Cool Writer Friends: So I heard my writer friend Emily Wing Smith speak at the UVU conference on how to write different voices. She brought the house down! Her book has six different narrators, so she knows what she's talking about.
Shannon Hale also spoke, and when an audience member asked her what her favorite books have been this year, she mentioned Emily's book The Way He Lived. What an endorsement.
It's Not Stalking I've decided that since Rafa and I already know each other so well, it might be time for us to meet. I am leaving this great state to go see my honey play in the Indian Wells BNP Paribas Open Tennis Tournament!
I know he is thrilled. Just look at him.
Sam is staying behind, with the kids, and I know he is equally thrilled.
But, hey, he gets to go hang out with the cows in the deserts of Pakistan. It is only fair that I get to hang out with the mocha honey bears in the deserts of Palm Springs California.
To make Sam feel better about not going to Pakistan while I'm gone, I have provided him the video below, showcasing the rising tension in the area. He should thank his lucky stars he's not going there any time soon! (At least, until April).
Did I ever tell you the one about the topless beach?
The other night, Cousin W was asking us if we knew of any fab topless beaches. Unfortunately, I do.
So, a couple years after we were married, Sam had business in the Canary Islands. Being the thoughtful wife that I am, I insisted on accompanying him on his dull business travels. The Canary Islands are off the western coast of Africa. They are like Hawaii for the European crowd.
We had heard a little about the clothing-challenged European beaches, and we were prepared. (Not prepared, as in naked, by the way. Prepared, as in there was no way I was gonna allow Sam even one glimpse of the beautiful Euro-ladies). I told Sam he would have to close his eyes while I led him to our spot, and then he was only allowed to stare at the ocean.
But as we were wandering among the topless hordes, I soon realized these were not gorgeous European Ladies. It was more like all of our Grandma's got together, and decided to play some strip poker.
And then I noticed the men. They looked naked, but that was only because their giant bellies hung well past their speedos.
To tell the truth, I looked like a model compared to the ladies, and Sam looked like a freakin' greek god.
So after a few minutes of leading Sam, who was dutifully covering his eyes, I was all, "Open up and take a gander, Sammy. Look as long as you want, at whomever you want."
We strutted our stuff all week.
Then the weekend hit. And it was like something out of a summer barbecue at the playboy mansion, with Sam playing the Hef, and me resembling Hef's mother, and everyone else starring in their own version of MTV's Spring Break, Cabo Style.
Yes, the beautiful people come out on the weekends.
So I did what any normal wife would do.
I chucked a handful of sand into Sam's eyes. Yeah, he'll now associate topless women with searing eye-pain.
Revision status: I just pressed "send", so you know what that means: Trashy Mag time!
Here are a couple of my favorite pics from my Trashy Entertainment mags:
The first is from the Style Hunter in Entertainment Weekly. She points out how everyone wants to know what shade of lipstick Lana (from Smallville, pic at left) is wearing.
The answer: "Honey Violet".
My question is: Who the heck is noticing her lipstick? Did they not actually see the picture at the left? We've got a chick, fondling what has to be the creepiest doll every made.
So, who are the people that look at this picture, and think, "Hey. Cool lipstick. Where can I score me some of that?"
Next, we have a tribute to the original cast of ER.
So, not only does it take six people to wheel in an Emergency Room patient, but five of them are doctors.
Wow, this is a hospital where five docs will meet you at the door?
Sounds great, right? Makes you want to get shot in their city. The only problem is they also have time to stop and pose for a somber picture. If I was the guy on the gurney, I'd be thinking: "Oh Crap. They do not look happy. I'm a goner."
You know, the dream everyone has when they are stressed.
Yep. I've been dreaming I'm actually living inside the movie Alien.Only it's real life. And the whole time, as I'm running for my life, and no one is hearing me scream, because I'm in space, and in space no one can hear you scream... sorry. Run-on sentence.
Anyway, the whole time, I'm thinking to my self: "Please tell me I'm Ripley this time. Please."Because here's the catch. I'm never Ellen Ripley! And as we all know, Ripley is the only one who survives.
In fact, I can gauge how stressed I am in real life by the character I play in the dream.
Sometimes, when I'm in my happy place, I'm the chick with the short hair. The one who almost makes it to the end. But her death is the worst, because even though she outlasts many of the other crew members, she knows exactly what's coming.
Sometimes, I'm Dallas. He's the guy that kicks it in the tunnels, with the alien. I'm usually Dallas when I'm feeling a little cramped, a little claustrophobic- which, let's face it, is like, all the time. Because when Dallas goes in the tunnels to try and trap the alien, he can't stand upright. And that feeling is almost worse than when he gets alien drool sliming him from above.Almost.
*Which brings up a side point: How come they never see it coming from above? That's how the aliens get 'em. Whenever they come up with a "plan" I want to scream: "Look Up! Would you please just look up!"
And then, when I'm at my low point (like last week. I'm not sure if any of you noticed, but my parade was getting rained on all week) I'm the worst character of all. You all know who I'm talking about.
Kane.
In these dreams, I spend the first half being suffocated by a face-sucker, and the second half trying to keep the alien spawn from exploding out of my rib cage.
No matter which character I am, I always end up running for my life.
Except for those rare instances where I try to negotiate with the alien, and convince him I'm really Ripley, and would he please step toward the air-lock so I can blast him out into space. Pretty please.
The dreams always end with me, bleeding out, and moaning something along the lines of: "But I'm supposed to be Ripley. Why am I not Ripley? Why do I have to be the "other chick"?"
Just once, I wanna throw someone-- Anyone!-- out the airlock. Just once. So... how was your weekend?
Mood: total funk. My cool friend Amy knows about my gray mood, so she made chocolate chip cookies, Brodi Style.
I love chocolate chip cookies, but I prefer a ratio of one chocolate chip per cookie. Of course, this does not happen randomly.
Amy made me a whole batch of "Uno Chip Cookies". Then she told me to step away from my computer, which I will do right after this post. In fact, I'm on a post-sabbatical until Monday. I'm thinking I'll do one of those safaris in Africa, or clean my house, or something.
DEBUNKING AN URBAN MYTH
Before I start my sabbatical, I feel prompted to share a story. (Not, like, spiritually prompted, or "from the great beyond" prompted, by the way).
The other day, I happened upon a blog whose author wondered if drinking a gallon of whole milk is REALLY impossible.
Happily, I can shed some light on this. (I also know one of my readers can attest to this as well, but I won't name names unless she wants to be known.)
One night when I was in college (I know, I did all my stupid stuff post-high school), a bunch of guys and girls were hanging out in the middle of the street. I'm a little vague on the reasons why, but anyway.
These "friends" bet me I couldn't drink an entire gallon of whole milk in an hour.
Being comprised of a subtle blend of stupidity and ego, I couldn't say no. Despite the fact that I hate milk. It makes me sick.
I know what you're all thinking: Game On! Right?
Well, I was about halfway through the gallon, when I felt a buildup of pressure in my gut.
And then it happened. The dairy firehose.
I had always thought the phrase "projectile vomiting" was an exaggeration, until this night. Seriously, my head started spinning around.
So, what would you do if this happened to you?
Probably the same thing I did... rope in another couple of suckers to fall for it.
So, my friend and I went on a double date a couple weeks later, and challenged our dates (Bob and Phil) to drink the milk.
One of them ("Bob") took the challenge. Only, he didn't puke. He just got really sick.
So, my friend and I were looking at each other, worried, like, "Should we tell him what's supposed to happen?"
Of course not. Never in a million years. We just went home.
Well, the next day, I get this phone call at work from Phil.
me: "Hey, Phil. How's Bob?"
Phiil: "Not good. We had to take him to the emergency room last night."
Well I freaked out for a good five minutes on the phone, and fessed up to what was supposed to happen.
Then Phil says: "I'm totally kidding. Bob's fine."
When I finally picked my jaw off the ground, I let loose with a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush. The air was blue.
Here's the kicker.
Phil says: "Um, Brodi? You're on speaker. With my family." And I hear them all laughing in the background. Like, uncomfortable laughter.
You know how the story ends, don't you? Phil and I have been happily married for ten years.
For today's Dork Side, I must comment on last night's episode of the Bachelor.
Sam and I had never seen the Bachelor until last week, and when the promo's for last night said the ending was so emotional, they couldn't even have a studio audience, we knew we had to tune in.
We were so not disappointed! First off, DeAnna "stops by", because she was in the neighborhood, and all, and she was out for a walk, and so she just thought she'd up and fly to New Zealand.
De: "Jason, I made a mistake. I followed my heart, and chose the fun exciting guy. I should have stuck with the boring, safe, boring guy. You."
Jason: "Ummm, thanks?"
De: "It's not too late for me to break your heart again. Please give me another chance!"
Jason: "You're the best. Seriously, you're like, the third best girl I have in my life right now.
Look at that ring as long as you want, Jason... I don't think the answer is in there...
Then for the rest of it was like we were watching pro- wrestling. When Jason came out and said, "Since the show ended, the chemistry with Melissa has been zilch," Sam and I were all, "Oh no he didn't! He just slammed her with a folding chair!"
And then when Jason tried to explain it to Melissa, with his big brown puppy dog eyes, and she says, "You're such a B-----d." We were screaming at the television, "Nuh-uh! She just bounced off the ropes and pile-drove him in the groin."
I'm thinking polygamy looks pretty good about now...
We were laughing the whole time, and I'm just impressed they were actually telling the truth: It really was the most shocking rose ceremony ever!
So I've got a few things I'm a little neurotic about (refrain from interjecting, please).
1. After dishing out ice cream, I have to rinse off the spoon before I will use it to eat the ice cream. 2. If I finish my bowl of cereal, and I want more, I have to rinse out the bowl before I fill it up again. Even if it's the same cereal. 3. I can't sleep if my sheets have a wrinkle in them. 4. I can't sleep if Sam's touching me. (I know, I know. He's so lucky to have me.) 5. I can't sleep if he's breathing. (This one proves difficult sometimes). 6. If Sam drinks out of my Diet Coke, I won't drink the rest. It has nothing to do with cooties, or anything. I'm just very particular about the integrity of the drink.
I know what you're thinking: "Integrity of the drink? Is she crazy?"
Yes.
But when it comes to preserving and protecting the perfect glass of Diet Coke, I am an expert. I'm not just bragging. (I know, I know. No one would really 'brag' about such a lame-o quirk). But we have conducted scientific experiments on the subject.
Last summer, we went to Hilton Head Island with my sister and her family, and my parents. And they all got to making fun of me about my obsessive way of pouring the diet coke into the glass. (There's a special technique in the pouring that will preserve the most bubbles).
I know what you're thinking: "There's also a special place they send people like you."
Yes.
So, my family created a "bubble challenge". (Because that's what you do when you're on vacation at the beach, right?)
They presented two identical glasses. Into one, I poured half a can of diet coke MY way, and then my bro-in-law poured the rest into the second glass THEIR way.
Then they blindfolded me, and switched the glasses around.
And just by the taste, I could tell which glass had been poured by me, and which one had been poured by them.
Fluke, you think?
Nuh-uh.
We repeated the experiment several times. (Because it was raining outside, and because my family is made up of dorks). And my guessing percentage was a stunning 100%.
So, this just goes to prove... I'm not sure. But it has something to do with vindication!
I'm off to eat a healthy breakfast of Diet Coke and Mentos.
What? Is there a problem with that? I've got a brother-in-law on Sam's side who conducts experiments on this all the time...
I know he is thrilled. Just look at him.
Sam is staying behind, with the kids, and I know he is equally thrilled.
