My Date with Rafa (video included)... and Some Other Guys were there too.

Howdy y'all.

I'm back. I'm sunburned. And I saw Rafa perform his most famous move ever...

Yes, that is firsthand video of Rafa picking his wedgie, a feat he tackles before every single point.

I also saw him do some of this:

His unreturnable serve- A feat almost as difficult and intricate as the wedgie-pick. 

Yep. I was in tennis heaven. At one point Rafa and his teammate looked like they were in trouble, and so I pulled a move from one of my favorite movies The Natural, where the mysterious woman in white stands in the crowd and inspires Robert Redford out of his slump. 

Then they live happily ever after.

Glenn Close, willing her lover to do better.

The only problem was, I left my white hat in the car (true story) and my spare hat was camouflage. So I stood up and immediately blended in with my surroundings.

The mysterious woman in beige. Not the same effect.

It was okay. Rafa and the other guy eeked out the win. In an interview afterward, Rafa said he felt something magical from the crowd, but when he turned to look, he didn't see anyone. Stupid camouflage hat. 

I also surprised my parents with second-row tickets for their anniversary to see Roger Federer.

Federer, up close and hot. Also, hawt. 

Federer totally dominated his opponent. He took the first set 6-0, and was up 2-0 in the second set when the other guy (Chela) finally won a game. 

The crowd went nuts, trying to support the wounded underdog. Chela smiled and waved, and when the noise died down, he said loudly, "It's okay, Fed. Shake it off. You've got this." So funny.

Palm Springs by the Numbers:

Number on the thermometer: 90

Number of rows separating me from Federer: 2

Number on the sunscreen bottle: 70

Number of icy lemonades ingested: 42

Number of wedgie picks: 864 (862 from Rafa, 2 from me)

Number of times my mom told the people around us that they were sitting next to a soon-to-be-famous author: 1,748. 

Thanks, mom. 

I'll have more about the second half of our trip (Disneyland) on Wednesday, featuring standing in line behind Punky Brewster. For reals. No lie. 

So, how was all y'all's week? Sorry I couldn't blog. There are only two kinds of hotels that don't offer wi-fi: the really really expensive ones, and the really really cheap ones. Guess which one we were in?

And what do you think of Rafa's wedgie pick? 

I'll Pack my Bags, and Keep my Eyes Fixed on the Sun

This weekend, I'll be packing.

Because next week, I'm going to be here:

Watching this guy:

Rafa and his bicep.

And these guys:

Roddick and Roger Federer

Do this:

And this:

Can you guess what I'm doing? 

Just kidding. It should be obvious. I'm going to Disneyland. But before I see Mickey, I'm meeting my parents, and my secret lover Rafa, down in Palm Springs for the BNP Paribas Open.

I'll be tweeting pictures live from the event, so if you want to follow along, you can find me here: http://twitter.com/Brodiashton.

I can't wait, because I love tennis, and I get to spend time with my dad. And I need to feel the sun shine on my face. Blogging will be sporadic, but if I have wi-fi, I will blog.

We're going to have an extra day in L.A. Anyone have any ideas on what we should see? The Grove? Some sort of famous chinese theater? I need ideas!

Free Book Friday: Life in the Pit by Kristen Landon... and Sam pulls a Groin

Happy Friday!

Up for grabs today is a signed copy of Kristen Landon's LIFE IN THE PIT. 

All you have to do to enter is leave a comment!

So, Sam was in a tennis tournament last weekend, and he made it to the championships. 

 (this isn't the actual tournament, but it's the only pic I could find of him on the court.)

We were so excited, but nervous too, because during the match before the finals, he had gotten severe shin splints. 

The first set went okay, but he lost it in a tie-break, and then he was way ahead in the second when he twisted his ankle.

Brave Sam kept playing. The other guy gave him a drop shot, and Sam ran forward to get it, but he suddenly stopped and then he leaned against the net for a few minutes, head down.

Those of you who know tennis, and even those of you who don't, could probably guess that's not normal. I wasn't sure which was causing the problems, the shins or the ankle, but he didn't look good.

Because this was the finals, there was a crowd watching the match, and when Sam switched sides to prepare to serve, he turned toward me, caught my eye and... um... gestured toward his nether-regions.

He gave me a look that said, "I pulled my groin." (It's hard to master the look that portrays this statement. Sam's been working on it for years. It's all in the eyebrows.)

I tried to give him a look that said, "I'm surrounded by people! Stop pointing there!" (This look involves a series of winking and blinking.)

I glanced side to side to let him know I wasn't alone. He assumed I hadn't seen his oh-so-subtle message.

He waved at me, pointed there again, and mouthed the word Ow. 

I know groin injuries are nothing to be embarrassed about, and I was so not embarrassed. Not at all. 

By this point, he could barely walk, but he finished the match without defaulting. After the match (he lost in another tie-breaker) I helped him off the court, and he's all, "I pulled my groin. I tried to tell you, did you see?"

I patted his back as he limped off the court. "That'll do, Pig. That'll do."


So, what do your significant others do to embarrass you? And what are y'all doing this weekend?

Winner of Beautiful Creatures... and Men's Tennis (i.e. Beautiful Creatures) *sigh*

And the winner (according to Random.org) of the signed copy of BEAUTIFUL CREATURES is... comment #8. 

Sara B. Larson

Sara- Email me your address at brosam (at) gmail (dot) com.

We had a great discussion about endings on Friday. I have to admit I learned a lot, and I'm gonna steal all of your ideas for my book. I think y'all could teach a class on the art of the ending. (You probably wouldn't resort to a bra analogy like some people...)

With your ideas in mind, I've been taking my new ending for a test drive, and so far there has been no chafing or irritation. Hopefully I've found one that will last.

I have to give a shout out to my tennis playing boyfriend for winning the Madrid Open. 

And by "boy" I mean Rafa Nadal, and by "friend" I mean lover.

He recently trademarked his sneer, so don't try to copy it.

Rafa beat his main rival, Roger Federer, who's also a tall drink of water. But Rafa rocks the clay court, and when his knees aren't on the fritz, he's unstoppable.  He puts so much junk on his forehand, it's the dirtiest spin in tennis. (No, these are not euphemisms.)

To all of you new blog followers: Yes, I feel it is my duty to educate about the hotness that is Men's tennis right now.

I keep having this dream that Rafa and I are best friends. Like no one in the world gets us better than the other. Every time I wake up, I'm like, "I can't believe we're not best friends!" 

Tell me the truth, is that above paragraph rule #1 on the checklist to becoming a full-fledged stalker?

Okay, I'm off to revise. Now that I have an ending, I guess I need a middle, and then word on the street is that I'll need a beginning too. 

Wish me luck. What are y'all up to this week?

Does Anyone Know How To Make Blood-Themed Hors d'oeuvres?

Things I did last week that I forgot to blog about:

1. I met famous bloggers (okay, just one) from across the country.

Shellie Kendrick came into town (she has a majorly popular blog and she lives in the South. Not Southern Utah. The SOUTH, y'all).

The first blog post I read of hers was called 4B's. Once I reached her hand-drawn diagram, I was hooked.

Anyway, we started reading each others' blogs, and then we started exchanging writing projects, and we realized we were M.F.E.O.

She came over to my house after my tennis workout one night, and I admit I was a little star struck. Maybe that's an excuse for why the first words out of my mouth were, "Nice to meet you. I have to take a quick shower. Not only do I stink, I sorta peed my pants a little when I tried to hit an overhead."

At her surprised expression, I further explained, "It's okay. I don't hug with my legs or anything."

Huh? Like not wrapping my legs around a person makes peeing my pants okay? Very weird, and not just a little bit awkward. She still stayed, and told me a "peeing pants" story of her own. See? Brothers from another Mother.

Below is a picture of us, combining our peeing pants stories in a plot to take over the world. You'll also notice an open can of TAB cola on the bar. Tab is hubby Sam's favorite drink, and when Shellie tried it and didn't puke, he was mucho impressed. So much so that we took a vote and offered Shellie the position of second wife in our house. Now, to get rid of her hubby Chad... Bueno!

2. My tennis partner and I won a tennis match.

It was an exciting match. You can tell by the faces of the crowd. Kid C is in the middle, threatening to gouge his eyeball out if we didn't finish the stupid match soon. Kid B is nearest the camera, losing brain cells.

Here's a picture of me about to hit a ball. I think it's funny, because in my head, I'm thinking about how I look all suave, and how it's all about the technique, and how any minute Rafa is going to call me up for some mixed doubles. But then, I see myself on film, and think, "That can't possibly be how I look. That's some old chubby woman suffering from constipation or something."

Seriously, take away the racket, and I might as well be in the ladies' room. If ya know what I mean. (She said as she twirled her porn star mustache and puffed her cigar. "If you know what I mean"? Who says that, besides old beer belly men with chest hair poking out their shirts, elbowing their friends and raising their eyebrows? C'mon, bro. Get it together.)

3. Book Club with Sydney Salter

There's nothing cooler than going to a book club where the author is among the guests.
Cousin D (okay, it's Debbie, from Cranberry Fries. I don't really think there's a need to protect her identity on this one... She's not exactly Cousin W or anything... I kid, Cousin W). Anyway, Debbie put together a bunch of cool chicas, including Sydney Salter, and we gabbed the night away about Sydney's book MY BIG NOSE AND OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS.

We talked embarrassing jobs, first crushes, natural bodily functions, and toe fungus. And then we ate. Because the mere mention of toe fungus makes me hungry.

Since a wedding cake plays a role in Sydney's book, Cousin Debbie, or Heather, or maybe Heidi, baked a two-tiered wedding cake. Sydney said it's good to have a food tie-in to the book. "What would your tie-in be?" she asked me.

"Ummm... blood," I answered.

Seriously? Blood, Brodi? I tried to think of a theme to my book, and blood was the first thing that came to my mind. The girls were really nice, saying they could come up with plenty of blood-themed food.

But even now, I can't really think of anything else. I'm trying to consider objects that come up in my book. Whisks? Rocks? Shaving Cream? Drink Coasters? Forks? The problem is every one of those objects (except one) lead to someone's gory death. So we're back to blood.

Maybe this would be a good time to serve the red Wine Frye?

So, how was y'all's weekend? (The preceding sentence incorporates my favorite incarnation of the word "y'all".)

In Which Two Ninja Cats Re-enact my Tennis Match... And Good News about my Dad!

I played in my first single's tennis match in, like, 15 years. It was a real cat fight. To demonstrate the results of said match, I hired two cats to act it out. Watch the short video to deduce the outcome. (I'm the black cat, btw).


Funny cat fight - Watch more Funny Videos

After the match, my opponent said, "Never give up. You'll get there eventually."

So I hit her in the head with with my racquet, as any gracious loser would do. It was the first time all night I actually hit the sweet spot. *self-five*

My parents, who came to watch the "Slaughtuh of their Daughtuh '09" congratulated me after the match, and then shared some good news, which I will now share with y'all...

MY DAD'S KICKING PANCREATIC CANCER'S ARSE! Okay, so they didn't use those exact words, but you get the picture.

His latest tumor marker is 26!

To explain what that means:
-Oct. 31st, 2007, diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer (or "PanCan")
-Given stats like "97% chance of death" and "3 to 6 months" and dreck like that. He was all "Whatev's, Them there are fightin' words!"
-Jan 2008- Undergoes "Whipple" surgery (check out my description of this here)

So now, every four months, they check his tumor marker. (Upon diagnosis, his tumor marker was like 3,000). Below 32 is considered normal.

He is 26! Go Dad!

For those of you who prefer pictures to words, I made a representational video. The part of my dad is played by "Chuck Norris", and the part of Pancreatic Cancer is played by "Random Cheesy Dude in White Car."

Check it out.




Finally, as a follow-up to our intellectual discussion regarding covers that thrill and chill versus covers that suck and blow, I decided to post the ones deemed thrilling by our commenters.

Here they are. Many of them came from Writer Peep Kim, who is an awesome blogger and even better writer. (She knows books.)









Truly beautiful covers. I admit to buying every single one of these books.

Enjoy your weekend! I plan on celebrating the number "26" with my Dad. What are y'all doing?