Uh, hi March.

Whoops.

So, um, been a tad busy with a li'l project or two I'll reveal shortly.

But in the meantime- travel/writing/more travel/more (but unfortunately, of lesser quality) writing/and some meetings.

Two weekends ago Peej and I went to Cincy and had a great Subway experience on the way through the state of Indiana (the chain restaurant, I mean- I don't believe Indiana has a transit system. I could be dead wrong) wherein we, due to the Lenten Season, ordered non-meat subs. The kid behind the counter asked us, "Is there some reason you're eating fish?" Blink blink, we said to ourselves, is there a reason we *shouldn't* be eating the fish? Turns out the kid was just curious about the eating habits of Catholics, but still.  File that one under 'things that would only happen in small towns...right off of exit ramps.' The real purpose of our trip, however, was to meet James Boden Schoeny- and we fought over who got to hold him the entire time. He fell asleep in my arms= point for me, but P.J. got a smile out of him with a song= slightly cooler. We love us some Bodie. His big sis Hannah celebrated her 4th birthday with some pretty sweet loot from the uncle & aunts and two parties in the same day. That's usually how I roll, too.

The weekend was over way too quickly, as per usual, and we soon found ourselves in the midst of a new week. Tired. I finished my one-act for submission to ATC (it's pretty good) and tried to tie up loose plots in a one-act for submission to the Manhattan Theatre Project...sadly, that one is NOT as good as the first one, but latter is up for a 7.5k cash prize. Sigh. (Side note, have you ever noticed that TRIED is an anagram for TIRED? This cannot be a coincidence.)

The next weekend I found myself (veeery early on a Friday) traveling from Roscoe Village to Midway to Atlanta to Fort Lauderdale to Miami to South Beach (whoo!) My parents and I were attending my cousin's wedding the next day and stayed with one of my most favoritest uncles in the world- one who happens to own a sweet beach-front condo with one of the best balconies ever to overlook the Atlantic. Sadly, I only caught an hour and a half of sun there. Happily, I got to have one of the best meals ever at Barton G's in South Beach; $27 martinis, a gorgeous garden seating area with lights and palm trees (we do not have those here) and the funkiest presentation I've ever seen. Seriously. The duck was served on a tiny stage with a miniature (and working!) duck shoot behind the entree. I saw a gal shooting a teensy gun whilst eating fifty buck duck. (That is an excellent name for a band, btw.) I got a coconut shrimp appetizer that came on humongo skewers and was surrounded by streams of nitrogen. Unfortunately, a slight breeze was pushing most of the clouds into my face, causing me to sway and cough like a moron. "The nitrogen won't hurt you," the waiter cavalierly told me. "I CANNOT SEE," I retorted, most uncouthly. 

But it was still rad.

The next day I enjoyed another hour and a half sunning myself on the exceptional balcony (all the while pretending I was readying myself for my cousin's wedding.) Then my mom, dad and I hopped into our rental car and drove up to Cape Coral, FL. Two and a half hours away. Unfortunately, we didn't make it to the actual wedding, as we were stuck in traffic for double the time it should've taken to drive there. Super unfortunately, we soon found out the reason for the delay- a motor home had crashed and INCINERATED on the spot. Eight emergency vehicles had whizzed past us on a strip known as "Alligator Alley" (don't unlock your doors, folks) and rendered miles of highway immovable. By the time we got up to the accident there was a huge scorch mark on the ground. Creepy. Kind of made us feel bad for whining about the drive- but we still didn't feel amazing about the fact that the accident had occurred ten miles past our starting point. Sigh. 

Four hours later we made it to the reception and actually had a nice time, although I kept sneaking out of the reception hall and making excuses to call people on my cell. (I needed to get sunshine SOMEHOW!!)

Two and a half hour drive home, straight to bed, eaaaaarly rising (5:30am, minus an hour for the time change, minus an hour for Chicago time- 3:30! Woot!) for my 8am flight...to Atlanta...and then Midway (45 minute circling through thunderstormy clouds- "This is how it's going to end," she thought to herself") and back up to Roscoe Village.

Total travel= 24 combined hours. Total sunshine= 3 combined hours. That= wrong.

But it's okay, because yesterday got up to a balmy 65 degree...thunderstorm...and this morning was, well, 4.

That's kind of the same thing, right?

Wrote two scenes for the piece due this weekend and I can honestly state that I have no idea how wundy or god awful they are. Plus, I may have to throw in the towel for the short mystery due on Sunday. (Seriously, a complex piece that I have YET TO START? How much terrific potential does THAT have? Mmm hmm. Lots.)

And two nights ago I attended a meeting for Chicago Dramatists alongside some pretty big names. They're starting a campaign for '30 for 30,' a drive to raise money for a theatre that has spawned some pretty spectacular works and careers (ever heard of Tina Fey? She wrote and had a play produced about Catherine the Great that put her on the map fifteen years ago. And then she did some TV.) They're having some great events and speakers- for example, Rick Cleveland (former Dramatists writer), now a mucky muck with Mad Men and former writer for West Wing, is giving a seminar, plus doing a separate downtown show...and giving all the proceeds to Chi Dramatists. Pretty spiffy! They also happen to be the company that has given me my biggest and best chances for showcasing work, plus they've featured me as a playwright a time or eleven. 

Want to donate or find out more cool stuff about them? You can find them at www.chicagodramatists.org or even become their friend on Facebook. Yay for the combination of incredible theatre + the technology favored by fourteen-year old girls! 

(And uber-lax bloggers.)

My B.

That's what my brother-in-law Tom says when he does something wrong. My B. It's almost like saying "my bad" is gonna take up too much time; let's just lock & load and fix this thing. My B. 

Anyhow, I'm terribly sorry for being such a lax blogger. My [B]B. 

Posting is the only thing I've let slide in the recent rush of deadlines and activities...except maybe advanced personal grooming. (Is that an acceptable use? You know, when people are mucca busy they say things like 'I haven't even had time to pee!' (I always, ALWAYS make time to pee) and 'I don't even have time for basic personal hygiene.' I try to stay on top of that, but I think the next level would be 'advanced,' i.e. eyebrow plucking and bi-weekly exfoliation.) 

I think it would be fun to list the themes about which I'm writing and editing...just to give you an inkling of why I can't sleep "dreamlessly:" two boyhood friends arguing about coming of age and Chicago-style hotdogs, an updated 'And Then There Were None' (and shortened to under 45 minutes), a virtual date between two music junkies and commitment-phobes in an era of technological relationships, a murder mystery spanning 2 decades and ending in a midwestern circus, editing a shoot 'em up thriller for a literary manager pal, and [recently finished!] editing my youngest sis' short story about a man outrunning his personal demons. 

Add the 50+ hours in my work week and, (for some bizarre reason) the pressing need to organize every nook and closet within 3000 feet of my bedroom and donate all the excessive stuff to charity, and it equals a tired me. Plus, our pal Matt (Hi Matt! Stop reading my blog and go do your work- and no, Bejeweled Blitz does not count) has been staying with us for the past 3 weeks (he does dishes, so he= awesome), but P.J. and I have been a two-person show for a few years and a third party does make for a new dance of sorts. We're also either traveling or having someone stay with us every week/weekend until the beginning of April- which is great, truly- but as everything is due by March 15th...

Whee!

Also not helping the situation- people who do not use their bodies the way they ought during certain transit situations. For example, the other morning I was running up the southbound Addison brown line stairs behind a TALL MAN WITH LONG LEGS. Who was walking. Ambling, really. I missed a train because, although I was racing my stubby legs like a hamster on a wheel, Daddy Longlegs (who could have taken the steps three at a time, no prob) decided that this was the perfect venue for his morning constitutional (a guy I knew once thought that meant 'using the bathroom'- that is not the definition of which I speak). Anyhow, I think it is the civic duty of all the stretchy people out there to not block the already-too-narrow steps with intentional sloth. I said it.

And since I had failed to update since the 12th I also missed wishing everyone a happy Valentine's Day! I have always loved this holiday, ever since I was a little kid and craved cellophane-wrapped hearts, overflowing desk envelopes and parties that I would get sick in anticipation of. (Really- my mom had to pick me up early for multiple years' classroom parties...I would make myself ill even BEFORE I overindulged in too much candy. I was excitable. It was sad.) My parents always used to make a special dinner and give my sisters and I small presents at the table. To this day I obsess over making handmade valentines and calling friends all over the country to tell them I love them on that day. Also, I overdo the wearing of the red. 

This year was pretty sweet. P.J. and I usually get each other something kinda teensy and symbolic, plus I always make the biggest, sparkliest card for him...

He got me a 42 inch HD flat screen television.

I got him a new pair of gloves.

He also took me out to Turquoise for din, but by that point I had already decided to let him win arguments for the next...month. (I'm trying, anyhow.) The rest of the night was spent playing Mortal Kombat on the Wii...very largely...and seeing how clearly bad computer graphics would appear in the movie 'Blades of Glory.' (Awfully clearly.)

I am almost rabidly looking forward to lounging on my couch and watching marathons of Law & Order...

...in April. 

Did you send me a Valentine yet?

I spent the better part of the weekend (Saturday a.m. until...Monday evening) curled in a ball and wishing for a shotgun. Recently having been afflicted with a vicious cross between food poisoning and spinal meningitis (and, having made up a disease, unable to be CURED from such), it was a lousy way to spend 72 hours. Add insult to injury (literally, someone called me fat- okay, I made up that part), it was a whopping 65 degrees outside. Which would, roughly, be an 80 degree temperature hike. Le sorrow.

The best part about being that near death is the amazing dreams you get to have. I fell asleep in the midst of a Demetri Martin standup special (no fault of Demetri's- it was indeed special) and had an incredible two hour dream wherein Demetri and I became extremely close. That is all I will say. When I awoke and realized that I had somehow paused the On-Demand show, I continued watching. This time, however, it was with a fond nostalgia. "Oh, Demetri," I said. "You haven't changed a bit."

And since P.J. has been understudying for a show up at Piccolo Theatre AND preparing for the Foreign Service Exam, I've had the odd sensation of being the last person in Chicago. The last grownup, anyhow. Between spending days with all these people under 6 years of age and writing for about two hours an afternoon or evening...and then yelling goodnight to the cats (yup) and arising to a strange man-shaped lump in the bed (the same one, usually) and having our only face-to-face convos be when, admittedly, I am not at my awesomest...well, it makes a gal start to feel a little socially inept. 

Tuesday, however, reached almost 70 degrees and suddenly it was all 'Hello Dolly' (minus the singing or storyline) to Chicago! Jack and I played at the park, mailed [handmade] Valentines across the country, cleaned my hall closet, donated bags of things to Village Discount Outlet, finally got my wedding gown preserved (they asked if two weeks was okay- I told them there was no REAL hurry), got a bunch o' dry cleaning done, opened every window in a 2 block radius and made Jack run around his neighborhood until he begged to go lie down before dinner. No! I yelled, It's Spring!

Today, not so much. It is froze.

This week brought about the extremely important discovery that noise-cancelling Bose headphones are excellent at keeping sound OUT...but not a great deal of sound is kept IN. Case in point- when one's iPod freezes on a song, refusing to let one change it or lower the volume, it's pivotal to have a set of headphones that won't let even the tiniest bit of Michael Bolton out for the train to hear. (Ever seen a train full of disbelieving, snickery or plain ol' scornful eyes burn pretentious holes into your face? Yeah, throw a little 'Steel Bars' at them.) In this case, three words are clutch: Unplug Headphones. Quickly. 

Cinchy.

Also this week, I've learned that a perfectly normal umbrella that never acts out in the most normal of settings (i.e., dry, in a closet) will choose a thundery commute to lose its handle in a "mud" puddle, blow out and then back in (a la Mary Poppins), drenching the holder with rain and God knows what else from the "muddy" reattached handle, then inexplicably decide to shorten itself by four inches on the pole (regardless of what the holder does or does not do), making the holder look like [s]he's carrying a dwarf umbrella, and THEN miraculously go back to a non-Poltergeisty umbrella...just as the rain lets up.

I guess that's not so much a public service announcement (because you cannot, CANNOT prepare for that kind of thing) as it is a fun anecdote. It seemed way more helpful in my mind.

And I'll end on a highly-charged-this-is-gonna-have-adverse-reactions kinda thought: have you read about the girl who's auctioning her virginity for like 3.8 million dollars? Regardless of the moral implications (it's completely wrong) or the psychological (this is the new "reality" star), I'm most concerned about the legality issue. Is this not the EXACT definition of prostitution?

(Disclaimer: Mom- I'm no longer puking, the dream about Dimitri was G-rated, P.J. didn't get me a shotgun, the man-lump IS Peej, I'm not all alone in a bad neighborhood, I let Jack take a nap, I'm wearing that warm scarf/wrap you got me, I don't wear my headphones when I'm walking alone at night, I fixed my umbrella and I agree that we should feel sorry for the virgin girl for having low self-esteem and an obviously terrible home life.)

Phew. 

Plus, I got a new hat with wooden flower buttons.

Firstly and foremostly, happy first birthday Cole Sebastian Grant! (And Scout Delilah Kosner, oh my goodness...all these babies in my life turning one! Specifically two of them.) 

P.J. and I went to Boston this past weekend to party down with the nephews, sisters and parentals; it was a whirlwind 36 hours of non-stop meals, Harvard trippin' and baleful eyes peering over the front of my aerobed at 5am. Plus dinner in the North End! And a brunchy party with cupcakes and a super-sleepy host! No, not his parents. (Although they were, too.) The birthday boy conked out during the festivities...though, to be fair, so did two of his aunts. 

It was such a fast (and fun) trip that when P.J. and I found ourselves back home after our return flight and bus trip and hoofing it, we wondered what the heck just happened and WHY OH WHY was it almost Monday morning.

It is always Monday morning. Also, winter.

Last night after work, I started out for pilates up at Clark and Belden- a full 14 blocks from my Wednesday/Friday job locale- and managed to miss every bus that could have swiftly taken me there. (It was way too frigid to stop and wait for a bus. I wasn't willing to freeze my eyelids. IT IS THAT COLD.) However, I did have the wonderful moment of almost having a gal run me over- walking beside me- and then chat and laugh about it whilst passing me. Sadly, my over-ear Bose headphones were on (they are the only thing saving me from deep ear trauma in this wind) and I couldn't make out a darned thing she was saying. I'm an excellent lip reader, but this girl was wearing a mammoth hood and kept turning her face away from me (laughing, I believe. I think we were sharing a nice moment, as opposed to "Move it over, heifer, you have ugly boots.") I nodded and smiled, even managed a benevolent chuckle, but there was no way I was going to remove my headphones for a shortish encounter. Sorry. I kept expecting her to continue on in the full-speed manner in which she had been walking, but I truly believe that she felt we were having some moment of utter bonding and continued to talk at me for almost one full city block. There was no way I could take off the headphones and admit that I hadn't heard her- regardless, I was still not going to remove them in that weather.

Still, I count that as a moment of connection in the otherwise frigid and solitary wasteland that winter in Chicago becomes. 

And now, further proof that Facebook isn't really on the pulse of my lifestyle- an ad on the side of my homepage read "Recession problems? Rent your second home!"

I don't think Facebook really understands my day-to-day problems.