Why yes, those ARE little daisies on my toenail.

We are almost at 5000 hits, people. Let's do this. (And yes, I realize that people who get Google Reader updates and the like don't necessarily count in the overall tally, but...I'm a very tangible person. Tactile, even. Some might say tangential.)

Last Tuesday was the 20 week appointment wherein we got to see Bitsy Baby Schoeny. And P.J.'s chin, my nose, and the feet belonging to someone awfully antsy. It was wild to see the kiddo's jaw opening and closing and to see the legs fully extend and cross at the ankles, a la Huck Finn. And, though this part should be terribly obvious to anyone who has ever even CONTEMPLATED creating life...it occurred to me while watching my kid onscreen that I actually GREW A RIBCAGE. And a heart with four chambers. And toenails!

The kiddo is measuring a week ahead of schedule, which means...absolutely nothing. I guess. I, however, am terribly proud of the Bitsy's growth and neverending backflips. (The other night at 1am I put my Bose headphones on my belly to calm the little flipper with Enya on shuffle. Yes I did. And it worked.)

Last night our fabulous friends Ari and Elana (plus their 4-month old son Asher and pup Orli)stayed over en route to Denver for a lovely evening in the 100 degree weather. And miraculously, my ever-awesome husband agreed to install the a/c for the season...a month and a half earlier than last year. (I do not delude myself into thinking this is for any reason other than the trip we're taking next week- thusly, leaving the cats in this heat.) Superbly good to see our pals, even with the three attempts that our [usually on top of things] landlord took to show our apartment to potential renters. We ALLLLL got up and took a walk so that people could see the house- three times- and the third time the family actually showed. (Yes, I realize that I could be one of those people that stay in the apartment when people see it...but I've been scarred by homeowners. See previous posts. Maybe around last Fall?) Went to Turquoise and quite possibly ate more lamacun and hummus than was wise. Slept like a baby (with a baby) in my AIR-CONDITIONED BEDROOM. (Are you reading this, P.J.? Your heroic actions do not go unnoticed by the townspeople.)

And tonight is Instant Theatre at Chicago Dramatists! 8pm, free, featuring a one-act of mine that I'm rather proud of. (Kate gave me the one-liner to start it off. She ALWAYS gives me the one-liner to start plays. There. I said it. My dirty little secret is...every epic piece of theatre I've ever created has come, in some form or another, from something my sister Kate has flippantly said.)

Everyone wants their nickel.

Off to Myrtle Beach for a week with Schoenys (Schoenies) starting Saturday a.m...after a rehearsal din Thursday in Naperville for two of our pals and their wedding on Friday afternoon. (Plus various scenes that need to be finished up, contractors to finalize, mortgages- well, just one- that need be IN MY HAND to prove their validity, a new closing date of July 7th, a rad 2005 Volkswagen Passat to purchase and anything else mammoth that we can manage to fit into the month of June, let alone this year.)

I hate boredom. (But LOVE the pile of Nora Roberts and Charlaine Harris novels that will be accompanying me on a South Carolinan inner tube alongside a fruit-filled fruity drink.)

Holding the vodka is as far as I go for "roughing it."

Vous voir la semaine prochaine!

Does anyone else smell that?

First off, a big ol' thank you to the city of Chicago for hosting eighty-seven festivals and events this weekend. (I witnessed four this weekend: RibsFest in Lincoln Square, the Old Town Arts Fair and St. Mike's Festival in Old Town/Lincoln Park, plus we kinda waltzed past Midsommarfest in Andersonville while waiting for a non-existant Damen bus.) That, plus a nice jaunt over to Foster Ave. beach (perhaps sitting a TAD too close to raunchy teens and/or breastfeeding mothers of three-year olds- quite the combo, no?) left me pleasantly freckled, stuffed to the gills with fair food (and that I mean superior corn dogs and the ilk, nothing "fair" about it) and more than a little drowsy.

And a big NO THANK YOU to HBO's True Blood. Which I now love. But have no business loving. (Pushing Daisies just left me- it's TOO SOON.) However, watch it I did (that was very Yoda) last night with Peej- it's so rare to find a show we like to watch together, and rarer still to find a vampire show that I like. Okay, that last part isn't true at all. I love vampire shows and movies. Have I ever told you about my second favorite vampire trilogy, behind the Blade extravaganza? It's Underworld 1, Underworld 2 and Van Helsing. Sure, the last one has different characters, names and plot points, but they rank the same in my mind. Exceptional.

Where does one go from a topic like that?

Random musings.

a) Esquire just had a great article on what it takes a be a real man- it was hilarious, apt, and cliche-free. That said, P.J. and I both decided it would be awfully hard to do from a female's point of view- the ones we've seen have either been in the Sex & the City camp (Being a woman means you can get away with murder- in Manolos!)or the Feminazi school of thought (Men are evil. And dumb.) And while both of these are, [ahem] at times, true, I think they usually do a disservice to the lovely grey (pink?) middle ground. Perhaps I'll work on this.

b) My iTunes has a rad feature wherein it loads the CD cover image when a song plays. Usually it's spot-on, but these days it phones it in when a genre or song has it stumped. For instance, Alice Cooper's "Poison?" [Awesome song.] Why, it's labeled as part of the compilation "Unity" CD for the 2004 Olympics. With the cover art from a cartoon movie called "Doogal." Neither is correct, nor is either choice remotely close to Vincent Furnier's 1989 horror-show spectacular. (And it IS spectacular.)

c) Finally, this morning I kept smelling burnt toast, which as everyone knows is the first sign of a stroke. Or being poisoned. Or maybe that's the smell of almonds. But I was fairly certain something terrible was going down- that is, until I realized that the scent was wafting in and out as I commuted. Sometimes I didn't even smell it at all. And once I got to work it was gone entirely, leaving me to believe...that today is a horrid day for toasting toast in Chicago.

This is all for today. Except for the fact that two-year old Lily and I depleted Home Depot's paint sample supply ("More squares!!!") and that I've finished another section of the play and am doggedly onto the next...and that tomorrow is the 20-week appointment to see Bitsy Baby Schoeny and determine, once and for all, just how many Schoenys (Schoenies?) are kicking me in the ribs. And nether regions. Plus, as I typed this, two more contractors called me back and set up appointments to "fix" the "house," hinging of course on the ludicrous notion that the JP Chase Morgan will ever let us "buy" this "property."

And that is absolutely ALL that is going on.

For the next ten minutes.

Starin' down the business end of 29.

Or as my sis Kate tells me- The Beginning of My 30th Year. (Not helpful. Accurate, but still unneccessary.) And my youngest sister Emma insists that '30' is still technically one's late '20s. "I mean, it's 30, but whatever." Okie doke! 

But that is for another year. This is the era where '28' passes off the baton to '29'- more like '28' shoves the baton into '29's' reluctant palms like it's covered in a swine flu/strep amalgamation (currently running rampart in Chi's private schools, trust me.)

Not to be all VH1 (I love you, VH1- or I did when you played music, pop-up videos and only the occasional "reality show") but this has been the Best Year Ever. Disregard what I may have personally told you about last year, THIS one has been the Best. 

Some highlights: 

After that whole marriage/Virgin Islands trek/throwing out anything "pre-registry" awesomeness, I got heath insurance. And saw a primary care physician for the first time since my parents had to bribe me with Ben & Jerry's. (Sadly, it wasn't as long ago as that may insinuate.) Health insurance is amazing! So is dental. I have become one of those people that stubs a toe, overflosses and decides that a prescription Vitamin C sounds fun. Better go to the doctor! (Sure, P.J.'s monthly rate has gone up, but they take that outta his check! For me, it's free money. Free cash doctor money.)

My family has managed to graduate four out of the four Flynn girls in some sort of East Coast college! (Well, Em's graduation is on Sunday, but I have the highest of hopes.) I was also lucky enough to see my family, roughly 865 miles away, an average of roughly 57 times. Give or take. 

Which brings me to...trips. Boston, Pittsfield, Cape Cod, Cincinnati, Miami (for like a day and a half, but it was delightful), Los Angeles and various points Midwestern. I have discovered that I am an exceptional passenger. I passenge superbly; radio deejay, instant Google fact-checker, restroom alarm, quiet-snorey-napper, silent crossword puzzler and, when the mood calls for it, Ugly Cry-laugher at your jokes. (P.J. drives. That is why our marriage is so rock solid. That is the only reason.)

People are catching on to the fact that I've been writing since 1988! (Sure, I was eight years old, but truly. Some people start- or peak- early. Would you like to read my early Star Wars/Quantum Leap scripts?) This year alone I've been lucky enough to be featured in Instant Theatre at Chicago Dramatists about ten times, had a play picked up for workshopping by Local 75, finished about ten one-acts and [almost] three full-lengths, had two plays chosen for production by 20% Theatre (one at this summer's Snapshots at Strawdog Theatre and the other at the Pilsen Arts Festival this fall!) and had my first novella win a major competition in Los Angeles. It's just a matter of time before the rest of the money will [start to] roll in.

I met Scott Bakula. He hugged me. 

I have fine-tuned my group of bestest friends into stellar people who happen to have marketable skills that I can enjoy for free (massage therapy, Pilates, shoulders meant for crying) and that have somehow not yet tired of my incessant demands for movies in Grant Park, tacos & spicy tuna rolls and ginger vodkas. Sigh.

P.J. and I had a 4br, 1ba housing deal fall through...only to score one with 5br and 3ba. For 25k cheaper and a mile closer to the glorious neighborhood in which we now reside.

We got pregnant! And while this was not a mandatory "28" goal, it was most definitely on the "Can we try for pre-30?" checklist. P.J. gets major points for staying ahead of my Life Worksheet. (It seems unfair to simultaneously blame him for my unnerving weight gain, but sometimes I still do.)

We celebrated a year of marriage over Memorial Day weekend. That whole thing about the first year of marriage being the hardest? All lies. The first year consists solely of weekend brunch, Mario Kart & Mortal Kombat on the Wii and picking strawberries in the backyard. (Now, the first year of LIVING together was essentially a plate-throwing fest and copious amounts of tears. Phew! Glad THAT'S done!)

And while I'm fairly certain that 29 will have its share of "high points," (meeting my kid, actually living in the house that we're buying, making a year-end list for '29,') I'm still going to state for the record that '28' is the best that could possibly happen in a year. 

Until the Def Leppard concert this summer. Then this year will totally be disregarded.