Once a week is the new once a day!

I am so sorry. For real real. My method of writing (stories, plays, etc.,) is generally "plunk, plink, typetypetype...nap." (Not blogging, for these works of art pretty much write themselves.) But lately, faced with timetables, deadlines, upcoming events where I need an actual script in hand and so forth, I've been forcing myself to sit and write through the boredom, write through the finger cramps, write through the days of having nothing to say whatsoever. This makes for one unhappy writer and dozens of repeated sentences (and a few 'the the' moments as well.)

Also, as this has been the stretch of time where no children nap AT ALL, it's been hard to find that elusive muse long enough to even poke her in the eye. (I'm guessing that would take a minute or so, I have no idea. I haven't seen her. Also, is she faster than me?)

The shortest recap ever (for me, at least. I'm wordy):

Friday- No one slept. It rained a ton and we had sushi with fantabulous people. Also drinks. And one high-stakes game of pool in which no less than three people sunk the 8 ball on separate occasions.)

Saturday- Still raining so we decided to see some houses for sale. (The logic fairy was on holiday with the pokey-eye muse.) Some were so bad it felt like the beginning of a Law & Order episode. (PJ: Let's see this house! Keely: I don't know, it looks awful creepy...and there's no floor. PJ: Think of the potential! Look, it has a window- and a space for a door, and a fridge, and maybe a new staircase... Keely: Oh my God, is that a body?! PJ: Someone call the cops...(aside to realtor) You said this one is under 200k? That's a steal!) And then we watched 'Harry and the Hendersons.'

Sunday- So much more rain. Our house was dank and my office windows leaked brown sludge. I painted picture frames, accidentally hammered a nail into the floor and listened to Kansas' 'Point of Know Return.' I tried to write a mystery, but got overwhelmed by a scene where dozens of people were in a ballroom for a convention and no crime had yet been committed. For the third day in a row. P.J. played Zelda on the Wii for fourteen hours, but as he didn't get mad at the hole I hammered into the floor, I let it slide.

Monday- No rain...but also no naps (just so you don't think I'm complaining about MY lack of naps I'd like to point out that there are six children under six who are NOT SLEEPING. Neither am I, but I'm fairly fully formed! Aren't they worried about brain development?) That night P.J. had a market research survey where he made $100 for answering questions about light beer. I stayed home and finally got at least five of the characters out of the ballroom but sadly everything is still on the legitimate side of the law. Sigh.

Tuesday- OhmyGodnonaps. I compensated by eating a ton of carbs. (It worked! I was comforted!) Got nothing of note accomplished except for wiping two noses 800 times and changing twice as many diapers full of poo. (If not me, then who? That was my mantra. Also, "carboloading.") Last night P.J. and I took a walk to Starbucks to get a cider (he decided that I'd had enough caffeine for the week) and we stopped at Mario & Gino's for one final gelato huzzah. Key lime pie! It must have done the trick because when we returned home one person was killed off and a small child was kidnapped! Hooray! Characters, of course. Obviously.

Wednesday- LILY TOOK A NAP! I've always loved her best. (Note to the other parents- that's so not true. YOU know who my favorite child(s) is.) I actually wrote a scene in which a detective did some detecting. With a bumbling sidekick! And a dame! And comedic hijinks ensuing.

Looks like she may settle down for a second nap (is it my birthday or something?) so I'm going to try to write some more. But I'll leave you with this little bit of exciting news (I have to be careful where I write that...if I typed that on Facebook I'd be flooded with questions about when my baby was due.) My next post? It's totally about animal husbandry. And a real live call that my brother-in-law had. And the real live grossed out comments that my sister made while said bro was relaying the conversation. Yes. Keep your eyes peeled for that bit of literary awesomeness. For it'll read like Tolstoy.

Sit down, Benson.

Sorry I haven't posted in a while...I've got a crazy amazing chance for all of my little nerd dreams to come true. I've already said too much. It involves writing. And quite possibly meeting the ultimate person for me to meet, ever. Okay, NOW I've said too much. (Plus, I have some writing deadlines for actual plays, short stories, legitimacy. But you can see where my priorities lie.)

This past weekend was a very adult one. I don't mean that in a weird way- (An evening of "adult entertainment" for me usually means six back to back episodes of Law & Order, a glass of pinot noir and maybe a quick game of Scrabble.) We truly reached that bastion of maturity; a yard sale. Where I'm from it's called a Tag Sale but apparently that's a made up term, much like "rotary." (That's a little East coast humor for you.)

On Friday night we decided to see what we had, what with stuff we had shoved into storage after the wedding gifts started arriving, plus stuff we had moved (and kept) in their duffels for a solid five years apiece. The dining room (usually a pretty sizable space) was soon filled wall to wall and as high as the table with...things. It was mildly disturbing to see how much stuff we had acquired and stored that we didn't care about and honestly didn't know we still had. (Let's just say that if we were moving tomorrow the stuff we piled would fill a cargo van. As a couple who hopes to buy a home in the forseeable future, that's a very real and very costly threat. Also frightening- when did we become a couple who owned a van-full of sweatpants that don't fit? But as we pointed out to snickering yardsalers, you should see the stuff we kept!) We posted here and there on Craigslist and around town, fully expecting our Saturday a.m to be quiet and a little boring. At 9am sharp (um, that's when we decided to start setting up tables, regardless of what our ad said) we had a wave of people we called The Professionals zip by. They grabbed the items they wanted (a designer coat, a cafe table & stools, etc.), didn't haggle and left us with $150 by 10:30am. Wow, we said, if this keeps up we'll be millionaires by noon!

Well, it petered out to the occasional shopper who tried to make deals on the most ridiculous things; "This shirt has a small hole." "Well, it's currently ten cents. Should I be paying YOU to take it away?" Also fun were the people who called certain items trash and then rushed back twenty minutes later to offer me three bucks for it. I found myself becoming defensive over items that I myself had deemed unworthy of closet space. But we met some neighbors (we've only lived on this block for 2+ years) and had some nice bagels and iced lattes on the stoop. Like townies, I imagine.

Later that day we got ready to go to a couple of parties and the Guinness Oyster Fest on Roscoe. I love oysters. However, I've found that I hate the Guinness Oyster Fest. A seven dollar "donation" to get in the festival? Only one booth actually selling oysters? A one-hour wait for that line? I hate you. (To be fair, we stood in that line waaay to long and that was on us. But after half an hour one almost feels obliged to see it through. I just made that up. There was no excuse for standing in that line for so long.) P.J. almost jumped over the counter and throttled a man who forgot to inform the line that they were out of oysters for the next "little bit." For the fourth time since we had gotten into line. That itself was almost worth the price of admission. A riled P.J.? Ooh, place your bets. (I think it's the even-tempered ones you have to watch. If THEY reach a boiling point? Street brawl.)

On the way to the festival we had found a thick metal multi-skirt hanger on the sidewalk; this was awesome because I had said not one hour earlier that I desperately needed a multi-skirt hanger. I should have set my sights higher. We placed it somewhere safe (on a stoop) and decided to come back for it later. Well, marching angrily home after being hosed by our oysters (eww) we tried to retrieve it. It was gone. "My free hanger!" I wailed. "This festival SUCKS." P.J. seethed. We walked another half block and there it was...hanging on the side of a house. Like a hanger! So the early evening wasn't a total bust.

We had a great time at one friend's party but couldn't rally for the second. For we spent an hour yelling at oystermongers. We are lame.

Spent Sunday doing much of the same as Saturday (except for that pesky Leaving the House) and netted another 35 bucks. NOT A GOOD DAY'S WAGE. But, I did get to realize my weekend's dream of reading the paper (on the concrete stoop) and drinking coffee (from a mug that someone tried to buy. Get off my mug!) And P.J. was there so it felt downright Norman Rockwelly, complete with the pile of broken hangers next to me. (I can't believe no one wanted those!) And we made $235. Whoo!

We saw Tropic Thunder on Monday night...if you've seen it, email me. I'd love to roll my eyes at parts and high five over others. I'm not willing to ruin the cinematic masterpiece for others, but BOY do I have stuff to say about it.

So now it's...oh my God, it's Wednesday? And I've already worked 24 hours for this week so far. (11 hours each for Monday and Tuesday, plus the two hours today=...it's Wednesday?!) Let's just say that the amazing stream of prose I had hoped to complete by WEDNESDAY has not yet been penned. (I tried to compensate for time last night by getting really caffeinated and, you know, working through it. It backfired and I ended up face-planting on the dinner table. Yes, we eat dinner at a table. Sometimes.)

And now I'm blogging. So. On that note, I may try to actually get some other writing done. Reward me by becoming a follower of this blog, waaay down at the bottom of the page. It will do my heart good. And my poor, over-caffeinated head.

In fact, we are all drunk at work.

It's Thursday, so that means it's Wacky Transit Day! We had a strong opening, what with the coiffed bleached-blond loony who kicked things off. He stumbled onto the Western bus and almost fell backwards onto the lap of an elderly Hispanic woman. Did I mention he was wearing a skintight tee shirt in the style of the 'Chicago' script? (The band, not the city.) Well, he was. And instead of 'Chicago,' it scrolled 'Chocolate.' If only that had been his toughest stance!

He proceeded to lecture the bus, focusing the majority of his disgust on the young nurse seated behind him. His first line? "Don't you hate it when the guy going to work next to you is DRUNK?" (Yes.) He went on to tell her that the problem with America is white people (which he was- she was not) and straight people. Oh boy! That's a good half of the demographic on the #49! You've got our attention now, sir. 

Unconcerned by the girl's lack of attention, he turned his focus to the businessman sitting in front of him. "You know what?" The guy took his headphones off. "Did you say something to me?" He asked the former. "Yeah. I'm reading your mind. Do you know I can read your thoughts? And guess what? I'm bisexual. DEAL WITH IT." The guy put his headphones back on. "Ah," He nodded as he exited the bus. Lucky.

He then turned his attention to me. I had my headphones on with the sound turned off. (Miss any of this? Are you kidding?) I had planned to not make ANY eye contact- but my darned eyes twitched upwards (out of fear of confrontation, fear of missing any dialogue, I'm not sure) and I saw part of his eye looking at my eye. MAN. 

Here's what I discovered- I am a terrible (white) human. I will have babies. And that is all. And they will be terrible. For I am straight. Also, I am ugly, I am an ignorer, I think I'm amazing (at least I have something going for me) and he will most likely take me out. (I'm not sure if he meant to dinner or fisticuffs- it'll be neither if he keeps up that kind of talk.) He then slumped back in his seat- FOR HE WAS DRUNK- so the threat level was never truly that high. And it was my stop, so...good morning! The day is so, so young.

I'd like to report our first Wii injury. It's mine, of course, and fairly lame. (So's my hand, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Which, strangely, is how it happened.) We had just gotten the hang of tennis and were feeling pretty competitive and good about ourselves. Then, following through on a backhand (for the first time EVER I might add- ask Coach Wyman!) I smacked the back of my hand on the television cabinet door, which was propped open at a 45 degree angle. (That's as far as it'll go, I wasn't just being lazy.) However, I thwacked it on the door with the force of my entire body. And, while not usually impressive, a strong backhand of bone meeting oak can cause one to crumple to the floor while one's husband asks "Why'd you do that?" And then go for some ice.

I currently have a yellow rectangular bruise on my right hand (if you turn my hand to the side it looks like a knuckle! Ew!) but there is some good news. I finished the match lefty...and I still beat P.J. 

Lest you think this week has been nothing but pain and chastising, we had a great time down at Pritzker Pavilion last night. Andrew Bird in concert! Free! I had never seen him live, but he and my Bose headphones are pals. Turns out, he is so, so cool. The nuances of his performance, the banter, the 'aw shucks' demeanor....the SOCK MONKEY he has onstage every night...(I also have a sock monkey. Mine is named Opie but has yet to be onstage.) Such a good concert. And with a picnic din from Treasure Island as well! (That sounds magical, doesn't it? It's a grocery store.)

Tonight may or may not bring another such experience. We were supposed to go to the live NPR taping of "Wait, wait...don't tell me," but as it's currently pouring rain (forecast says: chance of rain, 100%) we may just invite people over to play some sweet Wii action. Any takers?

I still have one good hand.

The long weekend in a nutshell.

...is that like oysters on the half shell? Or Crab Louie? Yum.

Well, the weekend did not start off with a bang. In fact, it began with the fear of food poisoning or perhaps the Bubonic Plague. I actually left work early. I never go home sick, possibly not since the 11th grade has this occurred. (You see, our dinner plans for the night before had fallen through and it was getting on eight o'clock...and P.J. had this Buy One Get One coupon for Popeye's...NO! There's no excuse! I was lazy, I ate poorly, and for a short time I thought it would be a fatal (though cheap) mistake!)

I got better.

That night we watched movies and hung out with the cats. It would prove to be a theme for the weekend, and a novel one at that. The next day we decided to organize and get rid of stuff. You see, we have this delusion of someday holding a garage sale. We throw massive amounts of stuff into the dining room and proudly proclaim, "It's gonna be sold at the garage sale!" I don't know who we expect to buy our broken lamps and single sneakers for great quantities of cash in our backyard...but we hold to this productive notion. Well, productive for pile-making. We each went to our separate offices in the apartment to dig out and perhaps find more to sell! I hadn't been writing in my office for a good while (a point P.J. casually made as I sat on his lap and asked what he was doing for the third time during his viewing of The Wire, Season Three.) Turns out, there was too much stuff in there. Like furniture, fairy wings, cat toys, hoodies, a wine fridge (that needed to stay), a hotel mirror, stuffed animals, shelves full of albums and enough writing utensils to choke a horse (though I imagine all it would take was one.) SO. I got rid of all the furniture except for my writing desk, my bookshelves and a storage bench. Goodbye kitchen table(!) and stools, so long throw pillows and lounging cushions! (Who's lounging on my office floor, anyhow? If I'm not writing in there I'm certainly not gonna venture in to take a nap!) Turns out, that room is HUGE. And now exceptionally clean. I still haven't written in there yet but it's a much more likely possibility.

Got my hair did that afternoon because...I was going to the prom. Yes. Nat was taking Rachael to the prom (since she never went to hers) and invited us as well. We got all gussied up and had a lovely evening on the Odyssey at Navy Pier. Really, really good dinner (five courses!) and some superb drinks, plus dancing and fireworks. And the spectacle of a drunk lady (not me) who didn't need a partner to have a good dance experience, nor did she need to leave her seated position. (Later, as I entered the bathroom she came up to me and said, "I think the stalls is BROKEN!" I suggested that people might have locked them. "Well, they don't WORK!) Regardless of the riff raff (I'm sure some people on board thought the four of US were the riff raff) we had a spectacular time. And we looked darned good.

Sunday was just kind of incredible. We stayed in our house! And in our yard! Our house was clean, we had food in the fridge, movies on the television...and we got to be there for it. Huh? P.J. and I realized that we're gone for most holiday weekends. And that extra day? Travel. So Sunday felt like the biggest gift, especially knowing that we had the next day off. It was like the first day of summer vacation for an eight year old. Except we had ginger beer and vodkas. And watched Big Trouble in Little China, which, now that I think about it could be age appropriate.

Monday, whoo! We rode our bikes to the bank to deposit some money, rode to DSW to spend some money, and up to Baskin Robbins for a free ice cream cone (P.J.'s coupons are really starting to rule my life.) Back home for a backyard grill-out picnic on a blanket with a couple of Bud Light and Clamato cheladas. I know. You're asking how much it costs to live this well? Pennies, my friend. Except for the shoes.

And except...for the crazy ToysRUs run we made after dinner. To buy a Wii. And perhaps Mario Kart. Who goes to ToysRUs on a Monday night (holiday, no less) at 8:30pm to buy a game system? The Schoenys. Even though they were out of Mario Kart(!) we had a sweet time getting competitive with Wii Play and Sport. Our game of tennis got ugly. The best part was setting up our avatars, or Miis (hee!) to look just like us. I think mine has Soccer Mom hair but otherwise it's uncanny. Who wants to play?

The toddler twosome will awaken soon and I need to find a different ten minute YouTube workout before then. I'm thinking Pilates. Or that one called "Take a nap on the couch."

I love that one.