You made your bed, pal, now lie in it.

A fourth installment in the series of amazing photo frames has materialized! (At the Jewel, of course!) This may be the darkest of them all, as it's a wedding frame (and as a gal who's been married since May '08, lemme tell ya, there is some untapped potential for horror surrounding weddings and all the trappings.) It's called "Our Wedding Day." And etched into the side? "Good luck, Honey." Whether it's a gift from a spouse or a disapproving in-law, the sentiment is equally dark and forboding. I love it!

Speaking of "good luck, honey," we've begun to narrow down our list of potential homes in which to deposit all of savings. What, you say? This is a terrible time to put all of your metaphorical eggs in one basket? (Or literal, I imagine. Have you seen the rising cost of food? We're one step away from government rationed powder packets and astronaut food. Yum.) Regardless of what's happening on "Wall Street" or in the "banks," we've decided to look at condos and small, delapidated homes for the fun of it. And oh, is it fun.

The other day we walked up to a home with our realtor and saw that the lights were out. "Hmm, someone should be here," she said warily. "No matter!" said eager buyers Mr. and Mrs. Schoeny. We searched for a key. No key. I looked on the porch and could have sworn I saw movement in the curtained window. Then I saw a face. When I turned back to show the others, it was gone. Was this a Scooby Doo episode? Then suddenly another face appeared in the window that the others did see. Moments later the door opened. A grungy-looking guy held the door open and stared silently at us. "Hi, we're supposed to see this home," our realtor informed him. "Is now a bad time? We were told no one was here..."

"Nah," he said, opening the door further. "Now's okay. Uh, hold on." As we walked into the "foyer," we peered around into the living room where, (I swear to God) there was a queen size bed with no sheets or anything on it. What the bed DID sport was a rather large, rather elderly woman with a plate of fried chicken next to her. When we approached, the various people in the room (again, no joke) THREW A BLANKET OVER HER HEAD.

"Uh, you wanna see the kitchen?" In that moment, our minds were wiped blank and we nodded mutely. Since this is a family blog I will not go into further detail on what was featured on the walls and floors. But it was nasty. We did not stay for the full tour, sadly, especially since P.J.'s foot went through a stairstep and we were followed by a few people making fun of us in Spanish. Now THAT is how you sell a home, folks.

We all decided never to speak of it again (but we didn't mention blogging!) and agreed that perhaps the asking price was a tad too high, especially since it would take twice that amount to raze and fumigate the property.

Happy Monday, Honey.

My wardrobe is 4/5ths hoodies.

It was 47 degrees today in Roscoe Village, that is, at 5:55am. (I need every spare moment in the morning, but love hitting snooze. Hence, a totally random time. If I set it for six and hit snooze for ten minutes I'll be half an hour late. I can't explain it either.) In fact, it was a double hoodie morning. You do that too, right? The hoodie for your outfit and then the hoodie for under your jacket? A commutie. Okie doke.

That said, it'll be 20 below in a matter of weeks and the number of hoodies will increase exponentially. You see if they don't.

And now, for your reading pleasure, A Slice of Life at the Schoeny Household On a Night Where Nothing Is Overdue. Keely comes home from work with groceries, excited that Nothing Is Overdue and she can cook an actual dinner. P.J. calls to say he's finishing up stuff at work and will be late, no biggie. Keely starts an alfredo sauce, pours a vodka and ginger beer and watches the last 20 minutes of a Law & Order episode from the early 90s. (Uncle Jerry!)

P.J. calls and says for real real he's leaving now, when he called before and said he was leaving he was just kidding. Keely could care less about dinner and quiet evenings, now that she's gotten an email about a play that she THOUGHT was due next Wednesday in rough form, and is in fact supposed to be a finished second draft. And emailed a.s.a.p. So she calls P.J. and panics, simultaneously sauteing chicken for the sauce, which is thickening nicely. P.J. talks her down, but is therefore delayed an extra half an hour as Keely had called him on his work phone.

Keely puts on a second hoodie (see? It's not just for traveling!) as it's freezing in the house and a new Law & Order has started that she'd like to see. P.J. gets home just as the pasta and peas are done (Keely has been cooking during the commercials, you see) and P.J. asks where they should eat dinner; dining room or couch?

Keely chooses the couch, for P.J. has a habit of falling asleep during movies and she KNOWS he wants to watch a movie. But since it's early enough (7:40pm) she thinks he'll pull through. They watch The Fall, a lovely though slightly disturbing fairytale starring Lee Pace. Keely joneses for Pushing Daisies the whole time. The dinner is fabulous. The movie is trotting along. Halfway through, P.J. looks sleepy. Keely offers to make tea or something slightly caffeinated. P.J. accepts and mentions a coffee drink he has in the fridge. Keely happens to let slip that the coffee grinder doesn't seem to be working. P.J. is ON IT.

The next thing Keely knows the movie is indefinitely paused, P.J. has dismembered the coffee grinder and he's asking her to look up the manual online. He calls out the product code from the other room. (Keely wonders where he's gettin' the product code from and hence doesn't pay attention to her typing. Her fingers are cold, too.) She gets it wrong. He repeats. The manual comes up and they discover that the grinder isn't intended for flavored coffee beans. (Attention KitchenAid: If you're telling me that I can't have freshly ground cinnamon hazelnut coffee each day then I don't wish to live in your America.)

P.J. informs Keely that the grinder is broken. Should they go finish the movie? But at this point Keely has let the guilt and fear of an unfinished (heck, let's be honest- UNSTARTED) new play get the best of her. What can P.J. do to make her feel better, he wonders? Keely suggests popcorn. P.J. drags out the ancient popcorn popper and Keely warms herself on the burning hot gusts of heat shooting out of the machine. Keely briefly wonders if this is a fire hazard but dismisses it. This is the first time she's been room temperature all evening.

The movie proceeds. Keely is cold again. She reaches for the blanket on the couch. P.J. points out that poor kitten Bean is sleeping on it. She moves him. P.J. consoles Bean. (He was sleeping ON it, not WRAPPED in it. I'm not a monster, people.) The popcorn is great, the movie finishes...and P.J. is beginning to doze off. Success!

As Keely falls asleep she tells P.J. something that she believes is the bastion of romance. It is her tiredness talking. (I can't recall what it is now, it was like 2am at that point.) P.J. responds with hysterical laughter, which is his tiredness talking. Keely huffily exclaims that when she was a little girl, this was JUST how she imagined she'd be told goodnight by her husband. "No one told me it was this wonderful to be married!" She inflammatorily informs him.

"No one told me it was this funny to be married!" P.J.'s exhausted laughter is contagious and Keely also laughs like a loon.

They drift off to sleep until Bean walks on P.J.'s radio, turning on NPR at volumes not usually heard at 3am. Keely puts on another hoodie, for now it's REALLY cold.

The End.

Keely rides again.

First things first. I finished my novel(la) and it kinda makes everything else I need to do this month seem embarrassingly easy. One act for Instant Theatre tonight? Cinchy. Three short stories by October 15th? That seems like a year away, considering every spare moment for the past two weeks has been devoted to my mystery within a mystery within a mystery. (Yes! It's true! Are you intrigued?) Rough play for October 8th (with a scene for showcasing October 7th?) Come now. Plus, I'm really proud of this work. It's twisty, it's funny and, dare I toot my own horn? It's pretty good. (Toot.)

Second things second, I have a new bike. (And a really guilty sense of self for replacing a beloved bike so soon. I feel like Hamlet's mother.) Anyway, it's a pretty spiffy bike. Teal Robin Hood bike from the '60s in England. Wide handles, sweet three gears, HUMONGOUS BLACK BIKE LOCK. All the trimmings. Pictures to follow. And care to guess the name? Tealie Elizabasket. (Get it? Keely Elizabeth? Hahahaha.) It does not, as yet, have a "basket." However, I think it's easier to purchase said basket than rethink said name. (And that explains so much of my "process," as it were.)

Third things...thrice, I suppose. I had a weekend of NOT carrying my laptop bag and therefore had a weekend of excellent spinal and shoulder health. Seriously, it felt like spring break to not have this project hanging over my head. I went to an excellent panel at Chicago Dramatists with artistic directors and literary managers (you know, people who "buy" "plays." I don't know why it's in quotes. Maybe because they're both crazy words to me right now.) So we got to ask questions after the panel spoke and I, oddly enough, thought I had an intelligent question. People had been talking about what types of theatre they love and hope to see...I asked which trends and themes for new works they wished would just go away and never cross their desks again...who better to tell me which projects to shelve? It got quiet as the panel thought that over. Suddenty, a little old lady (seriously, maybe 90) "whispered" to her aged husband, "That's a DUMB question!" Uh, what happened to my Safe Space? There are no 'dumb questions' in theatre. Well, there are, actually. Tons. But we never admit this aloud! Learn the rules, Bluehair.

And one final plug about said one act for Instant Theatre. It's at 8pm, FREE, at the Chi Dramatists theatre (Chicago blue line stop) and tonight's theme is...In the Name of the Father. And every literal and crazy interpretation shall be shown. Not piqued yet? My title is "Mr. Bear Speaks His Piece." And it ain't Disney. So, uh, see you there?

(Happy Monday, kiddos.)

Riding through the desert on a bike with no name...

An open letter to the stupidhead who stole my bike:

Dear Sir or Madam,

You seem to have mistaken my lime green bike for something that you should have. This is not the case. I would like it back. Maybe you could bring it back to the place where you found it? Allow me to jog your memory...you know, the place where I pay rent and you do not?

Did you not see the 1981 City of Greenfield, WI sticker on the bar? How about the streamers on the handle? Those are not additions to a bike that is not loved. On the contrary, that bike is very, very loved. It even has a name. Do you know its name?

Back to the streamers. Those waving red, white and blue ribbons signify something very important. More than the USA, it symbolizes a bike parade that my bicycle was IN! Were you in Oconomowoc, WI two summers ago to see the triumphant parade of, sure, mostly children but also a select few adults who happened to LOVE THEIR BIKES? We got up early to decorate. I want those two hours of my life back, you unpatriotic stealer.

I bet you've noticed by now that the back tire rolls pretty smoothly and the right gear shifts like a charm. This was not always the case. One short month ago I had it tuned up for my- not your- ease of riding. That's right, I spent 60 bucks to tune up a 5 dollar wonder. (And she flew, oh, how she flew. I was one yard sale away from getting her a basket, now you've robbed me of that as well.)

And one more thing. Clearly you are a moron. You remember early this morning when you stole my bike? Remember the bike NEXT to my bike? Yeah, that was a mountain bike. Mine, not so much. Good choice.

May she feel uncomfortable on your bottom and ultimately give you a hemorrhoid.

Hatefully and sorrowfully,
Me. (The owner of the bike.)

I feel better. I'd like to share a lighter moment now, if I may. My sister and her husband decided to include me in a third party call...since my voice mail picked up, I was able to jot it down and share the wealth. Here is the actual transcribed call:

Kate- Hi Keel it's me...Tom just tried to call you and he's on the line now as well-
Tom- Hi Keel!
Kate- And the reason we called is because he told me something and my only response was that we have to call Keel and tell her.
Tom- I just got off a call with a company that does bovine husbandry. (Kate laughs) It was fascinating. And I'm really glad it wasn't in person because I could barely hold it together on the phone, much less in person... I don't think I'd be able to hold it together.
Kate- And...the person you were talking to...
Tom- He was Chinese but had an Australian accent and he stuttered a lot. (Kate loses it and snorts.) So he was, you know, talking about sires ejaculating one and a half times a week and the prcoess that they get them to do so-
Kate- That's not true!
Tom- Yeah.
Kate- Are you kidding me? He did not say that.
Tom- Yeah.
Kate- You don't get paid enough.
Tom- He said it's not just like 'wanking them off.'
Kate- That's not what he said!
Tom- Yeah, they have something I think called a teaser cow? The sire thinks it's a cow and they get the bull to mount it and then they collect the...
Kate (loudly)- No way!!!
Tom- Yeah. (pauses) Yeah. Yeah.
Kate- Are you kidding me? You're not really working, just calling numbers you find.
Tom- Anyway, we love you Keel, talk to you later...
Kate- Love you, bye....
(pause)
Tom- Are you still there?
Kate- I think Keel's still there.
Tom- I'm gonna try again to hang up and...
[Click. End scene.]

That could explain so, so much about my humor, the type of humor people CAN'T WAIT to share with me and, most importantly, how close my family is. I'll leave you with these pivotal fashion tips I recently picked up in separate autumn style mags.

From my FAVORITE lists of in/out fashion:

IN: Skyscraper heels. OUT: Dowdy pumps. (When were dowdy pumps "in?")

IN: Neutral stripes. OUT: Paint splatters. (Huh? You're telling me that there was a very recent time in which 'circus chic' was pressed upon the masses?)

And my utter favorite quote from an interview with three major fashion designers: "I think "pants" is a word that we'll be seeing a lot of this fall."

You heard it here first, folks. Go get yourself some "pants" for fall.

(And keep an eye out for a beloved bike that answers to the name of "Limey.")