Little Gorilla Design, a.k.a. P.J. Write This Down.

When I was a little kid, my Mom and I used to pretend to "shop" various catalogs. We'd have cups of tea and wield big ol' pens, circling home goods, knickknacks, clothing, and the Wish Book. I circled and craved everything- not because I was greedy (pipe down, sisters) but because I could genuinely make room in my heart for every single item in completely different ways. When I love something, I really love something and it becomes part of my Things (or 'Fings', as the Little Littles say.) Due to this all-encompassing love [for awesomeness], it's been said that I'm exceptionally easy to shop for.

It just got easier.

Cindy Perkins at Little Gorilla Design has taken the guesswork outta what you can purchase for my Christmas, Valentine and birthday presents. Maybe even Saint Patrick's and Arbor Days as well. She has created wearable works of art- not to mention seriously sweet kiddo products- that are simply fabulous.

Sure Keely, you scoff. You're reviewing their product. You hafta like it!

To that I reply- Nope and yeah. No, I am not obligated to love anything...but yes, I am compelled to love these belt buckles. They are completely covet-worthy. Especially if you've only recently gotten back into pants that necessitate an actual belt buckle.

Let's start with this one.

Yep. I could easily begin and end with this one. I'm gonna go ahead and call it Pink FancerPants. (If I wore this, it would easily be the fanciest thing on my person. By a lot.) The inspiration and design behind these began with Cindy creating her own scrapbook papers and working from there, adding Swarovski crystals and other magic along the way. (Anyone who has ever received one of my handmade Valentines circa 1987-Present understands that I'm welling up at this point.)

But you know what? I'd happily take this glorious one as well.

I don't speak French- yet. Though I would sure as heck mangle my way through it for you if you purchased this Parisian beauty for me. You're welcome.

This was originally my first pick-

-But then an immediate list popped into my head of folks who would steal it from me [cough*Nat/Vicky/AtLeastFiveOthers*cough], perhaps even while I was learning French or donning fancier pants.

While I work off the self-induced hurt from hypothetical thievery, you all should seriously check out the rest of their catalog here (they even sell supra cute belts!) I could hyperlink and paste images all day, but I think you get the idea. I dig this line. You should, too.

I'd hate to be this fancy (pants or otherwise) on my own.

Keely Says Awkward Things On The Food Network...

...And Other Weekendy Things.

Compared to last weekend's glorious hibernation, I'm pretty sure this weekend has led Nora to believe that her car seat is her new nursery. (It is very nice.)

Saturday: P.J. had an audition. (Good little trick for all you actor pals out there- disregard all audition notices for one calendar year. Have a big ol' life event. Despair a little bit about your career. One year to the day later- you'll be batting auditions away with a stick. A soft stick. Because you'll still kinda want to go to them.)

During this time Nora and I were to have a chill session of floor-blankie-blocks-nappin'. But a call from the Food Network changed all of that. (Doesn't it always?) The segment I was going to help tape the following day now needed me- and a few awesome friends- Saturday afternoon.

Most of my artsy friends were either working or supplementing their work with more work. (Bears season opener, anyone?) One friend who was available had her dreams of glory shot down due- yet again- to vegetarianism. (It's the meanest!) Did I mention that the show centered around adventurous eating and random types of game? (More "pheasant" and less "Connect 4.") Another pal has pneumonia. (Come on!) Crazily enough, my friend with a two year old was able to attend. Go figure.

So, she and I- and, at the last minute not Nora because Peej made it home in time- jetted down to the taping. Only to find that they had cancelled "actors" for the day. And were shooting stills of that temperamental artist known as The Kitchen.

So Leah and I went to Lincoln Station and had a beer and a Reuben apiece and enjoyed our kid-free date by...comparing labor and delivery stories. (The irony is that our friends are always at Lincoln Station and send us texts to join and we're all like- We can't. We have kids.) Sigh.

That night P.J. and I enjoyed an Outta Money, Kinda Tired, No I'm Not Cooking Date Night. (Marriage is awesome.)

The next morning we all put on our Sunday best because The Schoeny family was to be on the telly. Hopefully. When the producers asked me to return the next day, they asked if I knew a guy who'd be good on a food challenge.

Yeah, I know a guy.

And we just decided to bring Nora because, let's face it. Who's the most camera-ready of us all? Exactly. Nora= meal ticket.

We wanted to stop by the German Fest in Lincoln Square first, as Nora is a quarter German via Alsace-Lorraine (via Chicago.) We got her a bratwurst, some German potato salad and some sauerkraut- actually, she and I "shared" a plate, but I didn't get more than three bites in before she was gnawing on the Chinet. So, yeah, she likes German food. The Oompah band was a little much for her, but that just shows that she's discerning.

Started to head downtown and got a call that the taping had been pushed back one hour.

So we got some gelato. (Nora is a citizen of the culinary world.)

Drove down by the lake to kill some time and got a call saying we needed to come half an hour later than that. This put us smack dab in the middle of Nora's second nap. "She'll sleep in the car," we told ourselves. She did not. Not until we were all the way downtown and in the noisiest of 'hoods. This was also, coincidentally, when we needed to park and remove the sleeping child from the car. Ah well. I read that power naps are sometimes even more rejuvenating.

Got to the restaurant where the shindig was being filmed and met up with Leah and Kat, two of my most camera-fabulous friends. (I don't know how Leah swung the childless thing two days in a row, but rock on.) We proceeded to wait for an hour and a half in the blazing sun. They eventually told us we could come inside out of the heat- for the baby (yay baby!)- as long as we were silent during the last bit of kitchen taping. (That kitchen was a diva!) That worked for- oh- about thirty seconds. Then Nora screeched a random, happy shriek of babyhood and about twelve pairs of death-glarey eyes turned on us. So we loitered in the CVS.

Once we got going, however, it flew by. Without giving too much away, Peej and I were in a competition of sorts for a different kind of game show. We had to introduce ourselves numerous times to get the right angle/audio/dialogue and some of the stuff they had me say was a little, uh, non-family friendly?

"Tell them how much you like meat."

"Say you'll eat ANYTHING. Any kind of meat!"

"Tell them that your husband thinks he's gonna beat you BUT HE'S WRONG."

I kept it simple. And smiled a lot. A nice, 'don't listen to my words' kinda smile.

Leah and Kat hung out with Nora while we taped the segment and all was good until I dinged a stupid bell as hard as I could- in the heat of competition- and remembered at the very last second how much my daughter hates sudden frantic sounds.

So, she cried. And by "cry" I mean "purple-faced Sicilian mourner keening." Leah and Kat took her outside. And I had to keep taping. Because we were still rolling. And I was facing the street so, through the picture window I could see my baby gal soundlessly giving herself an aneurysm. But we kept going. (Watch for the part in middle of the contest where I glaze over and stare off into space and well up and bite my lip and clench my fists. Oh, TV is magical.)

And I won't tell you how it ended, other than to say that Nora was just fine and I'm pretty sure my friends are still talking to me.

We got home in time to let Nora run around nudie in the backyard while P.J. gardened and I- well, I don't know what I did much beyond telling P.J. that He Thinks He's Gonna Beat Me But He's Wrong. (It takes me a long time to get out of character.)

And I promise to discuss the season enders of Psych and True Blood- as soon as I can process them/acknowledge that I am programme-less for a few months.

But tune in tomorrow for a bonus posting- a featurette of a fabulous company (go say hi to them in the upper right hand corner!) And remember, the more you like them, the more they'll like me, and the more they like me, the more other people will like me, and maybe- just maybe- all this likin' will equal a decent paycheck which will also equal more columns and postings and features and antics.

After all, I just got the Fall L.L. Bean catalogue- and it ain't gonna mock itself.

Maybe Haunted Posts need their own blog day.

How can she post again so soon, you ask yourselves? What could have POSSIBLY gone down since Tuesday that's worth blogging about?

Not much, really. But that's kinda the point- when one's main trifecta of posting involves bodily functions/petty grievances/insignificant minutiae, it's never a slow news day.

Update- 10pm bedtime month has been defiled. Disrespected. Nay- disregarded.

And by 10pm's strongest- and loudest- proponent, no less.

I'm talking to P.J., Mr. Falling Asleep On The Couch Until 11ish. Plus, PLUS, we had gotten completely ready for bed prior to the season finale of Psych at 9pm (saved by CST programming)...and he fell asleep during the first half hour anyway. He says it counts because at least he was resting, but I say J'ACCUSE.

I'm pretty well rested, for my part, though probably not as well as you'd expect. Rage is sapping.

Other things that keep me in a state of not-quite-restiness...How about the fact that, despite public opinion and lack of actual "evidence," I know that we are 1000% haunted? It's true.

The baby gates swing open when there is NO WIND. (And only when they're unlatched/Nora's asleep. That would just be downright unsafe, otherwise.)

Or when the doorbell went nuts the other day, chiming long and short and half-rings, only to find that NO ONE WAS AT THE DOOR. (Okay, so P.J.'s fairly certain this can be explained by my getting nails and screws from the storage drawer where the backup doorbell is also stored- but that seems TOO EASY.)

And there is NO explanation for the day the TV turned itself off multiple times. Not the cable box, DVD player or Wii- although, come to think of it, why were all of those things on?- but just the TV. And no one was even sitting on the remote.

And what about those eerie sounds and unintelligible babbling at every hour of the day and night?

...Oh, right. Those are our neighbors.

Every so often, it's nicer to be haunted.

Computer screens are kinda reflective, too...

Just so you're all aware- September is 10pm Bedtime Month. This isn't a national thing or even a local thing, overmuch. Okay, maybe really locally, like the third floor of my house.

This is why we've been colossal lame-os for- oh, the last week. We eventually got tired of being tired all the time. (Initially, the proposal was for 9pm Bedtime Month but, as was pointed out to us- Thanks, Mom- 9pm is an awfully ambitious bedtime for people who like to do things such as eat dinner and acknowledge the other party in their marriage. And it is a party.) It's been going well, insofar as we've actually conked out on the couch at 9:30 a couple of times and disregarded it entirely Saturday night. (12:30- woo! Take off the lampshade, P.J.!)

Also, are you aware of how much time is wasted in that hour after dinner/kiddo's bath/kiddo's bedtime/hosing down of the homestead? That's usually when we find ourselves flopping on furniture and whining about how TIRED we are and how much we have to DO. That usually kills about an hour. Ironically, this was the hour that we reserved for Getting Things Done. Most likely, we'll ultimately find that we really don't have anything that we need to be doing, ever. That would be great.

Here were our obstacles and strengths: I don't like to go to bed super early 'cause I don't want to miss anything...but I'm quite good at writing something down and sticking to it. P.J. doesn't believe in "bedtime" if there's stuff to do like rewiring the downstairs or cleaning the gutters...but if there's any type of media present and a couch or two, he can be out like a light in ten seconds. So we've started watching movies in our bedroom around 9pm, knowing full well that I'll feel like it's a special occasion and P.J. will be lulled to sleep by the end of the opening sequence. Especially if it's subtitled.

This past weekend was one of enforced hibernation, which we thought would go hand in hand with the early bedtime thing. (I can see our list of pals slooooowly dropping away. Sigh.)

We organized all of our vinyl albums- no small task, as we've probably acquired a few hundred by this point- into stuff we need to have in the living room with the record player (Boston, Frank Sinatra, Burns & Allen Radio Hour, etc.) and stuff that could hang out in the newly available rec room off of the family room/Nora's Zone O' Toys (Christmas stuff, a positively alarming amount of Julie London records, etc). Shelves were hung- finally- and yet more mirrors now grace our walls, nooks, hallways, etc. Little known fact: Schoenys cannot walk by a mirror without turning and peeking at their reflection. True story. They can carry on convos and even be surreptitious about it- but no reflective surface can be passed without even a cursory glance.  This includes storefront windows and stainless steel fridges. The little one now winks at herself.

She gets that from her Dad, like everything else on her face.

The only time we left our property was when we had definite outdoorsy destination in mind- no more than ten minutes away, walking. Turns out we didn't need to venture all that far. Over Labor Day weekend other holidays were celebrated: The 100th anniversary of Our Lady of Mercy, the gold domed church up the block that celebrates each mass afterwards with amazing Mexican and Filipino food on its stoop, and the Central American parade that went by our block- not to be confused with last month's Ecuadorian parade nor next week's Mexican Independence Day parade. Seriously, it's been a nonstop march of crepe paper and mariachis all summer. It is THE BEST.

We took Nora over to the church's street fest for a lunch of flautas and arroz con pollo- and to allow yet more people to say hello to our "little boy." (Actual question- is pink a traditional boy color in Hispanic cultures? I would truly be unsurprised to find out that this is so.) Some teenagers performed a nifty Filipino bamboo dance...followed up by six year-olds dancing to that traditional tune, 'Pokerface' by Lady Gaga.

And a really nice gal approached me with an obvious case of mistaken identity (at least I think so- my pregnancy brain should all but be dissipated by now, yes?) and asked about my life, and so-and-so, and was I still doing whatnot? So, another burning question: is it more polite to vaguely play along in these situations, or to bluntly admit that I don't know her from Joe- or José - but that the other gal sounded really great? It's true. This Other Me apparently works with children in theatre- both things that I have done, sure- but she somehow seemed more altruistic and giving.

Because I totally went along with it. And when she told me that my son was lovely...

...I thanked her.