Me being me equals difficult.

Hi, I'm the Schooligan and I am a horrible person. Not Pol Pot horrible, but more of the emotionally trying sort of horrible, i.e. horrible for the people that come into close contact with me on a daily basis.

There is, however, a ray of hope: I don't want to be horrible. I want to be amazing. But, at this point, I will settle for some version of normal that doesn't involve crying and overreacting at everything and everyone.

Unfortunately, I don't know how to do this. My current plan of valium and brownies and alpine adventures doesn't seem to be helping as much as it used to, so I guess it is time to try something else. I am going to see about that next week.

How to piss me off before I have even had coffee

"Look at those shoes!"
"Yeah?"
"Those are like, TOTAL HOOKER SHOES!"
"No way, they are designer."
"Dude, they have at least a 4 inch heel. HOOKER SHOES!"
"Do you see any clear plastic on there? Allright then."

Why did no one tell me about the SKELETONS???

Last night I came homne from work with one of those headaches only comprehensible to PMS sufferers. I immediately threw down some Vitamin I and went to bed. PT and Ninja came in for a wee snuggle before going off to attack catnip filled mice and design websites, respectively. I woke up around 7 and briefly debating skipping Pilates cause that would involve getting out of bed and going to Pilates. Then I thought about all the brownies I ate yesterday and decided I liked being thin more than sleeping. So I went.

It was, as the only male in the class put it, Pilates Boot Camp. By the end, the red balls were rolling all over the place and my arms were total rubber. But I walked a little taller and felt that I could justify stopping to buy beer on the way home. Which I did.

After dinner (veggie burgers with sauteed peppers and onions and curly fries) I finished up a piece I was working on for the next Action Geek Issue. (You might want to skip this one as my piece is total crap from start to finish.) Although according to the AG, "WELL WRITTEN... exactly what Action Geek needs:
more experiential, honest, inspired reviews about stuff we're interested in..." So, you can judge for yourselves, but please be kind.

Our internet quit working for last night for reasons known only to itself, so I was faced with restlessness, no internet, and only the boring sections of the Sunday Times left. We hadn't got any new Netflix in, so I raided our meagre DVD collection for something to watch until the sleeping pills kicked in. (Sidenote: my drugs have been giving me nightmares again. I have this recurring dream that I am living with the HIPPOS again and they keep getting cats that they fail to spay or neuter and we are overrun with kittens and dirty dishes. And they refuse to listen to me when I tell them to get their damn cats fixed which forces me to become PHYSICALLY VIOLENT with them and then I wake up feeling strangely satisfied and also freaked out.) I popped in Pirates of the Carribean, which I have never seen all the way through because, well, I am not enamored with Johnny Depp and I think Orlando Bloom is a TOTAL JACKASS and I don't know why anyone thinks he is hot, especially with that gross little skinny moustache. Gah!

Anyway, I watch the movie, it's pretty engaging, has key scenes involving corsets, and then suddenly THERE ARE SKELETON PIRATES!!!! NOONE TOLD ME THERE WERE SKELETON PIRATES!!!!!! Holy shit, is there anything cooler than that???? Why has this been kept a secret from me for so long?????? Is there some anti-skeleton-pirate conspiracy??

So yeah, despite Orlando Bloom's fagtastic moustache, POTC was a kick ass movie.
God damn. And I thought a movie based on a disney world ride (which I remember being pretty cool, but without skeletons...) was a dumb idea. The Schooligan stands corrected.

Give me one good reason that every weekend is not a three day weekend?

I took this past Friday off so that I could do important things like, nap, get my hair colored (which is looking v. purple today), and drive PT and myself to NH. We met up with Mike H at Rumney where I made a total ass of myself pretending that I could climb. Although, in my defense, I did manage a 10b at Jimmy Cliff and we can just ignore the bit where I flopped upside down and sideways trying to clean the route on the way down. Here I am being my usual ridiculous self and not actually climbing.


After dragging PT all over Rumney, I promised him whatever it would take so that he wouldn't hate me. Great. Now I owe him a SOLID GOLD SPACESHIP.

Post-Rumney, we drove up to Lincoln for some Chinese food. There is this restaurant that we like that serves the best Chairman Mao's Tofu on the planet. We ordered that, the CM Chicken (which looked like deep fried testicles), sesame beef, dumplings, scallion pancakes and cold peanut noodles. There was a LOT LESS food leftover than we thought. Apparently just thinking about climbing makes one ravenous.

Spent the night at Lafayette campground around a lovely fire made of pilfered wood, and awoke the next morning somewhat rested, although stiff. Mike took me to Echo Crag, which was a really cool single pitch trad area. I lead a couple of routes and toproped a 10a (twice!) just so that I could feel like it IS possible to climb harder than 5.6 (successfully).

Here are PT and I in front of Lafayette. Of course, he is trying to flip off the camera and I have my GIGANTIC gob open.


Sunday I spent the ENTIRE DAY lazing about eating brownies and reading the Sunday Times. Emily stopped over for coffee in the morning and we talked about our general lack of ambition. Although, I did walk to Big Lie later on for some chocolate sauce to put on the vanilla ice cream that I put on the brownies. Don't even tell me ambition should be made of sterner stuff.

Wriggling with Joy

It has been a rough couple of days here at Schooligan Nation. I learnt on Tuesday that Ninja has an "intestinal parasite". Which of course totally freaked me out in that itchy, gross, creepy crawly kind of way. The vet promised me that unless I EAT HIS POOP there is no chance that I will get worms. I promised the vet that I will not be eating cat poop anytime soon. Of course, this new development means that poor Ninja kitty has to get THREE shots of horrid medicine forced down his throat each day. Surprisingly, he hasn't maimed me in my sleep.

WHen I got the news, I freaked out, because if there is one thing I did not need this week, it was another horrible thing to do to the cat. PT tried to console me (from Providence I might add where he is doing something to his mom's house) in the Ninja situation, "Just think how much joy he has brought us." "Yeah, his intestines are positively WRIGGLING WITH JOY."

In honor of TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!

Click on the title for ye own Pirate Names.
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

My pirate name is:

Red Bess Rackham

Passion is a big part of your life, which makes sense for a pirate. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

My cat has HERPES!!

Took Ninja to the vet today to check him out since he has become increasingly sneezey and congested since we brought him home. Turns out he has an upper respiratory infection that is brought on by the cat version of the HERPES virus. I have to give him antibiotics twice a day, shot down his throat with a syringe. He is so in love with me today: He rode in the car back and forth to Westboro, He got a thermometer stuck up his butt, and then he got RASPBERRY flavored medicine shot down his throat. No idea why the medicine is fruit flavored since I can't think of any cat who would like that over, say, TUNA flavor, or HUMMUS flavor in Underfoot's case.

On Friday, Pt and I had Mike H and Sands over for dinner. It was, as he put it, "A Rousing Success" for the Voodoo Lounge. He made this Pasta Fantastico with Italian Sausage and yummy bruscetta and Mike brought a Peach Pie that I ate waayyyyyy too much of. God damn him and his irresistable pies.

Sunday, I went to Rumney with Forrest, Mike and Mikey. I managed to lacerate my fingers climbing this really sharp 10c that totally shut me down. Man, after months of trad climbing, anything over 5.7 really seems difficult! Although, of course, I am really sore today which seems unfair considering how little I actually climbed. *sigh*

Couples Therapy for the New Millenium

Last night, I came home from work (early) with one of those horrible chest squeezing attacks of anxiety that made me feel as though my head was going to explode and some futuristic anime robot would emerge from the remains of my skull and open fire on the innocent bystanders. I went immediately to bed and hoped that burying my face in my pillow would somehow help. PT came in and asked if he could do anything, through my tears I said, "valium" in a quivering voice. He brought me my dose of "sanity in a bottle" and let me be for a while.

After the valium had set in, I asked if we could get drunk and have a "relationship talk". He immediately said, "You hate me."
"Of course I don't hate you, I just have some things that I need to GET OUT OF MY BRAIN so I can stop the needless freakouts."

We ended up on opposite ends of the house on our computers sending IMs back and forth. There were shots of Jack Daniels, cigarettes and fuzzy kitties in our laps. As true technophiles, we seem to communicate better via the electronic medium than face to face, which seems to end up with me sobbing and hurling objects around. Who knows why, but it works. The robot is back in place and there IS joy in Mudville.

Dildo Reminicenses

I was unpacking the other day and came upon a box of letters. Just like that Wilco song. (no,not really. I am not that cool.) Anyway, I was reading some old letters that Slevs and I had written to each other back when we were still obsessing about boys and behaving like hysterical nitwits. Completely UNLIKE we are now. There was this one period when we both had crappy temp jobs that allowed us to get paid for writing prodigious letters back and forth to one another and there was this whole series of correspondence that I like to call "The Dildo Letters", when we would go back and forth about different sex toys and things. Ahhhhh. Those were the days.

Or perhaps THESE are the days, because G just emailed me to let me know I had left a certain "item" in the bathroom that his dad had just finished using. Ooops! I think, back in my, ahem, younger days, I would have freaked out at THE HORROR. But now, I just think it's kind of funny. Besides a man who can fly all the way to North Carolina before he realizes that he has forgotten his wallet at home isn't necessarily the type to notice a flourescent pink cock on the bathroom shelf.

All about Kitties

This weekend, I happened to visit the Worcester Animal Rescue League. I was sort of looking for another cat. Pt and I had discussed the possibility of getting another one in such a way that I got the impression that he really wanted a kitty. So, after taking Underfoot to get a rabies shot, I found myself staring into the little black face of an impossbily cute kitten. My sister, brother and I arranged to "visit" with him, in one of the little rooms that they have,and within seconds, he was sitting in my lap purring his little heart out. It was obvious that I needed this kitten. And he needed us. So, I brought him home.

I spent most of Saturday tidying up and maniacally baking a cake in anticipation of PT's return from the Love Boat (a show that I have never actually seen and therefore do not get references for). Ninja, as I started calling him, adjusted quite well to the Voodoo Lounge, although Underfoot is not completely convinced that she likes him yet. (Oh, I got her a haircut yesterday. I think it is official: She totally hates me)

Anyway, I picked PT up in Providence around 12.45 am and when we got to the VL, Ninja was just waking up from a wee zizzz on the sofa. He stood up, stretched and yawned. I made the introductions and as the SV and the wee black fuzz ball fell madly in love with one another I melted into a puddle on the floor.

Another vapid post about my hair.

With PT gone all week on the LOVE CRUISE (his mom got married. on a boat. and then they went to Cozumel. Or something.) I have been kind of restless and antsy. Despite my best efforts, I was barely able to generate enough dishes to use the dishwasher, which is STILL AMAZING however.

So I did what any other red blooded American Female does in these types of situations: I cut my hair.

I have finally, after years of bad haircuts and casual relationships, settled down with one stylist. She's just great. Last night, I went in and said, I'm bored with my hair, can you fix it? And SHE DID. She gave me the exact haircut that I had imagined in my mind WITHOUT ME HAVING TO SAY ANYTHING. This is what great relationships are made of.

I spent the rest of the night puttering around the Voodoo Lounge. I cleaned up, did the dishes (in the dishwasher!), put some books away and coerced my brother into hanging up my Buddhist Prayer Flags. I cranked up the fans, snuggled onto the couch, and imagined I was at Base Camp.

A Heartbreaking Work of Waddling Genius

Last night, I dragged my sister to see "March of the Penguins" with me. As she put it, Being a penguin totally sucks. If you have not seen this movie and had your heart broken into a jillion pieces, I reccommend that you do.

After the movie, and after going to Target where I managed to spend $39 even though I was only there to pick up some cat food and some dish washer soap, (you know, for my DISHWASHER that WASHES DISHES?), my sister and I were walking up the stairs to my apartment and there was a huge CENTIPEDE lurking in a corner of the stairwell. If there is one thing that I CANNOT STAND it is centipedes. And millipedes. And any "pedes" with a ridiculous number of legs. I am better than I used to be about it though. In college, I lived in a house that was FULL OF CENTIPEDES. I was in a near constant state of hysteria because you never knew where the little fuckers would be lurking. This one time, I was in the bathroom, and I had just sat down to pee and I happened to glance to my left and see one perched on the side of the sink, MERE INCHES FROM MY FACE! It scared me so bad, that I fell off the toilet and ran screaming into the kitchen, pants around my ankles and pee streaming down my legs. Not one of my finer moments.

Anyway, I have decided that centipedes KNOW when you are freaked out by them. If you don't care, they just do their centipede thing and pretty much leave you alone. However, if they sense you are afraid, they tend to do things like rear up on like 50 of their stupid legs and wave the other 50 at you in a menacing fashion before lunging at you.

That is exactly what happened last night, as soon the the "pede" knew that we were freaked out, it was no longer content to crawl up the wall, it had to race after us, chace us up the stairs and come ever closer as I fumbled with my keys in the door. Of course, we managed to get inside and slam the door just in the nick of time.

*shudder*

Trying to think about other things than the Hurricane.

But, can't help but include a letter from New Orleans to the President. (See above)



Last Friday, my totally amazingly talented friend Mike Hansen invited a bunch of us over for a BBQ. He is house sitting at this MANSION in Cambridge that belongs to one of his professors at Haaaaahhhhhhvaaaahhhhhhd, and what else does one do when presented with such and opportunity? Exactly.

So, not only did he cook Burgers, Veggie Burgers, Sausages and other assorted meat and non-meat sundries, but he MADE PIE. Like, a lot of pie. (see above) Not only were they the most gorgeous baked goods I have ever laid eyes on, but they were melt-in-my-mouth delicious. There was peach pie and apple pie, and blueberry pie. Gargamel told me that he may be hiring Mike as my replacement. I can't blame him, it was pretty amazing pie.

The party itself was likewise enjoyable. Mike invited the whole climbing crew and assorted others. It turned out to be a very adult affair. Which struck many of us as sort of weird. So we sat outside and talked about fisting.

Yes. He really said this.

THE PRESIDENT: Well, first I want to say a few things. I am incredibly proud of our Coast Guard. We have got courageous people risking their lives to save life. And I want to thank the commanders and I want to thank the troops over there for representing the best of America.

I want to congratulate the governors for being leaders. You didn't ask for this, when you swore in, but you're doing a heck of a job. And the federal government's job is big, and it's massive, and we're going to do it. Where it's not working right, we're going to make it right. Where it is working right, we're going to duplicate it elsewhere. We have a responsibility, at the federal level, to help save life, and that's the primary focus right now. Every life is precious, and so we're going to spend a lot of time saving lives, whether it be in New Orleans or on the coast of Mississippi.

We have a responsibility to help clean up this mess, and I want to thank the Congress for acting as quickly as you did. Step one is to appropriate $10.5 billion. But I've got to warn everybody, that's just the beginning. That's a small down payment for the cost of this effort. But to help the good folks here, we need to do it.

We are going to restore order in the city of New Orleans, and we're going to help supplement the efforts of the Mississippi Guard and others to restore order in parts of Mississippi. And I want to thank you for your strong statement of zero tolerance. The people of this country expect there to be law and order, and we're going to work hard to get it. In order to make sure there's less violence, we've got to get food to people. And that's a primary mission, is to get food to people. And there's a lot of food moving. And now the -- it's one thing to get it moving to a station, it's the next thing to get it in the hands of the people, and that's where we're going to spend a lot of time focusing.

We've got a lot of rebuilding to do. First, we're going to save lives and stabilize the situation. And then we're going to help these communities rebuild. The good news is -- and it's hard for some to see it now -- that out of this chaos is going to come a fantastic Gulf Coast, like it was before. Out of the rubbles of Trent Lott's house -- he's lost his entire house -- there's going to be a fantastic house. And I'm looking forward to sitting on the porch. (Laughter.)


Thank goodness Trent Lott's house is going to be rebuilt.
I was really worried.

Blogging For Charity

I know, I know, I am such a self-involved twit why would I do something like this?

But I know how much a dirty house sucks, and I can't imagine NO HOUSE. That would totally bite.

So, please, if you can please help. CLick here for more info. And tell them the SCHOOLIGAN sent you.

Check here and here and here for more info.

I Ching

Yesterday I did this online I Ching reading, (Click on the title for the link. Oh, and a lot of times, you can do that. So stop asking where I get stuff from, just move your damn mouse around.) and it came out with my current situation is "Contentment at home."

Not coincidentally, PT and I are getting our/his dishwasher today. I made the mistake of saying OUR dishwasher, and he corrected me saying it was HIS birhday present from his dad. I said, well, then YOU can do all the dishes then. Heh heh.

Last night while we were sipping bourbon and beating the crap out of each other in Soul Calibur II I tried to bring up these feelings of contentment and happiness that I am experienceing. PT was all, That's great *Bam*, I'm glad to *punch* hear it. *Slam*. YEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, I KICKED YOUR ASS! Needless to say, the scented candles and romantic glow from the PlayStation were impervious to the giddy feeling of video violence.

So, rather than subscribe to some kind of romantic notions about domestic harmony and the fact that I am for the first time in AGES genuinely happy about my relationship and my home life (because I tend to get struck down for romantic hubris), I am just going to revel in the pure materialistic glee of a new appliance.

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