full of teachers who are half in the bag, and trying their damnedest to cut a rug to Right Said Fred just about sent me around the bend. That was my Friday.
Had a horrifying Thursday night at soccer when I realized there was an old schoolmate there. She was an interesting gal whom I don't recall taking too much exception to. We exchanged pleasantries and at the end of the night KDub and I were off to get a glass of wine, when a severely embarrassing memory came crashing into my tiny brain. I guess I must have been in grade eight and I recall flying into the girls washroom in a rage and giving her full armslength slap in the head and telling her not to f*n talk about me behind my back. Geez. What a spazz! I don't care for any memories of my behavior from between roughly ages 13-27. Nightmare. (I really had convinced myself I was a gentle soul who was mildy self effacing and kind to most people.)
At last I've gotten my CV off to the UK for perusal by the kind people in Bristol. I've never been there but I shall do some research before I comment and commit to moving abroad. Now...
Today at institute I sat with some jocky-sporty-type women whom I normally wouldn't have and it was great. They were lots of fun and filled with stories. One of the women told us about some creepy coach from another high school who was coaching a senior girls team. During a game, he went up to one of his players, swiped his finger across her upper arm and then licked the sweat off his finger. Yuck. While this is indeed not the sort of behavior you'd want to see from any adult who works with kids, (and he well deserves one of my patented slaps across the head) it occurred to me that I don't think I've ever worked out that hard that I'd sweat on the outside of my arm. I break a sweat lifting the chalk to the board.
Getting to more serious matters, what to do with my February break? I've been thinking of getting out of town for a few days and all that's left is to figure out where I'll go and who'll pay. If it were up to my accountant he'd probably tell me all I could afford would be some cable T.V. at my mom's place with possibly some kind of gourmet Chef Boyardee. Luckily for me, my accountant is imaginary and maybe I can coax some cash out of my overused and overdrawn Visa then I'll really go to town. Like Biggar or Prince Albert. Look out prairies! Here comes a gal on a mission. Beware creepy coaches and girls whom I suspect may be talking behind my back.
Conventional.
Institutional.
Being in a giant room with hundreds of teachers is enough to give anyone the willies, but a giant room full of teachers who are half in the bag, and trying their damnedest to cut a rug to Right Said Fred just about sent me around the bend. That was my Friday.
Had a horrifying Thursday night at soccer when I realized there was an old schoolmate there. She was an interesting gal whom I don't recall taking too much exception to. We exchanged pleasantries and at the end of the night KDub and I were off to get a glass of wine, when a severely embarrassing memory came crashing into my tiny brain. I guess I must have been in grade eight and I recall flying into the girls washroom in a rage and giving her full armslength slap in the head and telling her not to f*n talk about me behind my back. Geez. What a spazz! I don't care for any memories of my behavior from between roughly ages 13-27. Nightmare. (I really had convinced myself I was a gentle soul who was mildy self effacing and kind to most people.)
At last I've gotten my CV off to the UK for perusal by the kind people in Bristol. I've never been there but I shall do some research before I comment and commit to moving abroad. Now...
Today at institute I sat with some jocky-sporty-type women whom I normally wouldn't have and it was great. They were lots of fun and filled with stories. One of the women told us about some creepy coach from another high school who was coaching a senior girls team. During a game, he went up to one of his players, swiped his finger across her upper arm and then licked the sweat off his finger. Yuck. While this is indeed not the sort of behavior you'd want to see from any adult who works with kids, (and he well deserves one of my patented slaps across the head) it occurred to me that I don't think I've ever worked out that hard that I'd sweat on the outside of my arm. I break a sweat lifting the chalk to the board.
Getting to more serious matters, what to do with my February break? I've been thinking of getting out of town for a few days and all that's left is to figure out where I'll go and who'll pay. If it were up to my accountant he'd probably tell me all I could afford would be some cable T.V. at my mom's place with possibly some kind of gourmet Chef Boyardee. Luckily for me, my accountant is imaginary and maybe I can coax some cash out of my overused and overdrawn Visa then I'll really go to town. Like Biggar or Prince Albert. Look out prairies! Here comes a gal on a mission. Beware creepy coaches and girls whom I suspect may be talking behind my back.
posted by greeneggsandtam | 6:00 p.m.
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