Lest you think I complain...

About the crappy weather; despite having to chisel my way into the car this morning, I was totally greatful that it was like 30 degrees warmer than the past few days.

Ice Cubes

We had this totally annoying "ice storm" today. It was hyped as being completely HEINOUS and fucking up everyone's commute, so when my alarm (translation: hungry cat) began licking my head at 6.30 this morning, I eagerly got up to check the local school and business closings. No luck. Cock is 100% open. And here I am.

Honestly, the driving was fine. The worst part was scraping all of the ice off my car, which was COMPLETELY encased. I have this spray can of "de-icer" that um, sort of worked, with a lot of scraping and hacking and warming up of the car. So, actually, maybe it didn't really work. I did forget my gloves and froze my fingers off trying to scratch a peep hole in my windshield, so I treated myself to a Starbucks Mocha on the way to work. The warm cup managed to thaw my hands somewhat.

I went climbing with Forrest last night at Metro. The drive to Boston was typically horrid, but I was totally unphased and sat calmly in traffic drumming my fingers on the steering wheel and belting out "Goody Two Shoes". Like I said, I think the drugs are working. Yeah, that's right: FUCK YOU BRAIN ROBOT!

The climbing was good. F. convinced me to take my lead test, not because he particularly cares about me leading but so that I could give him authorized lead belays. I convinced the "lead test administrator" to let me lead a wickedly easy 5.7, and I passed with no trouble. I let him think I was a bumbling Noob, but then he noticed my torn and bleeding hands and said, "Oh, you must climb outside a lot." I confessed that I wasn't inexperienced, rather I was just lazy. He laughed and we exchanged climbing stories while he upgraded my ID from "Top Rope Access" to "Leading Access".

So there is one thing ticked off my "Thursday Thirteen To-Do List". Oh, and I made that gingerbread house too. And I totally ate those chips. Wheeeee! I am making such progress! (Am HONEST-TO-GOD going to paint this weekend.)

Bourbon Balls

Ok, here is the recipe for the Bourbonyest of Balls:

-Mash up about 50-60 Nilla Wafers into tiny pieces (Use the generic store brand, as they all taste slightly stale anyway, and why spend more money?)
-Melt about 1/2 bag of chocolate chips (or 2 discs of imported Mexican chocolate, yes, I am a chocolate snob.)
-Add... 1/4-1/3 c. corn syrup to the melted chocolate and mix together.
-Dump chocolate mixture onto Nilla wafers, and add about a cup or so of chopped pecans.
-Pour your favorite bourbon* liberally over the mixture. I think you are supposed to use about 1/4-1/3 of a cup. I use more. And noone complanins.
-Mix all together with fingers. If you find the mixture a bit too wet (because of excessive liquor or whatever), add some more cookies, or a wee bit of cornstarch, or shredded coconut (my favorite).
-Roll into small balls with hands and then roll balls into colored sprinkles, powdered sugar, cocoa powder, crack, whatever.
-Put into a covered container overnight and let them... ripen**.
-Enjoy!

*Because the alcohol isn't cooked in any way, I like to use a nice bourbon, like Maker's or Knob Creek. Last year, I used Basil Hayden's, but this year I am too broke for that kind of extravagance. Just don't use something crappy, Old Crow, Ten High, Rebel Yell (Oh dear god, please not the Rebel Yell. I got really drunk on a climbing trip on this shit and was seeing double the next day. Not ideal when trying to sport climb; "which bolt should I clip? I see four..."), because you will totally be tasting it.
**You can let them sit for weeks, or even months. My friend Secret Agent Sands found some bourbon balls in his car in... like... August, and they were STILL GOOD. Perhaps better.

The drugs must be working

Because I sat at the toll booth at the end of the Pike tonight for TWENTY MINUTES in traffic without getting at all angry.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things The Schooligan Can't Live Without (Seriously.) 1. Bourbon. ESPECIALLY Knob Creek, Maker's Mark, and Basil Hayden's. 2. The Internet (No explanation needed) 3. Netflix (Currently watching Season 3 of Degrassi Junior High) 4. My Edward Gorey Daily Planner (And yes, it needs to be E.G. I can't plan my life without him.) 5. THE RABBIT (Changed my life. For AWESOME!) 6. Diet Coke (And no, I don't care that it contains formaldehyde and will give me 8 kinds of cancer.) 7. General Gao's Chicken from Dragon Dynasty, (Hands down the best Chinese Take-out on the planet) and Dumplings, Shu Mai, Dammit, Chinese Take-Out in general. 8. Rock Climbing, although I have been an extremely slack gym rat as of late... 9. Fishnet Stockings (It is NEVER too cold for fishnets.) 10. Vintage Electric Percolators (I currently run a home for unwanted coffee pots) 11. SmartWool Socks (My socks have ZONES! Sometimes as many as 8!!) 12. Fleece. (Blankets, Vests, Pants, etc.) 13. Heels. (Preferably in the 4" range. Yes, I quite enjoy towering over most people. Resident SuperVillains excluded.)

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Skills

"I feel like I just can't bake anymore. I mean, I used to be really and consistantly good at it."
"Well, do you think it's realistic to believe that once you are good at something you will ALWAYS be good at something?"
"I don't know, but I feel like if I lose one skill I should at least be given another one, you know?"
"Have you tried juggling lately?"

Holiday Lessons

Do not try to construct a cheerful gingerbread house while sick with the flu.


Seriously.

Quick! Before I have to barf again!

It snowed quite a bit today.
I stayed home from work because... I think I have the flu.
I feel a level of misery that is unparalelled, although that could have been because I watched Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. Johnny Depp really irritated me. Or maybe that is the fever talking.

This morning, it was snowing too heavily to drive, so G and I walked to the grocery store. It is only 1/2 mile each way, in a completely STRAIGHT LINE from our house. He told me to stay inside and rest, but I have read Little House on The Prairie one too many times, and thought a walk in the snow to get "supplies" from "town" would make me feel better.

It didn't.
NEither did dry heaving in a public bathroom.

p.s. The "go to hell room" is the back room of the house with the caved in ceiling (that needs to be fixed like every other fucking thing in this place) where we put everything that we don't know what to do with. We keep the door closed and pretend it doesn't exist.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things The Schooligan wants to do before the end of the year: 1. Finish Painting the Kitchen. ONCE AND FOR ALL. 2. Paint the pantry. 3. Build a gingerbread house. 4. Have drinks at the Chop House, which I cannot afford but for which I have a gift certificate. 5. Move the Ninja and the Villain back into the Voodoo Lounge. 6. Have the first Voodoo Lounge cocktail party. 7. Clean out the "Go To Hell Room". 8. Pass my lead test at the gym. 9. Lose 10 pounds! (yeah, right.) 10. Make a perfect pecan pie. 11. Mail out my Maker's Mark Holiday Cards. 12. Scotch guard the carpet. 13. Share a bag of Jalepeno Cheddar Cape Cod potato chips with Gargamel.

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A Post about The Climbing

Yes, I know, who cares? Lately, not even me. I was catching up on my reading the other day and looking over the October Issue of Climbing Magazine, and it was the special "Bouldering Issue", and IT WAS BORING. I am not interested in bouldering ONE BIT. There. I said it. Now onto the climbing...

Boulder and I made the death trek into Boston to climb at Metro Rock. I love climbing there, I really do. However, I do not love Paying $12 and having to drive for what amounts to almost TWO HOURS. Seriously. In traffic. Gah.

But, we made it. And met up with Forrest and did some climbing. I have been feeling pretty crap about my climbing latey. The summer was awesome, but I spent most of it learning to place gear on climbs that were way below my limit. Which is good. And safe. And proper. But no so helpful in maintaining one's strength. Mentally, I am a climbing MASTER, physically, however, I am kind of a wuss.

So, I was just expecting to putz around on some fairly easy stuff, get pumped out, and go home. Instead, I raced up an overhung 5.8 jug haul, stemmed up a 5.10b/c chimney, and almost flashed a 10c crimpy, balancy arete. It all felt great. I wasn't stressed or chasing number grades, I was just climbing for the pure enjoyment of climbing. Hot Dog! If only everything in life were that easy.

Unfortunately, my new "arch supports" are making ALL OF MY SHOES NOT FIT RIGHT. Which makes me extremely grumpy and unreasonable. Especially, when PT can't promise that he will not eat Jalepeno Cheddar Cape COd Potato Chips without me.

Him: I don't understand why you are making such a huge deal about CHIPS.
Me: It's not about the chips, it's about your unwillingness to do even the smallest thing to make me happy.
Him: But, still... they are just chips.
Me: Fine. Then why don't you and your mom and Ninja sit around your lovely home in Providence and STUFF YOUR SELVES WITH JALEPENO CHEDDAR POTATO CHIPS while I am up here doing something really unpleasant, like working, or painting the kitchen. And then, make sure you call me and tell me HOW GREAT THE CHIPS ARE!
Him: *laughs* I lit the evergreen potpourri for you so the house would smell nice when you came home. Isn't that nice?
Me: Not as nice as sharing chips with someone you care about.

Humbled by Health Insurance

Oh yes, I thought I was SO GREAT for having INSURANCE and being able to go to the doctor ANY TIME I WANT. Well, I sure got what was coming to me: ORTHOTICS!

I went to see a podiatrist yesterday as reccommended by my primary care doctor. She even went ahead and MADE the appointment for me, so all I had to do was show up! How great! See, i have this bump on the top of my left foot. It hurts sometimes when I wear certain shoes, but not too much. I think it has been there for more than a year anyway, without causing me much stress. But you know, since I was at the doctor anyway and she asked if I had anything else that concerned me I figured I would mention it. The doctor poked at it and confessed that she didn't know and sent me to a specialist.

At the office of all things podiatry related, (which makes me feel like a COMPLETE DORK, because cool people don't have things wrong with their feet, right?), the specialist poked at it and said he thought it was a bone spur and sent me for X-Rays. Turns out it isn't an extra growth of bone, it is my ACTUAL FOOT BONE. Apparently, because I walk like a fool, (and turn my feet outwards in a completely stupid manner), I have caused a BONE IN MY FOOT TO CHANGE POSITION AND PROTRUDE IN AN ABNORMAL WAY.

Awesome. Prognosis: I will most likely need surgery at some point to correct it where they will SHAVE OFF PART OF THE BONE and make my foot somewhat normal, I will almost certainly have arthritis, and I need to wear arch supports for, um, EVER. I explained to the doctor that this really wasn't possible because they wouldn't fit with some of my shoes. He told me to wear them "whenever possible", and that they cost $50 for the "off the rack" version and about $400 for the "haute couture" of orthotics. ALL FOR A STUPID BUMP ON MY FOOT.

That'll learn me.

I know this probably should NOT be funny. (But it really is.)

I recently re-discovered my therapist. I had stopped seeing her cause I felt pretty much fine. Then I fell down to the very bottom of the blackest of black holes and didn't go see her because I had given up on anyone being able to help me. Then, some months later, I ran into her at the place we both get coffee in the morning. I promised to call, and then I did.

I made the appointment fully thinking that I could just get away with bullshitting about nothing for an hour and then leave. For some reason, I was feeling really resistant to going back to therapy. I think I was/am afraid that it won't be enough to prevent me from falling back down the hole, and I am doomed and therefore FUCK IT. Nihilists aren't very good patients.

So, it was with this attitude that I walked into the office, sat down and expected nothing.

Yup. I was wrong. My therapist was all listening and writing shit down and, like totally helping me out. SO NOT WHAT I EXPECTED. She identified my major issues and said she would come up with a game plan to help me combat (she doesn't like the war analogy, but I do. And it's MY disorder, so I'm gonna use it. Phhhhhhhhttttt.) my demons.

I had to talk about the "episdode" though, (I love getting all Victorian about my falling off the deep end. It makes it seem much more socailly acceptable. If it were 1901.) and I used the analogy of the angry robot in my head that sometimes leaps out and destroys Tokyo and then leaves me to clean it up. And then I said, when I am acting really nuts and spewing acid, I can hear a tiny voice (not really. it's a metaphor not a halucinatiion. unfortunately.) in my head saying, "SHUT UP. You are behaving like an idiot. Just go somewhere else and stop making things worse.", but of course I can't and don't stop and end up stomping all over Japan. Afterwards there is this, like, exhaustion and sometimes a bit of woozy-post-party-What-The-Hell-Did-I-Do? stuff going on, but mostly, I just feel sad and pathetic and keep apologizing to whomever will listen and feel guilty about what a horrible person I am and how noone should love me because I am such a jerk. Classic.

So, being a trained professional in the area of psychosis, M. asks me, "So, do you hear or see things? You know, voices, things that aren't really there?" She goes on to try and describe, in the nicest way possible, what hallucinations are and how to identify them. Laughing, I said, "M. I've taken shrooms, I've seen the walls bleed, I KNOW what hallucinations are. This isn't like that."

Then she brought up the possibility that we might be dealing with a "personality disorder", took copious notes on my various "personalities"; angry robot-zilla, guilt ridden self loathing girl, and regular old rational Schooligan (Ha!), and said she would look more into it for me. Again, I had to laugh, not at her, but just at the situation. "Oh, like The Three Faces of Eve??" "Yeah. (laughing too) Like that. I just want to make sure we are looking at all angles here."

Finally, she gave me a book to read "An Unquiet Mind" about a woman with Manic-Depression. I had to ask, "Do you think that's what is really going on here?" Always the diploamt, "Well, I think it is safe to say, that you have some kind of 'mood disorder.'"

That's such a nice way of putting it. Plus I think "Mood Disorder" sounds WAY COOLER than just plain ole Depression.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things currently making the SCHOOLIGAN happy: 1. The Evergreen Scented PotPourri that Joan gave me. I put it in a bowl on my dining room table. Festive! Domestic! Unbelieveable! 2. BOURBON BALLS! 3. Nearly an entire month of dietary impunity! (Hey, it's the holidays!) 4. Acupuncture. (Quite possibly the missing link to my sanity!) 5. A closet FULL of discount hot sauce. 6. Fitting into a pair of size 6 pants. 7. Season 1 of Desperate Housewives 8. Having a nearly finished, slightly less ugly than when I started, kitchen. 9. Waking up in the morning with a general sense of Okay-ness. 10. My $28 gas bill for the month of October. (Not having heat is good for my wallet!) 11. Re-discovering the benefits of a good therapist. 12. Watching movies with Gargamel in a fort made of sofa cushions. 13. Instant Oatmeal. Delicious! Fast! Nutritious!

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A new addition to the Nation

adopt your own virtual pet!

Christmas (or "I should go to bed instead of drinking wine and blogging)

Now, anyone familiar with the schooligan knows that she isn't all gushy about holidays. In fact, her intimate friends knows that she likes to spend them drunk on bourbon and stuffed full of pie. But for some reason, this year feels different. Like, when a certain adorable villain talks about DECORATING THE VOODOO LOUNGE FOR CHRISTMAS, instead of immediately throttling him while simultaneously chugging a bottle of knob creek, I agree that it would be nice to have a christmassy house. What the hell has gotten into me?

Oh, and for the record, yes, please, get me vibrators for Christmas.

No, seriously. Is this chicken or fish?

In light of the recent break-up of power couple Nick and Jessica, I found myself seriously pondering what the hell I was eating for lunch. We had ordered some sandwiches for a meeting today, and of course, helped ourselves to the tray before we delivered it to the conference room. My sandwich was either tuna salad or chicken salad, BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHICH. There was so much mayonnaise (BARF) on it, that any fishy-meaty flavor was completely masked.

Holiday Weekend

Although I had FOUR DAYS OFF, it still wasn't quite enough. But what can I say, I am a greedy, slothful bastard.

Pre-Thanksgiving (And FYI, it ENRAGES me when people say "turkey day" because it takes all meaning out of the holiday, which is SECULAR to begin with.) I went to various websites and looked up all this info on calories of Thanksgiving dinner. I found horrifying figures like the average person eats 7500 calories that day, which seems completely ridiculous to me. So, I found a site that tells you the calories of some typical Thanksgiving foods, and even with generous estimates (like I use 1/3 cup of gravy) it said that I would consume about 1200 calories, half of which was pie. That made me feel better about having Thanksgiving dinner TWICE. Once with my family, (where we found out that Grandma's will was already set so we didn't have to pretend to like her squash anymore), and once at G's dad's house.

I definitely had too much bourbon Thursday night and passed out on the living room floor watching Ravenous because not only is Guy Pierce completely yummy, but nothing says gluttony like cannibalism.

Ok, so PT and I got the first season of Desperate Housewives on Netflix, and spent last weekend AND this weekend watching all 22 episodes. I had ordered it "just to see what all the fuss was about" and fully intended to HATE IT. But, I didn't. It is a REALLY GOOD SHOW. It's dark and twisted and smart and funny (and apparently a lot like my boyfriend, now that I think about it) and hopelessly addicting.

After we finished the 6th disc and watched the Season Finale that didn't answer all of our burning questions, we watched all the special features, cast interviews, behind the scenes, etc.
Me: Do you know what we are doing right now?
PT: Uh. Watching the special features?
Me: No. We are desperately licking the floor of the bathroom in hope that we find some more crack.

CAT!

WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH YOUR NEW FOUND LOVE OF WET PAINT?????????????
Enough is enough.
You are going to be BALD by the time I get this kitchen done.

An Open Letter to my Health Care Providers

I have seen a bunch of you over the years for the problem with the humanity destroying robot that lives in my head. Most of you have honestly wanted to help me get better, but few of you have gone so far as to LISTEN TO ME about what is wrong. Yes, I know, I don't have a bunch of letters after my name, but I gotta tell you that I have a MUCH CLEARER picture about what I deal with on a daily basis than you do. No, really, I do. And so do my friends and loved ones. So what is your freaking problem?

Well, yeah, I know it's easier to prescribe me a whole batch of drugs than to try and figure out what is really bothering me. Duh. But, like, that whole drug the robot into submission thing? It only works for a little while, and then we are back to the place where every time I open my mouth, I threaten civilization as we know it.

And for the love of god, when I find something THAT ACTUALLY WORKS BETTER THAN DRUGS(like, oh, I don't know, acupuncture) don't look down your nose at me like I'm some new age hippie freak. You can think what you want about alternative medicine and how the acupuncturists don't give you free pens, and post-its and shit, but for the first time IN YEARS, I feel relaxed and happy and PEOPLE ACTUALLY WANT TO BE AROUND ME. So far, you haven't given me a drug that can come close to that.

Actually, come to think of it, you guys have fucked my life up kind of a lot over the years. You know, with your not listening and BAD COMBINATIONS OF DRUGS. I never ever even thought about carving myself up like a Christmas Goose until you started pumping my body with chemicals. Nor have I ever threatened to throw myself out windows or hurled household objects UNTIL YOU CAME ALONG.

But you know what? It's cool. I don't blame you entirely. I could see myself getting seduced by pharmaceutical reps too. I mean, DAMN. FREE PENS??? Hell yeah!

I guess the bottom line here is this: I trusted you guys, you let me down repeatedly and I want to explore some other options. No hard feelings, mmmkay?

The Line Between Villains and Heroes

It isn't always quite so defined as you might think.

In between watching TWO FULL DISCS of Desperate Housewives and eating an illegal amount of Chinese Take-Out, PT and I had something of a breakthrough. I think, for maybe the first time IN OUR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP, we actually understand each other.

I'd blame the acupuncture, but he hasn't had any.

Sometimes I really hate it when I'm right

And I also hate it when life reminds me that, yes, it IS grossly unfair.

Lsat night, I decided to just get on with the painting. However, after applying a FOURTH coat of horrid red paint to the same tiny area of the kitchen, I realized that not only did I hate the color, but that it was never going to look good and I just couldn't see how I was ever going to finish at the rate I was going and having to apply a billion coats to every area.

So I had a wee cry on the floor outside the bathroom and realized that the Agony and the Ecstasy was SO RIGHT ON. Then I collected myself, put the red death on hold and decided to prime the pantry while trying to decided what the hell I was going to do.

I had gotten the window done in good time when Underfoot decided that she Needed to sit on the windowsil. In wet paint. I screamed and spent the next ten minutes chasing her through the house and begging her to STOP GETTING WHITE KITTY FOOTPRINTS ON EVERYTHING. I Finally cornered the terrified, and painted, cat in the bathroom, shut the door and called for reinforcements.

My sister came up and helped me draw a warm bath for the now black and white painted kitty. In her defense, I must say the Underfoot was an absolute angel about the whole bath thing. No scratching, struggling, biting, and just a few pitiful mews of resignation.



Of course, the paint would NOT COME OUT of her fur, even with expensive Bed Head Shampoo (hey, only the best for my kitty) and lots of scrubbing. I didn's want her to be licking at the dried paint on her paws and get sick. I'm no vet, but am surmising that primer isn't really good for cats. I couldn't wash it out, so I was left with but one option: the clippers.

I have clipped lots of animals, from boyfriends to million dollar show horses, but I was really surprised that once again, she sat quietly in my lap while I shaved paint off her feet. I can't quite decide if she is THE BEST CAT ever, or just never realized that most cats don't put up with this type of shit. At any rate, I was able to CUT most of the paint off, except for a wee bit by her ear, but unless she is even more unbelievable than I thought, I doubt she can lick that.

I am also thinking that my new decorating scheme just might have to include little white cat prints.