A la boucherie

This weekend I went to San Jose for the Language Teachers Conference. It's by far my favorite conference. I learned about the new French Language and Culture AP Exam. I gave a workshop on Google Docs and Interactive Notebooks-which are both in my top five favorite teaching tools ever. The whole getting to the conference was stressful. First, there's a lot of work to do. Second, several people around me at work are doing this HGC diet and are, well, hungry and sometimes, a bit irritable. Tuesday I hit the "I can't work any more wall" and cried. My back hurt. My feet hurt. Pete told me I probably need to work on my anger because I'm still mad that the lab didn't actually do the test to find out if I'm a fat old man and the doctor's office took a month to get back to me on it. So despite the fact that they told me my levels were fine and I was most likely not a fat old man; nobody actually knows sweet fuck-all. (That's the anger talking.)

So enter me into the Hyatt Santa Clara at 7:00pm. Enter me into the largest sea of men I have ever seen. While I waited for my colleague to check us in, I stood, mouth agape, double checking that my stressed out and fatigues eyes were not playing tricks on me and that indeed the lobby, bar and open conference rooms were filled with men. I had walked straight into Sausage Fest 2011. It was the B12 energy shot my overworked body needed. I had two immediate thoughts: 1. How quick could I sidle up to the bar and get some liquor in me and take advantage of the situation? and 2. Thank God I had chosen the padded push up bra.

My elation and giddiness nearly overwhelmed me when I realized that some of these men were at Sausage Fest 2011 for the Johns Hopkins Arthritis Conference. My thoughts then turned less to romance and more to getting my back fixed. I did due diligence and downed a few gin and tonics in the hopes that I could get myself to talk to someone. But as most everyone knows, I talk a lot of shit, but I'm not so good at sidling up to the bar and starting conversation and my colleagues still hadn't even noticed we were at Sausage Fest 2011 (nor were they the type of colleagues who would have appreciated me using the expression Sausage Fest 2011.) So I remained an observer at festival. Friday the Sausage changed from the Johns Hopkins to the Custom Chrome Harley Davidson variety. Despite the lack of direct interaction with the men; overall it was a successful conference.

When I got home, Mischief had only been mildly active and only found and redistributed a few hangers in the backyard. And either someone didn't make it in time to the duck house or someone got expelled from the duck house. I'm investigating the situation.