Now where were we…?
Ah yes. I was in the midst of my high school reunion, being informed that my aging innards might be oh-so-dusty (Seriously. Who has ALL of their children in this day and age by 28? No one living in a major metropolitan area, I’ll tell you what.) This made me feel good.
What DID make me feel good was reconnecting (I hate that word) with an excellent pal whose book I stole in high school. We reminisced about junior year English and at the end of the night I still refused to return his book. Oh, we laughed and laughed! Later that night I went out to a karaoke bar (I never went to bars when I lived in Pittsfield so I feel a little delinquent doing so to this day) and entered to the sound of…my younger twin sisters being announced to sing! I ran onstage with them and we all screamed a song together gleefully. (I’m sure the audience said to themselves, oh, isn’t this fun? But who’s the short one with the coat?) Good times, drinking and singing with the baby sisters. P.J. sang his signature ‘Folsom Prison Blues.’ Technically, it’s Johnny Cash’s signature song, but P.J. does an excellent version. People even took pictures.
On the way home (around hour 12) we enjoyed getting stopped for one hour at the Indiana/Ohio toll booth- why no Easy Pass, Ohio? And what reason could there possibly be for stopping so long on a straight road where no one’s turning left, right, or down? Give them your money and, you know, drive already! Were they checking the cars for immigrants from the east coast? My bladder was angered at this border. I almost peed on the side of the road, but as P.J. pointed out, since the cars in front and behind us weren’t moving either, it would be quite the free show.
But we had the amazing early Christmas present from my folks of Sirius satellite radio with the nifty car attachment! Hello Hair Nation! Goodbye, P.J.’s sanity! We also enjoyed such gems as Rick Dees’ Weekly Top 40 from Nov. 22nd, 1993 on the ’90s channel. (It was superb to hear stuff like, “You can see Janet’s latest tour- called ‘Rhythm Nation!”) By the end of the 14th hour we listened to each other fume in silence at the utter stir-craziness taking over the car.
I managed to edit and get one play out the door (computer?) late that night and begin outlining the second draft of the play for Local 75- (it has recently occured to me that I may have been legally insane when I “wrote” the first “draft”.) Needless to say, I was not at my mental claritiest for the next couple of days. But I finished the outline on Friday and am enjoying a couple of days of not writing full length plays. I am, however, going full steam on three short stories and three one act plays, all with deadlines prior to the 22nd o’ December. (Remember when I said I wanted to be a writer? I kinda meant to spread it out a leeetle bit more.)
On a Christmas-y note, 2 year old Jack told me that he’s asking Santa for a piano and a mustache. When I looked confused he pointed to his mouth and added “Hair on da lip.”
We’re getting into the Christmas spirit in the ol’ Roscoe Village with the behemoth of a tree that we purchased yesterday. From Ashland and Addison. And walked home. (For those unfamiliar with Chicago’s mid-north neighborhoods, that’s a good mile from our house.) We kinda felt like the Monkees in their opening sequence where they push the hospital bed across the intersection. Some people laughed with us- others AT us. (P.J. said the latter were bitter, unhappy people who were going home alone.) And as I had had minor arm surgery this weekend and am the proud owner of large, black stitches, I wasn’t the helpiest helper in the whole “carrying the tree” thing. I mean, I DID it, but P.J. probably wishes he could have just hoisted the whole thing and ran. Plus, I get cold easily. And my fingers lose circulation.
The tree we chose was one of the few on the lot under $120 (seriously, for a cut tree?). In fact, it was $35 and the branches were frozen straight up. The guy told us that it was our lucky day, as this one had been mispriced. She was gonna be a full balsam, he said. I soon knew that he hadn’t been whistlin’ Dixie (although that would have been quaint) as the tree “settled.” Quickly. Once we set it up in the living room we continued to inch it out into the center of the room little by little. As the branches unfolded towards the floor we soon realized we could no longer see the potted plants on the window sill. Or the arm of the couch. Or the cats. So come see our lovely (and admittedly awesome-smelling) tree in what used to be our living room! (I’ve started calling it the tree room where we sit near the tree.) There’s tons of glitzy ornaments on it as well as a sock monkey or two. (Wearing elf hats, of course, there are RULES.)
We saw a house yesterday morning that I am NOT GOING TO JINX by talking about. Let’s just say that I NEED THIS HOUSE. (And we’re putting an offer in tonight.) Omg.
And a final, fluffy note to end on (who doesn’t love final fluff)? I was having a horrific nosebleed on the train yesterday afternoon (yes, yes) and a girl sat behind us with a lapdog in a bag. I was pretending not to bleed and P.J. was pretending the piece of paper I was holding to my nose was a tissue of some sort (I was caught unawares!!) when the girl took the pup out of the bag and began conversing with those around her. One guy offered to buy the dog. She responded in a singsong voice that she couldn’t part with her Geejee. (Weird nickname, but whatever.) Someone else finally asked her what the dog’s name was…and honest to God, had I not been gushing blood I might have said something.
“What’s her name?”
“Oh, this is Keely.”
No, really. That’s terrific.
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