And do you have any bendy straws?

I need answers. P.J. told me that there's a lake under the Great Pyramid that's being explored. Why is this the first I'm hearing of it? This is exactly the kind of thing that I can get behind. I mean, I knew that the Great Pyramid was built on the exact spot that's considered the center of all land masses on Earth. Who didn't? But a lake? What's down there? 

I think I know. It's Nessie. And I believe that Nessie, as most of my friends can attest, is a Brontosaurus. Or an Apatosaurus. (Name changes bother me. Don't even get me started on Pluto.) I won't bore you with all the technical and scientific details of my theory, but rest assured that there is a Loch Ness Monster, she is a dinosaur and now I know where she lives. Go on, prove me wrong.

Also, there's a tortoise who now has wheels. In Israel. Yup. This gives me great amounts of hope. I'm not sure why or how, but it's heartening to think that there are still people in the world who will see a lame tortoise and instead of giving up on her will say "Hey! If we strap on some wheels, she can lead a fairly normal life!" For a tortoise. With wheels.

News that does NOT make me happy: the commentary during the Olympics last night (which generally leaves me in a state of "Oh, hush up") explained that 16 year old Chinese high diver Wang Xin doesn't like to eat.  Oh, okay. An Olympic athlete weighing in at 65lbs doesn't need fuel to springboard herself into a three story fall? Meanwhile, most Americans are eating more protein and "supplements" than could ever be burned off in a year of running for the train and playing company softball. You don't enjoy taking in food? Yeah, well, I don't like peeing, but I hate jaundice even more. It's one of those annoying tradeoffs. 

I'm weary from all of the news. Quick, someone make me a peanut butter and honey sandwich. With bananas. Cut into four triangles. I'm in training, you see. 

Now I'm peckish.

I am concerned. There's this new(ish) sunscreen spray, it's by Neutrogena and it's a completely great product. It's also decidedly in an aerosol can. When did this become okay again? Regardless of how cooling a mist, is it not the same type of awful that brought about holes in the ozone layer and the demise of hair metal upon its departure? (Just a speculation. But really, the end of teased hair and the beginning of grungy, greasy tresses? It cannot be a coincidence.) And before you tell me that the US has stopped using ozone-depleting substances for aerosol products in the late 70s, rest assured that I know this. But I do not believe it. How else could you explain the mass swap to Suave pump hairspray in the Flynn household, circa 1993? Something bad must have been circulating in the media, perhaps something of which only the citizens of Pittsfield, Massachusetts must have been aware. Maybe it was like Beaver Fever. That was when all the beavers got sick in the county and peed in our city water. Then people got super sick. That's how it happened, right Mom? I have no idea what I'm talking about anymore.

Last night on the train I had the joy of standing next to three truly awful people. (I should start a blog about terrible people on the eL. I would have to post thrice daily.) Anyhow, these gals were drunk and loud and ornery; the trifecta of transit (which would be a good name for a band.) One of them managed to say the phrase "I made SO much pasta salad" no less than eight times. She repeated the same story and the words "pasta salad" so often that I feared she either had Turrets or was indeed Rain Man. The best part was when her friend (who had been leaning bodily on the plexiglass divider- ew ew EW) remembered that her pal was intolerant to gluten and asked, "So what did you do with all of the EXTRA PASTA IN YOUR HOUSE?" 'Oh," her friend nonchalantly replied. "I made a ton of pasta salad." And the third clued us in (by shouting into her cell) about the dude and his girlfriend that she "...almost slapped 'cause they were all like 'what." What? What were they like? Did they bring a side dish of their own? And they were all rather large members of society. Which is completely fine. Unless you also believe you're ridiculously hot and that somehow allows for your inability to speak in hushed tones. (And if you think about it, even the gals on The Hills- of which I can only distinguish from seeing magazine covers, truly, I may be thinking of the wrong show- aren't allowed that sort of activity without scathing repercussions. And they are tiny humans.) Even worse, they shoved and elbowed an elderly man and his wife! (The large trio, not the girls on The Hills. I don't keep tabs on them.) Sit your big pasta salad bum down, I felt like saying! But instead I wrote a post, which I really think is better for everyone in the long run. They were spared the public shame and I was able to keep my fear of confrontation under wraps.

And hi to Olivia! The way to a girl's heart is to post on her Facebook wall extolling the virtues of her blog. You already know that, of course, being so smart and all. (But we are totally evenly matched in Scramble, so don't get too comfy.)

Time to go rock the Spidey Slip n' Slide! Answering, of course, the age old question: What do you DO all day at work? (Probably the same as you, only damper.)

Why do I have grilled cheese in my hair?

An update: I've been persevering with the slightly irritating Core Rhythms program. I truly find it grating on the level of nails on a chalkboard or Rod Stewart songs, however, I've found a way to stomach the encouragement of the Spandex Twins (remember that episode of Saved By the Bell? I know you do.) I mute the media player and blast Girl Talk's new album. Not entirely kid-friendly...but since the majority of my "working out" gets done while the kiddos nap, no harm no foul. And it seems to be working. I will not (sorry Emma) show pictures of my midsection, but suffice to say I feel rather awesome. Even if I only do it once or twice a week. Maybe. I mean, I don't think anyone would ever mistake me for an abdominal model, but OH MY GOD, THE ORANGE CRAYON SEGMENT IS PLAYING ON SESAME STREET!

Sorry. That one is just so, so good.

I've just enrolled in a fall class at Chicago Dramatists for playwrights developing new works! Which is terrific, excepting the fact that I need to actually write more stuff to, you know, develop. I have a month. Any plot ideas? And yes, Kate, I already wrote that one down.

Started with a new gal today at work! She joined my dude Jack for a nanny share of sorts, which is both really fun and really exhausting. Two year old times two? Whee! Turns out, even the most mellow toddler will want something intensely once she sees her peer have it. That includes cheddar bunnies, blue cups, a green Croc and a diaper change. I was surprised at that last one, too. I called my Mom to thank her (for she had two year old twins at one point as well as a nine and ten year old), even though Emily insists she was a joy and so easy to take care of. Rachel makes no such claims, and Kate is probably rolling her eyes at this very moment. And me? I know I was a handful.

Just got my Hampshire College hoodie in the mail! It's been six years since I graduated, why not start having some alumnae pride? (45 bucks worth.) It's a very cool blueish gray color with straight up writing on the front. (No matter how much I understand that the Hampshire tree is a very intricate design with tons of meaning, it still looks like a pot leaf on the hoodie.) It's quite nice. It is also quite huge. I got the smallest adult size, what was I thinking? Should've gone with the largest kid size, even though it's a zipped hoodie with a hand-drawn flower and the phrase "It's okay to think outside the box." P.J. told me the hoodie looks cute anyhow, which was NOT what I was going for in college and is CERTAINLY not what I'm going for now. I've always tried for "devastating," although I'd settle for "fly."

Maybe I should show him some of my Core Rhythms moves.

You paid how much for a trash can? (or, Happy Monday, Ajay!)

The show opened! And closed! I love week-long shows. Opening night was incredible, especially since it was a Thursday and completely sold out. (And Kat was there, who has the best laugh ever. When she laughs I feel like I've reinvented comedy.) People seemed to dig the idea of P.J. and I as a married couple, which can only prove to be fortuitous. At least we're believable. I've just managed to get the last of the corn syrup blood out of my hair, which is how I like to close any show.

A bit of a recap. Friday, I was lucky enough to take as a personal day, as my Wednesday and Friday gals were taking a personal two weeks in Maine. I decided to spend the day writing since I have a ton of deadlines and potential projects for the fall. That, of course, means I woke up at 9am, cleaned the house for two and a half hours, celebrated my clean house by taking myself out to Victory's Banner for lunch (they're closing for their two week sabbatical- long story), convinced myself I was "working" because Kate and I exchanged witty story-idea emails, and then actually sat at my desk around 2pm. I worked on two projects for a solid hour and a half of writing...at which point I was so thoroughly alarmed by how much I COULD write when I chose to...that I fell asleep on the couch for an hour. Woke up at 5pm, made dinner for Peej and then got ready to leave for the theater. We rode our bikes over to Strawdog (2ish miles each way) and had a great Friday night show. My friend Alex had come to see it, so we hung out with him afterwards and rode our bikes home at midnight. Best. Day off. Ever.

Saturday was lovely because it felt like a Sunday with a whole 'nother day after it. After P.J. made breakfast (he seriously cooks the best bacon in the universe) he went off to do some projects and run some errands...while I showed him how well I could handle our joint accounts and personal expenses by checking in with my favorite thrift store. If you're curious about how much damage I can do during a 75 cent sale of name-brand clothing, the answer is 16.81. I don't understand the math, either.

Much later on we reconvened to watch a pivotal film- "Definitely, Maybe." We had it on as we got ready for the show, made and ate dinner, and hand-washed the blood out of our costumes. We were precisely 7 minutes late for our call time. (The ending was worth it, though.) And the crowd was super good. And the blood was extra sticky. A Hampshire pal had shown up and it was fun to hang out after the show. Rode our bikes home (and I felt bad about not working out so far this weekend!) and capped off a pretty wonderful Saturday.

Sunday we rode our bikes (!) down to Wicker Park to have brunch at the Bongo Room, best desserty breakfast in the city. We were meeting up with P.J.'s high school pal, her mom and her two sisters. At the time it seemed like a good idea to ride there, until I took into account the fact that it was a three mile ride there, three miles back and the four and a half round trip for the theater that night. I began to protest half a block from our house. That said, the pineapple-rhubarb French toast with the candied ginger gelato and P.J.'s chocolate tower marscapone banana French toast made me happy to be alive. And glad I was getting some exercise.

Since we were already on North Avenue, we rode over to the Crate and Barrel store we had registered at for the wedding. For, you see, we had a gift card! And an item to return! And a 10% off coupon! (And we wanted a stainless steel trash can.)

Simple, no? No. For the "Simple Human" (hah) trashcan we registered for had been discontinued. In fact, since there was no record of it anywhere, it was like it had never even been. There was a number to call on our registry for how to order this vanished item; the gal at the shop called and was informed that you couldn't order those trashcans anymore. (Was that call necessary?) There was a new one, however, for forty bucks more. I'm not gonna tell you how much it was even originally, because my sister Em will read this and get an aneurysm. Long yuppie story short, we paid for the newer, bigger, more 'spensive one (after we had to add it to the registry to get the 10% off coupon for "finishing off the registry." Whatever.) And we made our trade in and decided we didn't get hosed too badly. And then they gave us a plastic bag which came up to the lid of the can, which we decided was not helpful. And then they asked us if we needed help to our car...which we still don't have. In fact, since we rode our bikes, and since P.J. had stated that he could carry it, no problem, I silently turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"I can carry it," he restated.

We walked outside and the combo of the plastic and the stainless steel (and the fact that it was a very large, very trashcan-like object) made it slip out of his arm mere feet from the store.

"We're taking the eL."

SO. We hopped on the red line at North and Clybourn and rode up to Belmont, hopped on a #77 bus and walked up Oakley to our home. (We stopped at an overpriced condo open house on the way, with the trash can, 'cause that's just fun.) Dropped off the trash can, walked back out the door, caught the #152 to the brown line, transferred back to the red line and walked back to get our bikes which were parked outside of the Container Store. I decided to look for some storage options while we were there, since this seemed to be the neighborhood in which I was destined to spend Sunday. (I realize it sounds like we have tons of money to burn. We do. And it's great.)

Twenty minutes later, laden with belt hangers and shoe boxes, we rode up Clybourn to our home. P.J. had to carry the large items, of course, as he has a much better sense of gravity and balance than I do (even without items in the arms.) Seriously, I think he's part superhero on a bike. Maybe it's a boy thing. I sometimes wonder if I should be wearing elbow pads.

Home again home again, jiggety jig for about 45 minutes before the show. P.J. decided to mow the lawn and take care of stuff around the house while I face-planted on the couch. (I am useless this weekend! I am barely functioning beyond eating and sleeping! And, you know, riding 30,000 miles on my bike. I don't think I've been on a bike this much since 1988 and my Huffy's name was Sweet Thunder.)

We barely made it to the theater at all. But of course, the show was terrific and had a great closing night energy (and someone told us that he loved seeing how comfy and believable P.J. and I were on stage. We explained that we had recently gotten married and I think it ruined a bit of the magic for him.) And Annie and Jared surprised us by attending! They also possess excellent theater laughs- there's something about friends in the audience that makes me want to direct every one-liner and slapstick moment right in their face and tailor it for their sense of humor. Which is bad for a show in general but excellent for stories.

We rode our bikes home again and I stayed up too late watching- get this- the Bob Saget roast. Not only that, but when it ended...I watched the first ten minutes again. I think my brain just gave up and my feet believed they were still pedaling. So somehow it's Monday and I only have to ride my bike a combined 12 blocks today. Totally doable.

And welcome to the world, Miss Mary Claire Schoeny! P.J.'s oldest bro and his wife have welcomed their second baby, joining big brother Nathan. Yay Schoeny babies! And yay impending trip to Raleigh!

(And yay naptime.)