Halloweener

Here are the pumpkins that PT and I carved last night. He chose a variation on the traditional Jack-O-Lantern, with triangle eyes. I freehanded a face of sorts with the help of my $1.99 Walgreens pumpkin carving kit. You get this mini saw thing and a plastic scraper for getting the guts out of your pumpkin. Totally worth the money.

Every year I tell myself that I want to get all excited about Halloween and dress up and do... something. And every year, I seem to be at a loss for what that something is. This year was no exception.

On Saturday I met up with Mikey and Forrest for some climbing at Metro Rock. It started snowing on my way in, and by the time we left the gym, I had to brush substantial snow off my car. OF course we had a snowball fight in the parking lot.

Following that, Forrest and I met up with Elaine for some dinner. She took us to this Brazilian restaurant and we ate a bunch of things with various unidentifiable types of meat. MMmmm. Elaine confessed that she doesn't really get halloween either. As she put it, Maybe I am just a little dead inside, but I have no desire to dress up.

I know what she means.

Ships annoying each other in the Night

PT and I have always been on very different schedules. He has been known to work far into the night and then come to bed anywhere between 2 and 5 am. For a while I got used to it and didn't even wake up or acknowledge that he just stole all the covers. Lately, however, well, since I have weaned myself off the sleeping pills, I have been waking up when he comes to bed and engaging him in inane conversation.

Me: Can you do me a huge favor?
PT: what?
Me: Can you get me a glass of water?
PT comes back with water. I drink 3/4 of it.
Me: thanks. Can you put this somewhere. I can't put it on the window sill because I am afraid the cats will knock it over.
PT takes glass.
Me; I just had a dream where I was bitten by a rabid dog.
PT: Can i get into bed now?
Me: And then I had to go to the hospital and get like 3 shots...
PT: they only give you one shot for rabies.
Me: Oh, well then the shots were to delay my ovulation. And THEN i had to take a vision test!
PT: Why, cause you couldn't see the dog before it bit you?
Me: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The Prospects are Much Better For Jess

Jess needs to do a sexy shoot for FHM now.
Jess needs a new mouse.
Jess needs to be picked up by a parent or guardian.
Jess needs a home whereby she will be the only pet as she deserves 100% attention.
Jess needs an extra zipper.
Jess needs her mother AND a psychotherapist.
Jess needs a bed, not a raft.
Jess needs time to herself.
Jess needs someone who is mostly at home and can take her out 3-4 times a day.
Jess needs more intensive care.
JESS NEEDS TO GET A LONGER DRESS CUZ I DONT KNOW WHO SHE'S TRYIN 2 IMPRESS.
Jess needs to bail.
Jess needs to take a few pictures.
Jess needs to hear her ancestors speak.
Jess needs to go to Maine.
jess needs to lay off the al-key-hol.
Jess needs to address the funding question with Captain Sheets and the Commissioner.

Braindead and letting the internet do my work for me

Schooligan needs...to come face to face with her own mortaility.
Schooligan needs...to GET OUT.
Schooligan needs...a muscle bounder bully.
Schooligan needs...needs to tap the fellas at Petzl on the shoulder.
Schooligan needs...time to get established.
Schooligan needs...sick jokes.
Schooligan needs...your help.
Schooligan needs...a new story.
Schooligan needs...to race.
Schooligan needs...to be replaced.
Schooligan needs...your reviews!

I am Mount Everest

Which Extremity of the World Are You?
From the towering colossi at Rum and Monkey.

Which is cool, because I don't need to go there now. I AM THERE.

The Robot in My Head Has a Name!!

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Just because it's "Retro" doesn't mean it's a good idea

On Sunday, PT and I had a "retro dinner". He showed me how to make meatloaf, and took sadistic pleasure in watching me squish raw hamburger through my fingers. We also had mashed potatoes and gravy and I made this... dessert.

I found the recipe in a cookbook specializing in recipes from the 50's.
It is "Twinkie Pie".
Yes. Twinkie. Pie.

I layerd trisected twinkies with melted chocolate, pecans and topped the whole mess with Cool Whip.

I was both pleased and ashamed of myself.

Turns out, it is quite good. For approximately 2 bites, and then the tooth rotting sweetness headache and self loathing set in. There is no reason on earth why human beings should eat such a confection.

PT took a bite and exclaimed, It's like WHITE TRASH TIRAMISU.

HMS Cockpower

So, yesterday, whilst I was frantically putting a proposal together TSV (Turquoise Sweater Vest) stood over my desk and sang OUTLOUD, selections from Gilbert and Sullivan's HMS Pinafore. Yes. He. Did. "I am the captain of the pinafore and a very good captain too. I am very very good and be it understood, I command a right good crew..."

And he wouldn't stop until I joined in a hearty chorus of "We Sail the Ocean Blue" Seriously.

Now I love Gilbert & Sullivan as much as the next person, but there is time and a place for comic opera and when I am strung out on proposals is not an appropriate time.

I would have made a totally crap mormon

Because, really, A BATHTUB FULL OF DORITOS WITH A BOURBON FOUNTAIN IN THE MIDDLE sounds so much better than say, the Celestial Kingdom.

Oh, that and my love of coffeine, tobacco, liquor, pre-marital sex and thong underwear.

A Small Accomplishment and a Big Connection

Yesterday, I studied myself critically in the mirror as I dressed, and thought, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MONTHS, "Hey, I don't look quite so horrendously fat." But, you know, it is a very flattering mirror.

I talked with someone over the weekend who was better than any therapist I have ever had. I talked with someone who knows that when you feel the way I do most of the time, small, everyday annoyances feel like you are being punched. And that you don't wake up in the morning and think, Who's feelings can I hurt today? And that what doesn't kill you really will make you stronger.

So much for self pity

I had originally written this post all about how fat I am and how much I can't help but hate my body these days since I weigh, like 7 pounds more than the ideal weight for my height. (That's 7 pounds above the HIGHEST number in the range.) But somehow or other it got lost in cyberspace and completely erased. Hmmmm.

Taking that as I sign of something I am going to try and be more positive. And upbeat. Even in the face of unexplained weight gain and FREQUENT URINATION! Yes, that's right, the girl with the phenomenally small bladder is experiencing one of those lovely side effects of prescribed medication. WHY ME?, I ask. Already I can't make it through the night without getting up to pee and have totally worn a path from my desk to the ladies room at the Cock with my frequent trips every day. Out of all the annoying side effects, I have to get stuck with FREQUENT URINATION. And dry mouth. Which perhaps have something to do with one another, now that i Think about it...

In spite of the increased peeage, I have to say that I am totally a spokesperson for Ativan. In fact, when I take it, I almost always hold the bottle up to my smiling face and sigh dreamily, Ahhhhhh. Ativan.

Granted it doesn't have the retro appeal of valium, but it does stop me from saying and doing things that are totally stupid, like hurling coffee mugs out the window. And doesn't leave me quite so exhasuted all the time. Instead, I seem to have lost my taste for naps, which is slightly sad, but also v. productive. I mean, I can't remember the last time I came home from work, cleaned the stove, unloaded the dishwasher, hung up ALL my clothes IN THE CLOSET even, danced around my kitchen to Flamenco music while cheerfully swiffering the floor, before heading cheerily to the gym for Pilates.

Ahhhhh, Ativan!

The Schooligan is sick...and this time it's PHYSICAL!

My cough/sore throat developed into a full blown cold. I spent the weekend alternately in bed or on the sofa reading memoirs about women with bizarre medical problems. It should have made me feel better, I mean, at least my colon didn't have to be STAPLED TO MY VERTEBRAE TO KEEP IT FROM FALLING OUT, but let's face it, when you are sniffling and sneezing and coughing and achey, there is very little that can make you feel better. I must say that the voodoo lounge certainly tried to make me feel better. PT got me THREE KINDS of Juicy Juice (100% juice!) and willingly got up during our viewing of Shaun of the Dead to get me popsicles, and the kitties managed to stop biffing each other and yowling and and snuggle up with me in bed.

Still, I kept waking up last night coughing and freaking myself out in a hazy, sickly delirium. LIke one time I was convinced that Ninja, peacefully snoozing by my feet was going to suffocate under all the blankets and I was going to wake up with a dead kitty in my bed and how the hell would I explain that to Gargamel who is in Providence for the week????? *pant pant* (note: Ninja did not suffocate himself, and when I hauled him up into the air, he yawned and looked slightly annoyed at me, and went back to sleep)

The bright side to all of this is that at least this sickness is understandable. I have a cold. Simple. Not, like, I am irritable and irrational and can't stop sobbing and I don't know why. It's sort of a relief to have a something to blame (a virus!) instead of hating myself for being such a pain in the ass.

Yay! Virus!

Underfoot is jealous of my laptop

I think she is more jealous of the computer than she was of the Ninja. But, everytime I bring out Lappy, and start to play around, she immediately tries to get in my lap. Or she'll completely block the screen with her incredibly fluffy tail. Or sometimes, she'll try to BITE the corner of the monitor. Right now she is standing next to me obsessively licking my face which is like, cute for, oh, 1.4 seconds and then it just gets gross. And annoying. I managed to distract her by throwing a used q-tip on the floor. Gross, I know, but what can i say, the cat likes earwax.

Anyway, I managed to come down with some sort of annoying cough. I came home from work adn went right to bed, well, after starting a load of laundry. Then I got at various times during the evening to spit wads of phlegm into the trash, waking up for good, at 2 am to finish the laundry. And just now, I coughed so hard that I PUKED IN MY MOUTH.

Ewwwww.

Why?

I found this ad on Craig's List:

blue milk crate

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: anon-103732267@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-10-12, 6:55PM EDT


title says it all.

I've used it to transport alcohol from one place to another. Sturdy handles and large opening make it easy to carry.

interested?


WHAT??? NO PICTURE???

Seriously, why are you posting this ad?? Is it really THAT necessary to get rid of this milk crate RIGHT NOW???

Just supports my theory that everyone on Craig's List and crazy and weird.

PinkTober

I just finished reading this article on breast cancer and consumerism on Salon.

A large part of me is very inclined to agree with it.

You see, my mother died from breast cancer two years ago. She didn't have any real "risk factors", was healthy and only 53 years old. She wasn't even sick for very long, and was initially diagnosed as having a cancer that was "easily treatable". But she died anyway.

Until very recently, seeing all the pink things that you could buy made me outrageously angry, like, why should I spend my money on reasearch that didn't do SHIT for my mom? Pink and white M&Ms can't fill the empty space that was left when I lost my mother. (And I know. I have tried. I just end up feeling fat and gross.)

Now, I feel more like I am obligated to be some kind of crusader against breast cancer, walking and pledging and dragging women to get mammograms and shit. Right here at my desk I have Breast Cancer Tissues, A Breast Cancer Ball Point Pen, A pink ribbon laptop case and awareness post-its. Some of it was given to me, and some of it I bought specifically, though I am not sure why, although I do like the color pink.

Mostly, though, I just feel sad because all the expensive cosmetics and charm bracelets and handbags can't bring back the loved ones that have been lost to the disease and I honestly can't believe that all this money is really bringing us closer to "a cure." I sort of believe that cancer is just fate, like a plane crash or a natural disaster: wrong place at the wrong time. Sorry. See ya. And there really isn't anything you can do about it. Lance Armstrong had to win the Tour de France five more times before he could die. Fate isn't necessarily fair, you know?

And the part that really bugs me is part of what Salon hits on: spending money on pink stuff is a way to make Americans feel good without actually having to DO anything. It's a bit like Mr. Show's definition of charity: It's stuff you do when other people are watching. And it's a hell of a lot easier than trying to, i don't know, clean up the environment and stop spewing out so many damn carcniogens, right?

Thank goodness for small victories

Ok, so I spent last week not working and trying to get a grip on myself and get some rest and get my brain used to some new drugs. As part of my therapy, I paid a visit to see my friend Em in DC. Here are some photos.
This one is my favorite,



Let me just say without reservation, Scientology is TOTALLY A CULT. They use a machine called the E METER to, um, measure, stress and figure out which things are causing you pain. Yeah. Ok. Does this machine NOT look like the most fake piece of equipment from the set of a '60s SciFi flim?

Last week, I also got a letter in the mail saying that I had 3 unpaid parking tickets from the town of Lawrence. I had to call up just about everyone in the town offices to see what this was about. Finally, I got a website where I could look up the tickets and come to find out, they were for a GREY FORD and a GREY CHEVY. So, I called up the deputy collector and said that not only have i never been to lawrence, but I drive a volkswagen. AND HE TOOK THE TICKETS OFF!!!! Yes! So, I do not have to pay $165 or try to figure out how my car got to lawrence!

You hear a lot about that place called "Rock Bottom"

But I had never really understood what it meant until today when I found myself on my hands and knees cleaning up cat poo IN THE DARK, after Ninja waged his personal battle against the "intestinal parasite".


Thank goodness for LLAMAS!!!

Conversations with Customer Service

"Hello, this is blah blah at Mass Electric, how can i help you?"
"Hello, Uh, yeah, yesterday I spoke with you about turning my electricity on and you said you were going to turn it on today, well, I was just wondering when you were going to do that."
"Someone was already there this morning, but you didn't turn off your main circuit breaker, so they couldn't turn it back on."
"WHAT? What the hell is the main circuit breaker???"
"It's in your fuse box, you have to turn it off so we can work on the house."
"Well, noone told me that yesterday when I called, so what does this mean????"
"Well, if they can't get to it today, they will have to come back tomorrow."
"Ok, so because you guys didn't tell me about the circuit thingy, I have to spend another night wandering around my house with a headlamp?? How will I know if I am getting electricity today or tomorrow???"
"If you don't have anything by 7.30, assume that it will be turned on tomorrow."
"GAH!!!!"

(They did turn it on today, and our internet seems to be working)

And we thought yesterday was dark...

Guest poster, Gargamel:

Things come in threes and fours and fives and sixes and and and...
(back to yer regularly posting writer.)


Right, Schooligan here.
So, just when things were at their darkest, we woke this morning to the sound of silence, or more specifically, the sound of our electricity being shut off. Apparently, we had been mooching off the previous tenant's utilities that he had neglected to shut off... Until today.

And, due to a "high call volume", the electric company can't come until tomorrow to turn it back on.

Oh, and after we ran an extension cord out the kitchen window and into the downstairs porch window to sap off my dad's electricity just to keep our refrigerator on and get our internet back up so that Gargamel could order his new computer, the interweb decided to stop working. And verizon can't seem to fix it, so they are sending someone TOMORROW to look at it.

Hahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Until then, we'll be posting at Panera and cooking by headlamp.

Dark Times. Even darker than the black velvet curtains we put up in the Voodoo Lounge.

Ok, so first I went and lost my last nut.
Then, Pt and my friend Kevin were trying to add a video card and power supply to PT's computer and, the thing, like, broke. So now, PT has no computer and is v. v. v. sad. I mean, really sad. Like, look at how sad he looks using my pathetic laptop,



I really really hope that bad things don't really happen in threes is all I am saying.

p.s. UnderFoot caught Ninja's sniffle and is sneezey and miserable. Poor thing.

News Flash!

The Schooligan is not a horrible person.
She is also somewhere between not crazy enough to get admitted to the Loony Bin and too crazy to go to work for a week.

My therapist once told me that there is no defined medical condition called a "Nervous Breakdown", but if there were, than I would have had one this week.

So, in lieu of sending me off to the funny farm she told me to take a week (or more) off of work, rest, and she adjusted my meds. Which means, I am taking a higher dose of the drugs that I was convinced do not work. And then seeing her in a week so that I can be "reevaluated". I also qualify for short term disability under the Americans With Disabilities Act, which means that not only can I not be fired, but I can also collect 66% of my pay while on leave. GOD BLESS AMERICA.

I have my doubts about my medically defined level of crazy, since if I am crazy enough to be sharing this with the ENTIRE INTERNET, than there must be something seriously wrong with me, no? But hey, who am i to argue with trained medical professionals and Human Resources people who are letting me stay home and try to stop crying.

Oh, and did I mention that this week marks the 2nd anniversary of my mother's death? No? Oh, well, yeah. So, I guess, that when people tell me that I have every right to feel bad and to try and take the necessary steps to get better I should believe them.

It sure is hard though... but not as bad a living with a black cloud in my head and rabid demons in my soul.