Books, Being a Bachelor (for the weekend) and Watching the Bachelor

You are stuck with me (Sam, the lovely husband) today. Brodi is out partying in Las Vegas like she is a 19 year old on Spring Break. I am partying at home with my boys, work, laundry, kitchen cleaning like I am a middle aged man. I don't doubt though that she has gotten a ton of writing done. I mean, when I think of getting together with fellow writers to pump out a great novel, I think, Vegas is a nice quiet town with few distractions...this will be a great place to get some work done. Who does she think she is kidding? With that said, hopefully she won lots of money and enjoyed the Thunder from Down Under.

I am assuming that most of Brodi's blog readership are big readers of YA Fiction. Though I don't read much of this genre, the books that I have read, I have enjoyed quite a bit. People often get a wrong perception of YA fiction though, thinking that it is for 10 year olds who can barely read. As you know, it is not. Brodi and I both know people that say that they won't read this genre because it is for kids...and then they talk about how much they loved the Harry Potter Books or the Hunger Games. Kinda funny.

I read a lot of adult mystery/thriller fiction type books. I am currently reading Stieg Larsson's novel 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.' It is fabulous. It is thoroughly interesting, mysterious and intense. I told Brodi the other day that I really liked the girl with the dragon tattoo and that I just met her (meaning it took a little while for the book to introduce her) and she dryly responded 'I sure hope you are talking about a book and not about a girl down the street.' If you are looking to read some adult fiction and want terrific and highly entertaining books, check out the following authors: David Rosenfelt, Lee Child, David Baldacci, Harlen Coben. Nice, easy, fun Spring and Summer reads. Do you have any adult fiction favorites that you would like me to check out? I am always looking for good reads.

Now, on to the Bachelor. I have no idea what season of the Bachelor we are in, but I have never watched more than 1 episode of a season. This year, I have started to check it out and it is hillarious and awesome. I blogged about the first episode, click here . What I find so funny is that in real life, can you imagine a guy going out on a date with a girl and halfway through their '10 minute' date, he says 'I am looking for a wife.' In the real world, that girl would simply pat him on the shoulder (and probably kick him in the groin) and walk away from the guy immediately. In the Bachelor world though, if you don't tell the Bachelor how much you want to get married right this very second (and that you want kids), he will withhold a rose from you and send you walking. You have to act desperate, though not crazy desperate, in order to stay alive in the game.

The good thing about Jake the Bachelor is that he is kicking girls out with abandon. He was given a rose to give to one of two girls. Well, he decided he didn't want either so to dramatic effect, he drops the rose into the fireplace. I wanted him to scream at the rose, 'Burn baby burn!!!' But, he didn't...he just sat there looking sad and reflective on his decision. The other thing about Jake is that he is obviously comfortable with his body as his outfits usually include painted on shirts, the shirtless look, more painted on shirts and another shirtless outfit. His wardrobe is probably pretty cheap for the show: a bombers jacket and paint and they have his daily attire.

I told Brodi that if we all of a sudden got a divorce and the show's producers called me wanting a mid 30s, male metrosexual mormon, then I would say Yes. I would go on the show and have a grand old time. I would have my roses to give out and call a girl up and right when she would get there, I would apologize and say I made a mistake and that she was eliminated and then I would scream 'booyah!' I would also walk around the mansion in a speedo. And I would cry. A lot. To show the ladies how sensitive I was. I would also throw dance parties. And I would have the band Chicago come and sing while I danced with one of the ladies...oh wait, they did that this year. Which led me to wonder-- Was Air Supply too busy? What about Hall and Oats? Did they have another gig at a High School prom? Oh well, Chicago aint bad.

The Bachelor is down to just a few left. If you watch, who are your favorites still left? If you don't watch, congratulations on having a life. Here are my favorites, in order:

Ali--Cute as a button (not that buttons are generally cute, but if by luck, it was a cute button, it would be her) but she is obsessed with Vienna. Nobody likes Vienna. Vienna is like Iran. Hated by almost everyone. But Ali is like the United States, always talking about Iran, er, Vienna. And the United States has to turn to places like Switzerland...wait, this analogy sucks. Sorry. Anyway, Ali would rather talk about Vienna than do just about anything. If Ali could find a knife in that house, it would end up sticking out of Vienna's back. I am surprised she has not yet smothered Vienna with a pillow.

Corrie--we haven't gotten to know her as much as some of the other girls, but I dig her. She did a standup comedy routine and took no prisoners. But the show has not focused much on her so I don't think she has much life left here.

Tenley--She is a sweet girl who had her first romantic kiss since her divorce happen with Jake. It was terribly romantic. Just her and Jake and 13 television cameraman and producers in the same room. Very romantic.

Roz--oh wait, she was kicked out at the start of the season for having inappropriate relationships with one of the shows producers. Now, nobody knows what the inappropriateness was, but I am DYING to find out. I am a loyal viewer and I demand to know what happened. Tell me now! Anywho, she was gone right toward the start and she is now at home watching all of the events unfold, no doubt being very inappropriate. We love you Roz.

Vienna--none of the girls like her because they think she is fake. Lets be honest, they are all pretty fake...they are trying to impress a guy in a few weeks so that he falls in love. In front of Jake, they are on their best behavior. But Vienna rocks it when she is with the other girls. They hate her and it is awesome tv.

Gia--seems nice. The show also reminds us constantly that she is a swimsuit model. Its hot tub time...all the time for Jake.

That is all for today. Brodi will be back for Wednesday's post. If there are any comments on my blog post, I will respond when I can during the day. I have a job. You know, I have to help pay for Brodi's work trips. To Vegas. Have a great day y'all.

Kid C and the Case of the Burritos

I'm off to Vegas today! I'm going with 2/3 of the Six. Numbers 1, 2, 4, and 6. 

My weekend away feels like providence, because Kid C has a case of the burritos. 

You see, we don't really say the "d" word a lot at my house. You know, the word for the runs? Because if Kid C knows that word, then he'll use that word every time he has a little tummy-ache, or even a headache, and everyone around him will run for the hills.

Anywho, one morning this week, I actually called it the "d" word. I only used it once, but I basically said, "Hopefully it's just something you ate, and it's not a case of ["d" word]."

After school, Kid C came home and I asked how he was feeling. He said, "It's bad. I think it's a case of the burritos."

me: "What?"

Kid C: "A case of the burritos. Did you know if you have a case of the burritos for a whole month, you'll probably die?"

me (still totally confused): "Are you saying you ate burritos at lunch?"

Kid C (with a horrified look): "Eeeewwwww. No. I have a case of the burritos."

me (after a few calculations in my brain): "Do you mean a case of ["d" word]?"

Kid C: "Oh yeah. A case of ["d" word]."

I guess he was trying to remember the word I'd used, and the closest thing he could come up with was "burritos". I have to give him credit. They both have double r's. 

So, anyone have any suggestions as to what I can do in Vegas? I'm slightly Vegas-illiterate. I wish I had a huge enough blog where I could have friends in every city and they could show me around. 

Hubby Sam will take over the blog on Monday, so be sure to read and comment so he doesn't feel like a failure. 

What are y'all doing this weekend? Sorry if I forever ruined burritos for you.

Winner of The Dark Divine, and Happy Birthday Sam! Here's a Chia Obama.

And the winner of the signed copy of The Dark Divine is:

Inkinabox

email me your address (email addy in side bar).

1. So, Sam got the coolest birthday present from his sister. Presenting... Chia Obama

Hail to the Ch-Ch-Ch-Chief.

You can even choose between "Happy" Obama and "Determined" Obama.

Personally, I think "Happy" Obama looks a little too much like George W. Bush. Like he's laughing at a dirty joke none of us heard.

Sam was excited to get "Determined" Obama, because considering the economy right now, it would be a little inappropriate if Obama was anything but determined.

2. Our three goldfish have gone to live on a farm. Not the one in the sky, but one right here on earth, where they can run and jump and there are no fences and no borders. Where they'll be happy, frollicking in the grass.

My friend Leisha said that sounds like an "All Kill Fish Shelter".

Anywho, we exchanged the three goldfish for one Betta (Kid C named him Chopie) and one little tiny snail (Quid. He wanted to name him Liquid, but we shortened it to Quid.)

I am happy to be rid of the goldfish... I mean, to send them to the farm, because they are so darn dirty. And they're not the brightest bulbs in the fishbowl. We'd put them in another bowl while we cleaned the tank, and instantly that new bowl would be filled with poo.

Not only that, they kept trying to eat the poo, and then they'd hurry and spit it out. And they never learned their lesson.

They'd go around in circles, saying:

"Hey, Food! ... Nope, poo."

"Food! ... Nope, poo."

"Yay! Food! ... Nope, poo."

"Food! ... Nope, poo."

"This time it's food! ... Nope, poo again."

I'd stand over the fish bowl and yell, "It's all poo!"

And they'd see me near the bowl, and they'd assume I had just fed them, and they'd look around anxiously.

"Food! ... Nope, poo."

So, how's everyone else's week going?

All the Benefits of Attending the WIFYR Conference (Meeting Shannon Hale!) and Using Google to Answer my Fashion Questions

Happy Monday Y'all

Don't forget there's still time to enter to win Bree Despain's The Dark Divine. Really, you just have to leave a comment. Yep. I'm that easy.

1. So, last weekend I got together with some of my friends from the WIFYR workshop. (See the friendships you can make? If you haven't signed up for the workshop, do it now.)

Since our workshop in June, one of us signed with an agent (Kim Reid), one of us had a book come out (Bree Despain), one of us sold a book to Greenwillow* and signed with an agent (Heather Dixon). In fact, the editor and the agent she signed with both came to WIFYR and she met them there. See? Good stuff happens.

Anywho, so we had a little reunion of sorts, and Shannon Hale came too and dished about the latest goings-on in the industry, because she really is that cool.

I wanted to be cool too, and since I can't do it through my wit or my writing success, I decided to buy a knit headband like all the kids are wearing.

Only, when I put it on, it looked like this:

And I thought, although that woman looks very hot, I don't think that's how it's supposed to be worn.

So then I tried it Rafa style:

And really I looked more like Bjorn Borg:

Finally, I knew I was going to be late to the party, and I had to come up with something because I didn't bother actually doing my hair. So I ended up Googling "how to wear a knit headband".

What do you think? Somewhere between Rafa and Bjorn, right? I'm sure that's what every woman aspires to look like: a mix between Rafa and Bjorn.

Also at the party:

*Bree Despain said her husband should totally write bodice rippers, and then offered no further explanation. (Brick, feel free to defend yourself. Unless you really do want to write bodice rippers. In that case, I'd exercise your right to remain silent.)

*Leisha Maw asked me why I haven't blogged about blood or other bodily fluids lately. I guess I need to remedy that.

*Joel Smith said he doesn't tweet because someone (okay, it was me) kept laughing at his tweets. I said that was a good thing.

*Someone said they don't tweet because they have nothing interesting to say. Then I took a look at some of my latest tweets:

Watching Doggy Makeovers on the Today Show. Wondering when we switched to the alternate universe where this is news.

At marathon writing day, @emilywingsmith said, "Wearing bunny slippers means I want a guy to put the moves on me."

Local news anchor just said a rumor was "spreading on the world wide web." She then pegged her pants and said, "talk to the hand".   

Willard Scott's creeping me out. As in, there's a 50% chance I can find him on Today, and a 50% chance I can find him peeping in my windows.

And it got me thinking, WTH am I tweeting about? What was it about Willard Scott that I had to share with the world immediately?

Well, really it's the creepy way he talks about the Smucker's birthdays. "Here's Eleanor LaMott, she's 105 years old today. Doesn't she look young? Spry? Hot? I'm gonna get me some of that. She can butter my toast any day. Whoa ho ho. Happy Birthday Eleanor."

Okay, he doesn't go that far, but I'm reading between the lines.  Moving on...

*Jenilyn Tolley joined my conversation just as I raised my hands up in the air and shouted "Eustacian tubes!" She promptly left.

*Amy Reall dropped her homemade pie, and then still served it:

It was delicious.

*Bree Despain called me a comment whore. I totally agree, but I'm not sure what it means. Like there's nothing I won't do for comments? Or I pay for comments? Or I get a lot of comments? At least it's a cool title. Brodi Ashton. Comment Whore.

*Shannon Hale said it's very easy to make fun of James Dashner, but not as easy to make fun of Brandon Mull because of the dimple in his chin.

*Someone said she hasn't gotten very far in a certain book because she only reads it on the toilet.

*Okay, that was me. The high point in my conversation-making skills.

So, what did y'all do this weekend? Anyone else signed up for WIFYR?

*corrected

Win a Signed Copy of The Dark Divine, My Favorite Writing Conference, and the Rafa-Agent Ted Connection

I'm giving away a signed copy of Bree Despain's THE DARK DIVINE today! All you need to do is comment, and answer a question. Find out at the bottom.

1. WIFYR Conference

One of the best writing conferences I've ever been to was the Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers down at BYU.

This year, the conference will be held June 14-18, but the location has changed (it's in Sandy) and registration is now up. Click here to register.

The lineup of faculty is illustrious, including BFF Emily Wing Smith teaching the beginning/intermediate writing class.

If you are writing a novel, or thinking about writing one, I would recommend her class with all my heart. (I happen to know many of the classes are filling up fast, and seating for the workshops is limited.)

I also know of several people who have found their agents and publishers at the conference.

2. Rafa and Ted: They're like twins

The Australian Open started this week, and y'all know what that means...

Tis the season for this:

...this too:

(Rafa, laughing hysterically)

But last week I found out about one of the downsides to blogging about Rafa too much. (There aren't that many downsides, so I was surprised I found even one).

Bree Despain and I were trying to find a picture of our agent "Ted" and so we put his full name in quotes and then Google-Imaged him. And up popped this:

(Rafa. Not Agent Ted.)

Updated: Real pic of Ted

I thought, "That's weird. When I type in my agent's name, I get my absolute favorite tennis player in the world and my (not so) secret crush." What are the chances?

And I suddenly had this sinking feeling, could this be something I caused? Have I somehow, in the far reaches of the interweb universe, connected the two? Talk about unprofessional behavior on my part.

Then I looked at the web site that popped up with the picture. It was Bree Despain's. Ha ha. Totally not my fault. Bree Despain has linked Rafa to agent Ted.

Best. Day. Ever.

And personally, I think both Rafa and Agent Ted would be honored.

3. So, to enter the contest:

Leave a comment and tell me anything embarrassing or inappropriate you've done over the internet. Comments that had you up at night? Pictures meant for someone's eyes only? Sent your agent a tiny microscopic version of your manuscript?

If you are one of the lucky few who has done nothing embarrassing on the internet, you can leave a comment about Rafa.

As long as the comment is not: "Rafa is a poser", because my brother in-law said that yesterday at lunch. And he hasn't been seen since.

The Maze Runner Winner... and Happy Birthday to Sam

1. And the Winner of the signed copy of James Dashner's MAZE RUNNER is...

Kayla

Email me (addy in sidebar) your address.

2. Okay, since I had no money to buy Sam a birthday present, bear with me on today's blog...

Dear Sam,

I was in college, dating lots of Bill’s and Joe’s and Steve’s (the names have been changed to protect the super-boring), and wondering if I would ever be slammed in love, or if it was something only read about in books. Like a Tale of Two Cities.

And then you slammed into me. Literally. In the hallway at school. I dropped my books and later my pretenses, and started writing really cheesy lines like, “I dropped my pretenses.” Gag.

It took you awhile to notice me. We were in the same class, but you sat on the other side of the room next to that Heather chick, the one with the giant silver cross necklace and the clear skin and the daring necklines.

I promise she never would’ve converted for you.

Then we became BFF’s, and I thought, “this is it”, but you totally asked that "Sue" chica to the Jazz game, and told me all about it afterward.

And oh yeah, there was that missionary you were writing…

I was a waitress at The Cowboy Grub, and you came in to eat and ordered steak - which is a little silly because the Grub is known for Mexican - and my friend and co-waitress said, “That’s the guy? I totally thought you’d go for someone more… GQ. He’s a little shlubby.”

I love how we still laugh about that.

Now we’re getting older and a little squidgy around the edges, and who knew we’d be so adamant about the rule of the “4 T’s of bedsheets”: (No Tenting, No Touching, No Tucking, No Twisting).

And sure I could go without:

-Your pack rat nature. (Seriously, you still have that Bart doll from the 1980’s? Are you kidding me? Remember that time I secretly threw it away, and you got it out of the garbage?)

-And your habit of singing songs that make no sense? (See: You dancing in the kitchen, singing “Shake shake shake… Shake shake shake… Shake Beckham’s Bottle. Shake Beckham’s bottle” to the tune of “Shake Your Booty”. )

-And your clothes that would scream early 90’s if they could, only they can’t because they are old and decrepit and lost their ability to scream decades ago.

I’ll admit, you did have your snaggle tooth filed down, in a most considerate move, but the gold fillings? Gold?

Ah, but then you understand how year after year I forget the exact date of our anniversary. (The 25th. Booyah.)

And you let me drag you up to Butt-Munch Idaho, ranking just above I’m-gonna-kill-myself-if-I-stay-here-one-minute-longer, Nebraska in the Fun Department, so I could try my hand at journalism.

And we both laugh about those movies that show the couple kissing first thing in the morning, because all we can think about is gross morning breath.

And we make fun of the newscasters and their dangling participles and faux-excitement. (“Is your water poisonous? Find out at Ten. If you’re still alive.”)

You allow me my crushes:

And I yours:

And no matter how many times we see “Shaun of the Dead” we still laugh our arses off.

I love that in a funny movie, you laugh the loudest of the entire theater, even though it’s totally embarrassing for me.

So what if you have a strange attachment to actual newspapers (we subscribe to two dailies), and Tab, and beef, and sports boards, and spandex jokes, and yelling, “Who’s yo Daddy?” You still laugh every time I answer, “Dennis Ashton.”

You didn’t kill me when I did this to your hair:

So what if the first time you met my dad, and he asked that Dad Question, “Sam, what are you going to do with your life?” and you said, “I don’t know. I like sports, so maybe there’s a way to like sports for a living.”

You stayed with my dad in the hospital while I went to his own mother’s viewing because he couldn’t make it. You got him out of the anesthesia and back to his home.

So I think my dad has completely forgotten about the time you told him, “Shakespeare is okay and all, but I prefer mysteries.”

You’ve always thought I could write, even when my words resembled alphabet soup puked onto the computer screen.

And now we’ve had to tighten our belts, and all I can give you is a bunch of words. You married me, and all you got was this lousy blog post. And your perfect evening:

Happy Birthday Sam.

Me. You. The boys. Against the World.

She Can't Bluff at Cards, Even when the Cards are the Size of my House

Happy MLK day, y'all.

Remember to enter my contest for a signed copy of James Dashner's The Maze Runner here. It's been so great to meet so many lurkers, so if you're a lurker, stop by and say hi.

This weekend, my entire family went to our condo up in Midway, Utah. We escaped the sludge they have the nerve to call "air" in Salt Lake City.

It was nice to have a break from the apple-corer we'd use up our noses to dig out the sludge that had collected there.

While we were at the store in Midway, my sister saw a big box of face cards. She said the condo needed a bunch of decks on hand, so she bought it.

Only it wasn't a big box of cards. It was a Box of Big Cards.

It's all in the semantics.

We played B.S., and little Necie had a difficult time managing such big cards while at the same time bluffing.

So she'd put down a card and say, "It's a four."

her dad: "We're not on fours. We're on fives."

"Okay, it's a five."

My sister can't bluff to save her life either. Every time she bluffed, her face looked like this:

(Nothing to see here)

When that wide-eyed innocent face didn't work, she tried for the super-distracted tactic. The one where she's so distracted by other stuff going on in the room, that she's just gonna throw down two 3's, without even thinking too hard about it. Trust her! She's too distracted to lie!

Only problem was, there was nothing else going on in the room.

Yeah, she ended up holding the entire deck of big-arse cards.

Today I'm off for a marathon writing day with The Six. What's everyone else up to? How was all y'all's weekend?