1000 views!

Wow, this is so special. My li'l blog (read= writing exercise that's supposed to inspire the rest of my writing but instead has become an actual measure of my productivity) has 1000 hits on the counter! Well, let's just go to the SiteMeter website and see who the lucky reader was! Okay...Aug. 14th...that's today! 7:46:55am...ooh, early this morning...provider was RoadRunner...um, I think I know where this is going.

Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Hi Mom.

(Your grand prize is getting to clear the attic of all my dolls, trolls, ponies and journals! Which you were doing anyhow!)

On a completely unrelated note (that should be the new title- forget lollygag blog) I have a new ad on my Facebook page. I've enjoyed seeing the random ads matched up with random photos- for example, "Wanna be a model?" with a photograph of Natalie Portman. Um, okay. "Hot new diet- I lost 30 pounds!" with a picture of Paris Hilton. No she didn't. But my favorite is today's ad- the caption reads "Host a foreign student in your home!" The picture? Nick Jonas. (I think it was Nick Jonas. Whichever Jonas brother has the broody look and the curly hair. You know the one.) And what land is he representing?

I'm totally gonna call. I could give him a good home...and I'll write about it on this very blog! I'll show him a thing or two about the American Dream. (Oh, that sounds threatening.) I didn't mean that, Nick Jonas, I just meant that I'd take you to DQ or something. Please be our foreign baby!

More on this as it develops.

Keely's third cup of coffee, and I don't care.

Last night we had our first tech rehearsal for Rules of Infection, a delightfully dark comedy in which my honest-to-gosh husband and I play less than divinely happy married people. Turns out, when we ran the show in the upstairs theatre at Strawdog (and not in the front window of a vintage 2-flat on a neighborhoody street) we were able to, you know, ACT, and not live in fear of the cops being called. And since we've recently added in huge amounts of stage blood this is a very real threat. It opens Thursday and runs through the weekend, in case anyone wants to come. It should be quite fun.

On our way home (on bikes, naturally, for this is our summer of being eight year olds) we stopped at Dairy Queen. We never go there. However, P.J. had a coupon- that is mighty strong enticement, as anyone who has seen P.J. "Super Saver" Schoeny in action well knows. He got a turtle blizzard and I chose a chocolate strawberry waffle bowl sundae. We at them at the outside tables and listened to various dog owners chide their dogs for not being more like others' dogs. Truly. It was a sea of small dogs on long leashes being dragged around by hyperactive owners forcing relations with other canines.

THEN- we rode all the way home and parked our bikes in the backyard, for the meteor shower was just beginning! (Well, I think it had been going on for some time. It just happened to be getting really dark in the Midwest.) We brought sleeping bags outside and parked ourselves facing north/northeast (we read up on this kind of thing) to enjoy the show. It took our eyes a little bit to adjust as our next door neighbors had their porch lights on and the upstairs neighbor was actually using the back of the apartment. SO. After a few of the clouds drifted away and it became sufficiently dark...I saw a gorgeous shooting star across the ladle of the big dipper! I turned in excitement to P.J.- who had fallen asleep.

"Dude, wake up."
"I am up."
"Your eyes are closed."
"I'm enjoying the meteor shower."
"You're on your side."
"I'm seeing the ones over here."

And so forth. I watched the sky intently for the next hour while P.J. napped "until the clouds fully went away." Around 12:30 I unzipped my sleeping bag and prepared to trek inside only to be asked by P.J., "Are we going in? You're having such a good time!"

Maybe people further from city lights and cloudy clouds had better viewing...but it was still lovely to see.

And I will leave you with this point to ponder- why do small children sing "Jimmy Crack Corn?" Jack and I are listening to a Wee Sing something or other CD and at least ten high-pitched children are singing about Jimmy Crack Corn and Not Caring. This is most certainly a slave song (I'm sure the lyrics have been modified over the years, but let's call a spade a spade) no matter how benign it may sound. Did you know that a Cingular ad had to be pulled because of the song's usage? (It's the one where the guy is asking a girl's father's blessing and the call gets dropped in the middle of his awkward monologue- "...okay there JIM...Jimbo...Jimmy Crack Corn," etc.) This proves two things; one, that people get upset about the darndest things and two, maybe we shouldn't be including this song on a CD between songs about sharing and a teddy bear's picnic. Thoughts? Feelings? Mp3s to email in order to get this song out of my head?

Nothin' but the issues, folks.

Does Humana cover that?

Wow, it's Friday. When did I become Sally NeverPost? And what brought on this inability to differentiate days? It's concerning. A few posts ago I was worried about scurvy, now I'm downright determined to stave off dementia. I hear word games help.

The She & Him concert the other night was great, as we knew it would be. What a mixed bag the crowd was, though. The guy sitting next to us was lounging with his [shabby-khaki-shorts-covered] legs stretched out on the bench and kept ordering miniature shots of bourbon. Actually, maybe he was just ordering bourbon- perhaps they only came in children's Tylenol-sized shot glasses. (And is today Hyphen Day around here? Just wondering.) And his date kept maneuvering away from his death grip around her waist. He was, after all, stretching out his legs, making it really awkward to snuggle on a bench if your date is perpendicularly placed. And truly, the only reason I REALLY noticed them (aside from the copious bourbon cups) was that the gal was wearing a floral scrunchie in her hair. Remember the episode of Sex & the City where Carrie is telling Berger how his novel lacks truth because his heroine wears a scrunchie, and no self-respecting woman wears a scrunchie except for washing her face at night? Well, this woman had a long black dress and decent heels but also sported a white and blueish floral scrunchie that tied her hair into a messy bun. I didn't get it, but perhaps not everything has to make crystal clear sense to me personally.

ANYWAY, other highlights included the frat boy who kept punching his fist in the air and raising his bottle of Bud Light at guitar solos, especially juxtaposed with the be-tatted girl standing next to him and ducking out of the way of his wayward high fives. And the opening gal, Becky Stark, was adorable and funny. (She's the backup singer for Zooey and M. Ward!) Her set included bringing members of the band out for certain songs, with one number even being backed by Miss Deschanel herself and punctuated with riffs from M. Ward! (How did that conversation go? "Yeah, I'm opening for you, but seriously....can you play an A chord?") And it goes with saying that She & Him were fantastic and had us dancing. Even the bourbon dude. And all the girls with tattoos! P.J. tried to get Zooey's attention between songs, so much so that it led me to inquire about his apparent crush. Turns out, there's no attraction, just a deep need to let her know how cool he thinks she is. And that's totally fine and within the parameters of our vows.

Last night I trekked out to Villa Park again to go to my dentist. Originally, it started out with my being dragged to Nat's dentist as my fear was too all-consuming. Almost six years later it's just a simple case of loyalty. I left work at 4pm to take the Milwaukee bus down to Ogilvie Center to buy a round trip ticket (and some Taco Bell!) Got on the wrong [express] train, but as it was remedied before anyone actually left the station it doesn't warrant too much discussion. My awesome pal Eddie shuttled me from the Metra station to the dentist and back (he lives in Oakhurst- woo!) in time to make the 8:08pm back to the city. Caught the Milwaukee bus back up to Western, took the Western bus to Cornelia and then did some walkin', bringing me back to the homestead at 9:45pm. Yup, round trip was almost six hours.

What was truly interesting, however, was the convo that my dentist and I had while I was prone in the chair. I have a couple of cavities that need "further discussion and inspection." He assured me that while I take stellar care of my teeth I'm not as young as I once was. Huh? Isn't that kinda the point? Of life? But he said it in this slightly sheepish manner, as if he was afraid to bring up the fact that I'm no longer 22. (Only slightly.)

I find it so funny that people mention aging (and specifically the nearing of 3-0) in the same hushed tones as a conversation about incontinence. Like I shouldn't be proud to have survived this long! What, with learning to look the other way when crossing the street in London, finding out about certain pivotal allergies early on (latex, chili powder, etc.), and being sidelined from various sporting events along the way I am DARN PROUD to not be dead yet. I think the scariest thing for some people is not the aging itself, but the defining of a new era (of which the number 30 is definitely a cut off point.) It's the age of the ingenue, the waif, the wunderkind, in short- the little girl. I'm finding I'm more and more okay with this; I've so rarely been the ingenue (I'm more of a quirky best friend type, frankly) and even on my best days I could never be called waifish. I've embraced the Little Girl thing long enough as many, many people around me could attest. But you know what? Big Girls can do some pretty neat things too; throw a mean dinner party while saying things like, "Nothing beats a good Chilean red," for example. Or get renter's insurance for some awfully sweet registry gifts. Or my personal favorite- telling people that I'm a playwright and having them agree. (So much so that they workshop and produce my shows. That's really fun.) And frankly, even though (it's lookin' like) I'll never be a child prodigy, I'll settle for plain ol' success. I read something way back about how the ubiquitous Barbie needed to grow up and become a Barbara. I'm ready to become a Barbara of the world.

Even if it means I have to pay for three new fillings.

There's no place like home.

How on earth is it Tuesday? I know for a fact that just a moment ago it was Saturday morning and I was getting ready for rehearsal. Then it was absolutely Saturday around noonish and a very humid rehearsal definitely took place in my apartment. (Side note- waving a fake gun at a very real husband during a first floor rehearsal on a street fest day holds me back as an actress. That's just a personal hangup. "Should we call the cops?" "No, I'm sure it's just a run-through of a very dark comedy.")

Then it was the afternoon in the backyard, trying to fit three months of failed weeding and gardening into two hours. We rescued an errant watermelon vine from the neighbor's yard where it had actually sprouted fruit through the fence. (We were told that it spreads like crazy and that's why people don't plant them in backyards. I DIDN'T KNOW THAT.) I pulled out actual plants and kept weeds because I thought they were pretty. I was reminded that this was not helpful. I made a nice path around the rosebush (formerly covered in hosta leaves- I think hosta is short for hostile. It's an unforgiving plant in the summer, especially if you'd like to have other plants in your garden as well.) During this time I pricked my fingers something fierce and took a thirty minute break in the grass to recover. Somehow at the end of my time "gardening," all seven of the tomato plants were weeded and upright, the lilies were free to be themselves and the herbs lost their afros. Plus, the pretty weeds were no more and the ugly "useful" plants were still mostly in attendance. I think P.J. helped.

Then, I met Kat and Bethany for some Que Rico awesomeness. Actually, it's Que Rico!, but that looks awkward in print. We couldn't decide which type of margarita to get (Mango? Strawberry? Raspberry? Original?) so we got a pitcher of each. We got food, too. And turns out, the outdoor patio was right there at the back of the stage for the Retro on Roscoe. We were in prime position for when HAIRBANGER'S BALL started their set. Oh my God. So, after dinner (and after P.J. joined us for one final pitcher) we walked behind the fence to see the [free for us] concert. We danced to Pat Benatar, GnR, Poison and Ratt. Heck, after that much tequila we would have rocked out to Barry Manilow. (I'm a fanilow, after all.) We finished up the night in the (newly weeded) backyard to enjoy the gorgeous weather on blankets...and, you guessed it, another drink. The night ended wonderfully.

The next morning, not so much. However, I rallied and made it back over (a block away) to the Roscoe fest again. Met P.J. (who had already been at a two-hour theater meeting, God bless him) and Annie and Jared for some street fest food (Turquoise! Possibly the best restaurant in Roscoe Village!) and pining over jewelery and sundresses. Okay, that last part was just Annie and me.

After that came quite possibly the lowest-energy rehearsal ever. Our extraordinarily tolerant director Lucinda patted us on the head and told us to have a nice evening. So we did! I made pesto from the non-flowery basil in the garden and it was really quite good. Despite the [GROSS ALERT] mealworms we found in some of the pasta boxes- I'm told this is normal and nothing that I'm failing to do as a housewife, but I don't know if I truly believe it- we still went on to have a great dinner. I only ate half of my normal portion. Coincidence? I may have hit on a weight-loss aid greater than even Core Rhythms. Disgust! We watched "Primal Fear" and the ending made me a little miffed. So miffed, in fact, that I face-planted on the bed and slept for almost seven and a half hours.

SO. Then it was somehow Monday and I felt like a pioneer getting to work, what with the completely black skies and the sideways wind and rain. It was a bit of an indoor day with Jack, but we didn't let that slow us down. We did Core Rhythms together. We watched a good episode of Sesame street (okay, it was the one with the dancing flowers again.) We ate part of a Fruit Flowers gift basket. We napped with wild abandon and when we woke up, drew train tracks for Thomas and Percy to travel upon.

And THEN P.J. and I went to see some homes with a realtor! Turns out, when a home's listing says "gorgeous Victorian on a highly desirable street," it means that the rugs are covered in 50+ years of cat pee and cigarette smoke and the back staircase slopes at an acute angle. Move right in! And there's nothing quite like hearing about how a homeowner's husband passed away three months earlier while she's showing you the powder room. It rather quashes the dual goal of a low ball offer and self-respect. And having the listing agent corner you in the attic to inform you that the sellers are extremely motivated and will take into account the extreme renovations that will have to be done (all you need to do it tear down the interior walls, rip the carpets and fortify the floorboards in the kitchen, bathroom and sun porch!) is sometimes the only impetus one needs to plop down 20%.

Maybe we'll rent for a little while longer, we decided as we made our way home to the lovely three bedroom Roscoe Village apartment. But that was before the crazy thunderstorms started...with TWO tornados touching down in the city proper! And it was around this time that we realized that renter's insurance doesn't cover acts of God. And the winds and rain battering our windows were absolutely acts of some angry being. The tornado sirens went off and that always makes me feel like a lost three-year old. The thunder was truly the room-shaking kind and also the kind that lasted until 4am.

Oh...so that's how it got to be Tuesday. That makes more sense now.

We're seeing "She & Him" tonight at the Park West! I do love me some Zooey Deschanel. The last time I went to the Park West I was recovering from ovarian surgery (four days previously, in fact) and the bass felt a little brutal. Due to the fact that this has not happened recently it should prove to be loads better!

Okay, it's nap time now. Phew.