Olde Sturbridge Village

I was joined this past weekend by my good friend Reverend Carson. As part of showing an out of towner (he's from Idaho-You know...IDAHO) what new england is all about, we took a trip to Olde Sturbridge Village.

We played with hoops:


Looked at cows:


Conversed with a ram:


And I sweet talked the cute old tinsmiths into giving me a FREE HAND MADE CHEESE GRATER!

Head...hurty.

I feel a little bit better. I am not sniffling and snotting so much. However, I do have a nagging cough and a horrible pain in my head like some kind of robot is about to jump out of my skull. Which may or may not be a bad thing, except that pretending to be productive at work is extremely difficult. I tried sinus medicine, I tried advil, I tried water, I tried a large caramel latte (with skim milk, duh) and nothing works. I think that on my lunch break I am going to head over to New England Backpacker and see if buying some climbing gear might help. That and free wireless at Panera.

In speaking of buying shit, I made significant headway in de-ghettoafying my "apartment" (read: oversized shoebox/phonebooth/space capsule) yesterday. With my sister as inspiration, we cleaned up and then went to Target and Marshalls and got some niceities like a tablecloth for the new table I stole from my dad, and some martini themed tea towels. Can I have too many of these? I highly doubt it.

I still have to do several things in preparation for Rev. Carson's first visit to the East Coast, such as buying this and this but I think that overall, tiny house, exploding head and annoying cat aside, I am in good shape.

It's all about Sole

Today we had a proposal lunch at the Sole Proprietor to celebrate the successful submission of the Chesterfield proposal and the successful ruining of my weekend retreat to Vermont.

I am so in favor of the 2 hour lunch. I am also in favor of two glasses of wine at lunch. Especially when it is Monkey Bay Sauvignon Blanc. And especially, especially when I am not paying for it.

Despite being the slightest bit tipsy, I still feel like absolute ass. Albeit an ass filled with sashimi tuna and fried calamari and, so help me god, tiramisu.

The lunch was typically work-awkward with me sniffling and sneezing into my napkin every 14 seconds. I eventually told the woman next to me that she didn't have to say "Bless You" after every time I sneezed because it was quickly getting ridiculous.

In speaking of ridiculous, here is another photo of me (and Scott) on Whitehorse ledge:

Now, please note that I am attempting to (inexplicably) strike some sort of supermodel pose. If a supermodel were wearing a bright orange helmet and green raingear.

Sick

Of course, because I have something very important going on this weekend, I have gotten sick. Like, snotty, phlegmy, disgustingly sick.

Reverend Carson, please bring with you your healing powers.

An Eye Gouging Good Time

After a glorious climb on Saturday, I was utterly unprepared for Sunday. I attended, with my sister in tow, Heather's (my cousin Seth's fiancee) bridal shower.

The fun began Friday afternoon when Annie and I made a last minute run to BloodBath & Beyond to get ANYTHING off of the bridal registry. Of course, all the moderately cool stuff had been purchased and I am seriously lacking in creativity when it comes to weddings, so there was no way I was going to think of my own gift... especially when Heather had already thoughtfully made a list so that I wouldn't have to think, so I ended up getting her an IRONING BOARD. I have never felt so lame. Well, until I had to walk into her parents' house with the damn thing. We stuck a bow on it and marched boldly into the fray. Of course, everyone was all, I WONDER WHAT THAT COULD BE! But seriously, how the heck would you wrap an ironing board? Seriously.

My sister and i had a really good time rewriting the Hallmark wedding shower cards with things like, Marriage: Happiness, Love, Ironing. And, A present for both of you! Except, who are we kidding, Seth doesn't iron!

Now, I love Heather, but the shower was SO. INCREDIBLY. DULL. I was on the verge of gouging out my own eyes with boredom. My sister stopped me, You're nails are too short, Here, let me! My sister said she felt as though all her youth and energy were sucked dry and that her face was beggining to sag. I know how she feels.

The most interesting thing was watching Heather in the balloon festooned Bride-to-Be Throne and thinking, THIS. WILL. NEVER. BE. MY. LIFE.

It's like waving a T-bone in front of a dog

Completely ignoring the 40% chance of rain, Forrest, Adam, Scott, newbie Mike and I headed up to Whitehorse Ledge. The rain held off until long after we had finished Standard Route, 8 pitches up to the summit. Here are some photos from Forrest's camera phone. Please note that I look like some sort of forest ranger on the Ewok planet.

Once again, I realized just how fucking in love with multi-pitch climbing I am. As soon as Forrest mentioned that he wanted to hit Whitehorse this past weekend, I started drooling. Nothing, not even a threat of rain, was gonna keep me from hanging 600 feet off the side of that crag. I did, however, manage to avoid the Crimson Chrysalis Needing to Pee episode, which was nice. Nothing ruins a climb like the threat of urine running down your leg.

So, the next big thing is that I need to start placing my own gear. I almost did on this trip, but Adam wasn't sure if the next belay had a bolted anchor or if I had to build my own. I had visions of getting up to the non bolted belay ledge and being completely out of gear because I had placed it ALL on the way up. Next time...

Post script: How to flatter me beyond belief, You haven't lead yet? You'll have no trouble, you are a strong fucking climber.

Blunch

On a recent episode of Phantom Gourmet some restauranteur developed a meal that he called BLUNCH. You know, like, as an alternative to Brunch? Whatever.

Anyway, I had lunch with a v. good friend of mine recently who simplified her relationship trauma thusly: I am either going to marry someone who I am not sure I am in love with or I am going to die alone.

Of course, being the wise and supportive friend that I am I said, There are worse things than dying alone.

Right, she retorts, I could be an amputee!

So there you have it. Out of all the paths and choices in the world, we managed to sum it all up into 2 basic alternatives: Either you are stuck in a questionable marriage or you die alone and with some of your limbs missing.

Sidenote: The dude in the office next to me is eating NECCO wafers and just acted SURPRISED when they tasted gross.

I'm wide awake...it's 4 AM

Was oh-so rudely awakened this morning by UnderFoot retching and coughing up a very impressive hairball. As I snapped out of sleep and into the cruel 4 am reality, I thought, That's weird. She doesn't usually do that. I mean, I can't think of any other time she has barfed up a hairball. Why now? Why so early? Then I realized that the grocery had been out of her usual salmon-tuna flavored cat food and I had grabbed a bag of the Intense Hairball Formula. Which, I guess, totally works. To her credit, she did try to cover it up by attempting to scape bits of carpet over it.

When I dragged my unshowered but perfectly coiffed self (I got a haircut yesterday. YES! Now once again, I shall be flooded with invites to restaurant openings and movie premieres) out of bed a few hours later, I decided to deal with The Very Impressive Hairball straightaway before my eyes were even open. I got out the OxyClean I had purchased after the unfortunate Red Wine Incident (too lazy to link to it. sorry.) and sprayed it on the barf stain. I let it sit the requisite 3-5 minutes while I got dressed and when I returned, THE STAIN WAS GONE! I actually said, THANK YOU OXYCLEAN, outloud. Just like on TV!

I just got email from my newly departed co-worker (whom I miss dearly because he and I were always quoting from Napoleon Dynamite and Office Space and laughing at the TSV). He says, (and how much do I heart him for this??): I always thought that "Bab" and "Power Environmental" were un-necessary parts of the company name.

Indeed.

The Schooligan Hot Dog Scandal

(Click on the title for a very disturbing link)

Curse you, ACTION GEEK for uncovering the incriminating Hot Dog Footage!
Will I never be safe?

Question: How much SPREE
is too much for 10 am on Thursday?

Last night after I bailed out of the Rock Gym early (there was only one dude there and he left at 8), I went home and watched some of the Lemony Snicket Movie. I was expecting to be really disappointed because I have been in desperate love with A Series Of Unfortunate Events since I first chanced upon A Bad Beginning, and could not fathom how a movie with JIM CARREY could ever live up to the Snicket Brilliance of the books.

A brief digression... I HATE Jim Carrey. I think he is like, the most annoying guy EVER, with his stupid, overused facial expressions and his constant idiocity.

But, wow. The movie was v. v. good. (well, the first 2/3 anyway... need to finish it tonight) It restored my shattered hope in book to movie adaptations.

I met Boulder for breakfast this morning and was pleased to discover that from Annie's I can access an unsecured wireless connection. BREAKFAST WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. But don't expect me to stop crouching in the shadows in other wireless hotspots anytime soon.

P.s. I made hate the JC but I totally HEART This guy!

So Hip it HURTS

Or perhaps, more accurately, MY HIPS FREAKING HURT! Pilates is great, but it will totally kill me. Thankfully, when I die, I will be keeping my ribcage and lower back firmly planted on the floor.

We all know about my intense love/hate relationship with that thar "inter-web" thingy, with specific attention to THAT PLACE. "That Place" has brought me from the height of ecstacy to the depths of dispair (please refer to ye olde Schooligan Files for the "broken leg boy" chronicle of revolution and obsession). Of course, I have met some of the most amazing people, but I have also had to suffer through more than my fair share of subliterate, sex-crazed lunatics who think I have nothing better to do than boink them. As motherfucking if!

Anyway, I have recently become aquainted with Action Geek who has got to be one of the hippest cats in town. From his perfectly disheveled asymmetrical hair to his non-functional but oh-so-stylish Swatch watch, I can't for the life of me figure out how I got so lucky as to be mingling with one of Worcester's premiere hipsters. It totally must be the hair. Or the fishnets, which I wore to work today.

What is it with my apparent fetish for local b-list celebs?

Post Script:
Ok, this is why I LOVE ACTION GEEK.
Sweet Mother of Mystery, what's going on HERE??

Pilates Whooped My Ass

Let me reiterate: Pilates. Kicked. My. Ass.
For one solid hour.

I have decided to go nuts and take all these crazy classes at the Y because I have recently lost the ability to kick my own ass, so I need to hire someone to do it for me. (read: make the most of my *free* membership)

I used to take Pilates with Ems and Brian but gave it up because I sort of hate it. And I sort of hated the woman with crimped hair who taught the class and has negative percent body fat. And I definitely hated the fact that they scheduled the class at Six A.M. But my recent ass-expansion (aka "shoddy craftsmanship") has made it necessary for me to rejoin the Pilates ranks.

Last night from 7.30-8.30 I let a really mean woman force me to do all sorts of horrible things with my legs in the air clutching a ball between my knees while trying to keep my ribcage on the floor and BREATHE for Christ's Sake. Just to clarify: having your body bent at a 45 degree angle while holding a ball between your legs SUCKS. It especially sucks when you are me and are shaking and crying and praying for death. And it sucks EVEN MORE THAN THAT when the person making you do it is a horrible liar and says UNABASHEDLY, "Ok, one more aaaaaand... I LIED!!! 8 more!!"

So Right ON!

A blog is just a blog

I am a terrible person, part II

I was chatting with this kid on myspace and told him this story about how I drove my brother to the bus station on Saturday and while we were waiting for his bus, went over to Coney Island so Devon (the brother) could get a hot dog. Outside the hot dog place was a sketchy looking, mumbling, bum with a shopping cart. I made reference to this and, let's call him "forrest", went on this tangent about how we should all be nice to bums and talk to them, cause they are people too, and I should have bought him a hot dog, and how he probably just wanted to talk to someone and it's really hard to get a job when you have no teeth and kinda smell bad...

He's right. I am a horrible person.
I also ate all of the cashews out of the can of mixed nuts that belongs to the department.

Seduced by cropped pants

I recently declared to my sister that I was SO DONE with capri pants. I mean, it's so difficult to find shoes that don't look retarded with them. But then, I bought not one but TWO pair (two pair? two pairs? help.) from the Gap in the past week. And I don't think I have worn anything else, well, except my supertight, super low cut, super butt squeezing, pants that I keep around only as a litmus test of whether I am too fat. (Too fat=pants don't fit.)

So, yes, I am a dirty liar. I still love capri pants, especially with heels so that I can fancy myself some sort of rockabilly hipster. With MAD hair.

In speaking of my hair, I am way overdue for a haircut. This is probably why my glamorous lifestyle has been extremely non-existant lately. But I am scheduled to get one on Thursday, so once again, my hair will be admitted to VIP rooms.

This morning, I got up early, and did that whole shower thing. I made and ate oatmeal (instant) while my hair was drying. Unfortunately, I did not dry my hair quite completely because I am lazy and can't stand blow drying and try to compensate but putting more goo into my hair in hopes that it will behave itself. Well, it didn't. And so I look like a slightly mad lion this morning.

In glasses.

Making the best of a dick slap to the face

Sometimes things don't go the way you plan. And when you are, say, ME and work for, oh, I don't know, COCK, things go horribly horribly wrong with alarming frequency.

Why we thought that Friday the Fucking 13th would be an auspicious day to try and get a proposal out the door is unclear. But we tried. And failed miserably.

At 5:15 when we were still very very far from completion, I sort of thought that driving 4 hours up to Vermont was a crazy idea. At 7pm when I finally left work, utterly exhausted and demoralized, my only coherent thought was how quickly I could get a drink into me.

PT and I decided to abandon the Vermont mission for a better time and decided to go out and have a few drinks and RE-PLAN the weekend. I did, however, manage to order a ton of expensive sandwiches for lunch and charge it to Chesterfield 6. (I am still eating them, there were a LOT of sandwiches.)

We ended up meeting up with Samurai Jones and hitting Vincent's for some cocktails and defrazzlement. It was nice, but I couldn't help but think that COCK was slowly taking over my life.

Despite how that sounds, I don't know that it is a good thing at all.

SHIT MOTHERFUCKING HELL BALLS

It's official: My life has been ruined by COCK.
I am doomed to throw myself under a bridge or something befitting a Fallen Woman.

So, PT and I had a weekend away in Vermont planned at a FREE condo with a HOT TUB and a FIREPLACE and proximity to BOULDERING...

And now I am stuck at work under the jackboot of CHESTERFIELD 6.

Goddammit.

Today's dose of jackassery

I got this message today from a chap on the infamous myspace:

i had to laugh ....i am not the best speller ...but under occupation .... u wrote down WORKING FOR COCK ! lmao ! .... just thought u might like to change that part * giggles *

don


So I replied:

I kid you not, my presumptuous friend.



He writes back:

i saw the restuant i thought u were trying to say cook ! * blushes * sorry bout that * hides * lol


Right, cause that makes SO MUCH MORE SENSE than Cock...
And, really, when The Schooligan says she works for COCK, you damn well better believe she means that she WORKS FOR COCK!

Mojitos and Karaoke (but thankfully not together)

Last night I ended up staying at cock until Seven Motherfucking Fifteen. I had to put together some Q&A on sootblowers and some shit, which, quite frankly, after 6 pm CAN BLOW ME.

As tired as I was, I took my cropped pants to visit my sister and drag her and F-Dogg for a walk. We kept up our usual banter about hobo knives and various ridiculous things that happened like the girl at my sister's school who was suspended for wearing a skirt that did not come down to her fingertips. Actually, the skirt was the proper length in front but because of her "ghetto booty", it was too short in the back. Ahhhhh. Worcester Public Schools.

After our evening constitutional, I talked my sister into playing a quick round of Karaoke Revolution which is the best ridiculous video game since DDR. My rendition of "Unchained Melody" got me a Platinum Record. Awwww, Yeah!

The night was warm, so Digital P and I sat out on the front stoop and sipped "thirty minute mojitos", named after the amount of time it took to walk 30 feet to Price Chopper and get a bottle of club soda. There is something about that supermarket that just ENRAGES me. Maybe it is the fact that there is ALWAYS a really long line or that they never carry any products that I need. Or that there robotic check out thingy always fucks up and you end up having to talk to a cashier ANYWAY, which defeats the whole freaking purpose of using the "people free" check out. Or the fact the all the stumbling, obese, burping, retarded zombies in town do their shopping there. So annoying.

Also annoying is the fact that I don't have a gigantic BRICK of chocolate in front of me to gnaw on.

I Love the Y and here is Y...

I "belong" to the Ghetto YMCA and by "belong" I mean that I volunteer at the Rock Gym enough so that I can get a free membership. I love that place. Not only is everyone super nice, but the majority of the members are either geriatric, obese or somehow mentally unstable so it is very easy to feel at home.

I decided to take a class in Kuk Sool Won, Korean style Martial Arts that was being offered. As was typical, of the 5 people in the class at least 2 were retarded or somehow suffering from some kind of mental problems. Like the guy who's multiple personalities were fighting over whether or not he wanted to participate in class.

Other than the fact the my Korean is EXTREMELY RUSTY, I think this should be quite the time. If for no other reason than the teacher had a very long braid at the back of his otherwise short hair and sweats A LOT.

Lappy 486

Digital P has been doing all sorts of "things" to my new laptop. I don't know what these things are, but he promises me a computer that will be "faster" and "better". It's not that I don't trust him, it's just that I am paranoid that my wireless will somehow get fucked up. Because, I mean, a laptop without wireless is, well, dumb.

In other news, somehow I managed to completely screw myself financially so that I have $1.91 in my checking account until I get paid on Friday. You'd think I could keep my meagre funds straight, but apparently not.

So, we had my grandfather's funeral yesterday. I have to say that it was v. v. sad. He was a Marine and so they had Marines at the cemetery playing taps and doing that thing with the flag and saluting and stuff. Even though it was the saddest thing ever, I felt rather detached from everything. Lately, a lot of my life feels like I am watching it from the point of view of someone else.

schooligan-a-go-go

Ok, so the problem wasn't me... it was the laptop. Unlike most of my dysfunctional relatships, the "it's not you, it's my wireless card" excuse was actually accurate. Of course, like in most of my dysfunctional relationships, I tried everything possible to fix it and blamed myself for what turned out to be a factory defect. Go figure.

I have to say that I had a very pleasant experience with the Geek Squad at BestBuy. Not only were the falling over themselves to try and fix my computer, but they gave me the new $50 off sale price on it.

And here is sit... making the most of someone's unsecured wireless connection.
Life is good.


**Today, after the wake, my grandmother asked if I lived in a chicken coop. When I told her it was more of an "apartment" she seemed genuinely surprised.

I am probably a very bad person

I mean, my poor Gramps died yesterday and all I can do is laugh uproariously at this dude! And wonder how many pairs of pants my gigantic ass is going to bust out of.

Yes, it happened again yesterday. My Huge Ass came billowing out of my Prana climbing pants. I slunk home in a cloud of depression and self loathing and lay on my sofa until Slevy called and promised me that it wasn't my ass it was shoddy craftsmanship. God bless her.

The ratio of people to chocolate is TOO HIGH

So, the TSV is relentlessly annoying. You may remember my candy jar from previous posts (too lazy to dig out the link. go back to myspace if you are that interested in the candy jar episode), the one that I keep on my desk and use to fuel my candy obsession...

Anyway, there is this unspoken law of office etiquette that every so often someone or another will give me a couple of dollars and contribute toward keeping the candy jar full. Sometimes I just buy it myself because I am a chocolate glutton. Sometimes we order from OfficeMax. I keep a half-assed log about who gave me how much money and when, but I don't use it for purposes of withholding candy from the people don't fund the jar. I don't actually use the log for anything, I think I just do it knowing that someone, someday will care.

That someone is TSV.
Last week he gives me TEN DOLLARS and says he is contributing to the candy fund. Cool, thanks. Then he asks me if I keep track of who donates money. I mention that I have sort of a log. Then he tells me that I need to actively solicit money from the entire department. Uhhhhhhhhhh. No? I mean, really, if someone did that to me, I would be agast at how petty and cheap they were being.

So, I sort of hemmed and hawed about how it was ok, and i didn't mind buying candy every so often, etc. etc. (Oh, and did I mention that I am carrying two huge boxes of proposals down to the mailroom to ship out? Yeah. I am.) He keeps going on about how that is an appropriate thing to do, oh, and one more thing, I shouldn't keep chocolate in a "transparent container" because people can see it and then they tend to eat it.

The way I see it there are two possible solutions to this dilemma:
1. TSV can GET OVER IT
2. TSV can buy his OWN DAMN CHOCOLATE and keep it monitored to his liking

Jeremy and I are working on a spreadsheet with graphs that chart who is eating how much chocolate and how frequently and we are going to present it at the next all company meeting.

Right after we tell TSV to suck it!

Short Lived Feeling of Accomplishment

After a lovely and coma-inducing dinner at Star of India, I went home and tried to watch The Big Lebowski. I have been told over and over that I NEED TO SEE THIS MOVIE. Well, blame it on the Indian Food (the dinner buffet got about a B/B+) but I passed out on my sofa before 9.30. I only watched 20 mins of the movie before I succombed to the curry coma and fell dead asleep.

I had the foresight to set my alarm clock, but not to brush my teeth (I am vile and my teeth are probably rotting out of my skull as I type this) or shower. I just couldn't deal with washing two days worth of filth from my ever expanding body (I have gained 6 pounds since returning from Vegas. WTF???).

This morning, however, I got up promptly at 6 (ok, well, 6.20) and got into the shower. I NEVER SHOWER IN THE MORNING. It is always waaaaayyyyy too much effort. I prefer to shower before bed and go to sleep on wet hair and wake up looking like Medusa is my stylist. (In speaking of, I tried to get an appointment to get my haircut, but my stylist is booked until MAY 19!!! Damn. Since when did the glitterati start going to the same salon as me?)

After my shower, I made tea and dried my hair while listening to the morning news. GO ME!!!!!! Here I am at work, clean and neat and looking very much like I didn't just roll out of bed and go to work in whatever clothes I pulled off the floor.

In other news, I talked to Leah this morning and learned that Gramps is not doing so hot. I guess he has stopped eating and is just taking all his pain medicine. I gotta love the guy; Leaving in a haze of Oxycontin has got to be a pretty allright way to go.

Actually, it is not a good week for the family. Leah had emergency surgery on Monday to repair a RUPTURED DISC in her back. Poor kid.

Check it!

Best use of the term "accordian thingy"

Suicide and Technology

So, I got this new laptop last week. It is great and I love it... except that there was something weird going on with the wireless connection thingy. Like, I kept getting an error message about how I wasn't able to connect to a wireless network EVEN WHEN I KNEW THERE WAS ONE AVAILABLE. I tried looking at all the support websites and even contemplating pleading ignorance to the greasy blue shirts at Best Buy, right after I threw the damn computer at them.

I emailed my favorite IT guy at cock and begged him to please take a look at the damn thing before I go completely crazy. He said he would, but not until tomorrow.

In the meantime, Digital P gave me a tech tip about going into the windows set up thingamadoo and making sure all the correct boxes were ticked... and lo! The automatic supersonic hypnotic funky fresh wireless configuration box WAS NOT TICKED!!!

I ticked it and eagerly restarted my machine...

Now I am getting a message that it is TRYING to connect to a wireless network, but is unable to find one. PROGRESS!

While all this was going on, I was reading This Website.

I got to thinking... why do people kill themselves? How can you feel so utterly hopeless and that things will never get better?

Buy a computer.

Shameful

Sometimes even the Schooligan does things that she isn't proud of.

Yesterday, against our better judgement, we let Forrest convince us to drive up to Rumney and attempt to climb. It was raining. Hard. But Forrest insisted that the National Weather Service Satellite showed NO RAIN in Rumney and that the 15-20 mile per hour westerly winds would dry out the rock.

He was wrong.

I spent most of the afternoon huddled under a rock while Mikey, Adam and Forrest squinted up at the cliffs trying to pretend that they were looking at dry rock. I was pleased, however, with the performance of my new waterproof jacket. I just wish that I didn't have to test it out so thoroughly. Mikey commented at one point that "50 degrees and windy is PRIME HYPOTHERMIA conditions". Awesome.

After everyone was sufficiently wet and cold and crabby, we headed over the the cafe to get some warmth and pie and dry places to sit. The pie was ALMOST worth it.

And of course the sun came out.

Back at home, I found myself lounging on the sofa and watching TV. I have an illicit cable connection (shhhh.) and was too tired and demoralized from the failed climbing trip to contemplate doing any of the things I should have been doing instead of lying in front of Satan-vision.

Inexplicably, I found myself watching THIS

It was horrible. It was sickening.
I COULDN'T TEAR MYSELF AWAY.

Why, Rosie, why???

This town aint big enough for the three of us

PT and I had planned a hip, swank, drunken evening out at Opia in order to stop getting on each other's nerves and to give me an excuse to dress up AND GO OUT. We get there and I almost run over one of the hippie ex-roommates. SHIT. I stop the car and am shaking with anger, with extreme annoyance, with the unfairness of it all. Like, seriously, CAN YOU STOP RUINING MY LIFE ALREADY???

I knew that I couldn't go in there without causing a scene, and even though one part of me REALLY WANTS to, we decide to preserve my integrity for my upcoming court case and leave.

On the way to Vincent's, PT lets me rant and rave about why the hell those hippie jerks think they can go to MY BAR and where the hell are they getting money for martinis when they owe me $700??? He also buys me a cosmopolitan the second we get there while I am smoking furiously outside. And that, along with subsequent manhattans and the HMIW saying that my shoes were HOTT, managed to salvage the night as well as my sanity.