1) Today I completed the first leg of the 2-Day Awkward Fest that is parent-teacher conferences. Our administration decided to schedule two 12-hour work days for us this week and gave us Friday off as compensation. I have very little to say about this other than it sucks to have to remember to sit like a lady in a skirt from 7:30 in the morning to 8:00 in the evening, especially when you accidentally tuck the back of the skirt into your tights after coming out of the bathroom and you stroll down the hall unaware of your right ass cheek's semi-exposure to the entire fourth grade wing until your students come in and the one girl who's more mature than all the others because she babysits and got her period early pulls you into a corner and shields you while you pluck the offending garment from your underpinnings and pray that the superintendent who gave you a thumbs-up in the hallway five minutes ago had sustained some sort of damage to his peripheral vision from a football injury or in a foreign war that prevented him from viewing your gluteus in all its half-shrouded glory. Also, one of the parents farted while I was talking about how her son had a lot of potential and I started stuttering because I was trying not to acknowledge that she had farted even though it was sort of a melodic fart because she shifted in her chair to hide it which made it sound exactly like the first two notes of "Here Comes the Bride" and the fact that she had farted a perfect Perfect 4th and I couldn't say anything about it made me die a little inside and I realized right there in that room that I will never, ever be mature enough to raise children. I should probably just be sterilized for the sake of humanity.
2) I have to go see an otorhinolarynologist on Friday morning. I like to write otorhinolarynologist instead of ENT because I like think it makes you respect me, or at least the possible disease I have. My medical issues are GRANDER than yours because my doctor has twenty letters in his title. That's some impressive shit, brah.
Basically, our instructional coach at my school is very worried that I might be developing callouses on my vocal cords because of all the muscle tension I have from sixteen years of horn playing and three years of kid wrangling and two years of living with the man who would eventually cause me to completely lose my shit. And I' m pretty scared myself, because if my voice doesn't heal I will permanently sound like a castmember of Laguna Beach and I'll also never be able to do my job successfully again.
I'd really like to get my voice back, because while sounding like Kirstie Alley all day long totally heightens my sex appeal with the Cheers demographic, I can only imagine how much more unattractive it makes me to my own peer group. At least next Halloween I'll be able to really make my students cry when I tell them bloody finger ghost stories.
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