Post one of two. Yikes.

As it has been two weeks since I've blogged, I'm going to break this into two posts. I have a lot to recap, apparently. Let's bring it back to November 22nd, 2008, shall we? (Happy birthday, Mom!) Let's all make the Wayne's World time transition fingers, yes?

Thanksgiving week was an exercise in how much family it is physically possible to see in a finite number of days, as well as a looong experiment as to how vast I-90 truly is. (It is large.)

P.J.'s niece's christening was on Sunday in Cincinnati so we heartily enjoyed the 20 hours we spent in town. Being as we had not really slept in the week leading up to Road Trip '08, we managed to faceplant for almost 10 hours in the third floor Ozzie and Harriet beds that were designated to us. (Who needs a husband? I had a twin bed and three blankets! Plus, I could reach over and high-five him if need be.)

We hit the road on Sunday early evening and drove through the night, making the trip in a little under 12 hours (we had to stop in ridiculously quaint Willoughby Hills, Ohio, for a stationary meal and so I could pee twice. I have a child-sized bladder. P.J. probably could have made the trip in 9 hours without me.)

A highlight of the drive occurred when we became a tad hysterical and thought each other were brilliant. This took place in Waldameer (Pennsylvania? Ohio? Guam? I'm not sure which, I wasn't driving) and we decided that Waldameer was the best place to visit, for all of its residents were very old and charming. They would tout old-fashioned values and invite you to stay awhile. An actual conversation:

P.J. (in a pitched voice): Come to Waldameer, you love Waldameer...

Keely (pitched): Churn some butter...

P.J. (higher pitched): We'll let you sit on the porch and churn your own butter...

Keely (normal): Okay, now you're being the guy's wife.

P.J. (indignant): I was always his wife!

And then we fought about which of us made the best Waldameer resident.

We also perfected a few duets, ask us about those sometime. Better yet, ask P.J. to whip out his Aaron Neville impression at the next party. For it is fantastic.

Thanksgiving itself was lovely, mainly because every person in my immediate family was within a two foot radius of me for the entirety of the trip (I don't know how it's possible, either) and also because I gorged myself on my parents' amazing cooking; I ate three salads a day with this fantastic buttermilk ranch dressing my mom sells, let alone how much I consumed at the actual "meals" and the intermittent "snacks." Seriously, is food just better at home? I'd probably throw a stick at you if you offered me ranch dressing anywhere else. Well, maybe not, as that would be rude. But I usually do not care for it!

My dad made great fires in the front room all week (so I could write for 2 hours a day <---not happy about it) and my mom and I somehow found time to watch "In the Good Ol' Summertime," an excellent Judy Garland flick and a tear-jerker. (Well, at least for my mom. She cries when she's happy. Me, I only cry when I'm scared, sad, injured or confused.)

Got to hang out with my main men Quinn and Cole (Q-Dog and Coltrane), who are a whopping 2.5 years and 9 months, respectively. They are also up at the crack of dawn everyday. Even weekends and bank holidays. They're lucky to be so darned attractive- I didn't even mind getting woken from my futon in the sunroom to the chorus of "Auntie Kiki...you 'wake?"

My 10 year high school reunion was on Friday night and it was a TRIP. P.J. trumped everyone else's date as I knew he would. Jen and Lori looked lovely as I knew THEY would. Some people did not age well and THAT I did not expect. (As P.J. pointed out, when you peak at 18, where is there to go?) A dude I asked out every day for a solid year (to an answer of definitely no) approached me and told me that I looked 'stunning as always.' (!) Really? Always? I can recall once or twice (or all of 8th grade, for example) where this was not the case. Also unexpected- a girl whom I complimented on her two young kids frankly (and out of left field) told me, "Keely, I have to tell you this. You need to have your kids before you turn 30. I'm a biology teacher, so I know." (Plural kids? Whaa...?) 

Stay tuned. The evening did NOT end there...

Art imitates life. And sometimes other art.

Is it really Wednesday? Time does fly, especially when you've set an I've Got Health Insurance, Perhaps I Should See Some Doctors month. Really, taking an hour here and there to have all of your blood drawn and replaced with Oregon Trail-type preventative vaccinations...well, it certainly does make the work week go faster. 

This month has brought two new doctors (and subsequent pokey needles), and three cavities- with six shots of novocaine...I was brave, ask anyone- with at least three more appointments on the horizon before 2009! We've got it covered from new dental x-rays all the way down to a podiatry appointment. I even cut my hair. 

Is anything wrong, you may ask? NOT YET. But we're sure to find it if it happens!

Between all of these weekly appointments I like to spend fifty hours at a place called "work." (Two little girls are currently playing nurse with their dolls and one just informed me that her baby is "really high." I think she means in temperature.) 

And in the hours between "work" and Preventative Medicine- I try to write. And I'll tell you this much...one of the real dangers in telling people that you're a writer is: they expect you to actually do so. This contrasts sharply with the life of lazy lesiure I imagine for myself. Oh well. 

When I DO get to write, it seems to be going okay. The first meeting with Local 75 was awesomely wonderful- Chris and Aaron are superb people, not to mention really talented writers, and the "critiquing" of my play seemed like anything but. Imagine that. Workshopping a play without personal agendas or general ignorance of the play? Or the playwright? Or humor? This may just be my personal writing heaven.

We spent a good deal of time discussing what I find funny and that led to an interesting question: Is my comedic style more 'Clue' or 'Deathtrap?' I still don't know, because initially they said 'Mousetrap' and my mind wandered off in the direction of 'Ten Little Indians.' Or, as I like to call it, 'And Then There Were None.' Specifically because I had a horrifically long and horrifically horrific dream last week where I was in a real version of that play. Suffice to say, I knew how it would end. And four hours later it did. 

And speaking of not getting amazing sleep, I haven't been. Even my characters aren't sleeping. I've been editing a series of scenes where my main gal keeps ending up in the living room at 3am to see if a new episode of 'Dragnet' is on. (Relatively new, that is.) And yes, this is thinly veiled scene showcasing my desire for 'Law & Order' to be on AT ALL TIMES.  (Thanks, Peej.)

Finally, a snippet pertaining to sleep, fantastic dialogue AND P.J.? Okay! The other night (early morning, whatever) when P.J. was drifting off to sleep and vehemently denying any such thing, he began "sleep talking." As he does. Frequently. (He'll deny this as well.) His sleep talking occurs in that dreamlike state of not quite being asleep and still pretending to carry on a conversation. I don't remember what we had been talking about- quite possibly making plans for not sleeping the following night- when all of a sudden he stated quite clearly, "That Ender [our cat] is an old-fashioned kind of dude. He realizes the importance of credit."

I was shocked. Ender had been listening all these years?

I was charmed; somehow we've managed to instill good values in our cat.

And I was thoroughly reminded- why sleep and miss all the good dialogue?

This is my writing for the day. My apologies.

Not to toot my own horn or anything...(yes, I'm making a trumpet with my fist and and a bizarre sound through pursed lips)...and I know that a ton of you have seen this already...but my bio and interview are up on two separate parts of the Local 75 webpage! In case you were wondering how my writing stacks up to different types of wine- wonder no more! (Just a warning, though; the difference between an intellectual and myself is kinda like the difference between the Mississippi River and a Slip n' Slide.)

Need some more proof? I was listening to a little Springsteen this morning (after I got soaked by the meeting of a vengeful track and a wayward, pond-like puddle) and specifically the track 'Rosalita.' Great song, obviously, but what I had never really paid attention to was the verse where he lists all of his friends that are going to meet up later. Jack the Rabbit, Weak-knees Willie, Sloppy Sue and Big Bones Billie (!) are all heading out to, you know, play some pool and act real cool.

This is awesome.

Furthermore, Springsteen's E Street Band has members named (among many, many others) Mad Dog, Boom and Miami Steve. So- my question is, can we do this? I know I'm a little past the age where we can tell our friends to call us Ace or K-Rock (for example), but I'm really feeling this one. Besides, there's a rumor that Miami Steve (who was later on The Sopranos) got his nickname because he went to Miami ONCE!

COME ON!

Okay, pals, get going. I need an amazing nickname. But, more importantly (waay more importantly), all of you need amazing nicknames. This will allow me to have that crucial moment of awesome at a party where I turn to people and say, "This is lame. Hey, Pipes! Trigger, Philly Joe! Wanna cut out and meet up with Fish Sticks and Hot Pants?"

Please, let's all work together to make this happen.

This is my wishness.

And Pretty Sweet Friday follows suit.

This week has been so full of stuff. Big stuff, stuff I've been putting off and "Oh my God, I really get to do this?" kinda stuff. To elaborate:

Last weekend (yes, I'm including it in the Week of Stuff) I got to hand out candy dressed as a nice pirate, running out of treats only when the Critical Mass bike ride made its way up Oakley and hundreds upon hundreds of costume-clad bicyclists descended upon my Pyrex bowl o' goodies. (There was a bit of a traffic jam at the intersection at Addison so I got to walk BETWEEN the bikes and bestow candy. I felt like a Halloween god.) Then I went to a Halloween party with a bunch of friends and a husband dressed as a Heath Ledger cowboy- which I won't elaborate upon for I feel it is still Too Soon.

Saturday I got to get poked with needles and have all of my blood replaced with important vaccinations. Saturday afternoon was spent whining on the couch. (Except for when I went out to the garage and refinished a dresser that I had bought for seven bucks. It looks rockstar awesome.) Saturday evening was spent watching The Crow and whining about my achy vaccinated body- except for when I completely rearranged my closet and organized half of the bedroom to accommodate my new (and not fully dry) dresser. That I made P.J. drag in. Right before he had to remove the old brokey one. (Sorry Peej.)

Sunday was spent with two contractors at the condo which we may or may not purchase- we haven't made any mammoth decisions, mainly because every time we return from seeing the place we fall asleep on the couch. I think we're part possum, passing out from stress and fear.

This week obviously brought about huge changes in our government (hurrah for Democrats in power! Yay Congress!) but what I failed to mention before was the copious amount of rallying done in the Schoeny abode's living room. States were booed. Commentators were alternately mocked and cheered. We even watched Fox News for a spell- just for the humor of it all! (Angry faces expressing the fervent desire that We Not Count Our Chickens or something relating to barnyards...I love me some animal humor.) The stress levels got the better of me for a bit- right around the time that Virginia was undecided but leaning towards McCain I could be found kneeling in front of the open refrigerator eating week old birthday cake with a spoon. (I'm sorry, P.J., I didn't want you to have to find out this way.) But it all worked out! And, by 3am, my blood sugar levels had gone back to normal, allowing me to get the three and a half hours of sleep I require for an early Wednesday morning.

The past couple of days have brought about some pretty superb writing opportunities. As many of you know, the creative spigot in my brain has, of late, been rusted shut. My mom has always told me to write what I know, which lately (and sadly) has been translated to stories about bananas smushed into onesies and uncomfortable tales of poo- but no more! I've been asked to be a contributing writer for Dog & Pony Theatre's podcast! As they are one of the cooler theatre companies playing in Chicago I am more than a little thrilled to get that going. Also, I received an invite last night from two Resident Playwrights at Chicago Dramatists- they're starting a new writer's workshop and have decided to choose me as their first featured playwright. I've worked with them at Instant Theatre and loved every minute- this news, however, thrills me greatly and makes my head more than a little bit swole.

Tonight we're seeing Martin Sexton at the Park West- yay! We failed to get Girl Talk tickets at the Congress Theatre for tomorrow night- boo. But anything could happen. After all, we have a Democratic America (almost) and I'm a featured writer. Nutso things happen all the time.

And speaking of off-the-wall rad: my sister Rachel has a Broadway audition tomorrow afternoon. For Wicked. For the lead in Wicked. In New York. ("As you do," I can hear Nat saying. "Who hasn't?")

So, break a leg, Chelly Bell! (Whatcha talkin' 'bout, Rachel? And...whatcha talkin' 'bout- EVERYBODY.)

Oh God. A joke within a joke within a reference? I need some new material. And by the looks of it, fast.

JimmyJohn's fast.