Why I let out a Blood-Curdling Scream Saturday Morning. Did you hear it?

So, Saturday morning, I wake up. 

Sam comes in my room and is all, "We can't find Kid C's iTouch. Can you help me?"

He looks at me, I look at him, as we do most mornings. 

me: "Sure, honey."

I go downstairs and start looking while Sam looks upstairs. After a few minutes, he calls down to me. I stand at the bottom of the stairs, he is at the top, and he tells me he found the iTouch. All the while, he is looking at me.

I come back upstairs, and go to the sink to brush my teeth. As I'm putting toothpaste on my toothbrush, Sam appears behind me. I turn around, and naturally, we look at each other. He says, "I'm off to work. See ya later."

I'm all, "Okay! See ya soon!"

He leaves and I turn back around to start brushing my teeth. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. And I scream.

On top of my head, nestled in my hair, is a giant brown spider. 

Hi Brodi! I love your hair.

So, the spider and I calmly have a conversation about my split ends, and he insists I shouldn't have been able to see him because he was deeply entrenched in my dark roots. 

Just kidding. There was no conversation. Unless you count my screaming and running outside, yelling for Sam. 

Me: "Sam! There's a spider on my head!"

He takes one look, and I see it on his face that he has indeed seen the spider. 

me: "Get it out! Get it out!"

Summoning up a buttload of courage, he digs his fingers under the spider, and flings it across the porch, along with only a few strands of my hair. 

Two things bother me about this whole situation:

First - no surprise - there was a spider in my hair. Not a small spider. A giant brown spider. This has resulted in more than one dream about spider eggs being laid on my scalp. For the rest of the day, about every five minutes, I would involuntarily scream and scrape my fingers through my hair.

Second, Sam talked to me three times. Three times! Face to face. And he didn't see the spider. 

Whereas, when I glanced in the mirror, it was the first thing I saw. I don't have a picture of me with the spider on my head, but I had to look something like this:

Sam was all, "Nice hair. So I have to go to work now. See ya."

And he didn't notice. 

I'm trying to rein in my anger, but when you have a spider on your head all morning, all you can think about is that there has to be someone to blame. 

And I blame Sam.

How about y'all? Anyone ever had a spider on their head? 

I can tell you this much: I'll never be the same again.

What do a door in L.A.'s Griffith Observatory and the Publishing Industry have in common?

Just when you think you've found a way in... you get this:

This picture is not a picture.

It's okay, though. That door was subjective. We queried another entrance and it turned out to be an actual entrance.

On the other hand, once you're "in" the publishing industry, you might run into this:

The restroom of doom in Venice Beach

I got locked in here. And the rest of my party had already started down the boardwalk. And trust me when I say the last place you want to be randomly pounding on a door, screaming like a crackhead, from inside the toilet, is Venice Beach. 

In the end, a nice man, with dreadlocks coming out of his armpits and an odor that had me writing home to mom, helped me out of my predicament.

He then proceeded to try to sell me his CD of reggae music. Which I of course bought. After I explained to him that he was white. I will buy anything from a stranger who breaks me out of the john.

That's my mission statement.

I have one more day of the WIFYR conference. I plan to have a wrap-up of all the awesome nuggets of wisdom for next week. 

So, what's everyone up to? Anyone else get trapped in a bathroom in Venice Beach? Or worse, anyone else querying right now? 

Happy Birthday Dad... May Your Chemo be Strong and your Hands Blister-Free

Today is my dad's birthday, and boy am I happy he's here.


It's his third birthday since being diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer the first time, and the fact that he's still here and going strong is a miracle.


The other day, at a soccer field on the top of the Laguna Hills, my nephews were looking for a goalie.


Boldly, my dad volunteered. He is literally half the man he used to be, and he made the large soccer net look even bigger.

No, that's not a pole in the center. That's my dad.

My sister warned the boys - one 12 and one 10 years old - to take it easy on my dad. But it's hard to rein it in when you're a young kid and your whole life has been soccer.

My younger nephew, Josh, started slow, but as Grandpa blocked shot after shot, he increased the power. Finally, he wound up and sent a zinger that he was sure would go in.

My dad reflected it. 

Josh stared at him, mouth agape. Then, with a hand on his hip, he said, "Grandpa, are you sure you have cancer?"

Last Saturday night, my dad's pediatric practice - which he started from the ground up -held a retirement party for my dad. We were a little worried the scene would turn emotional. Thankfully, my dad placated our fears by donning a superman t-shirt and a visor complete with a full head of gray hair sticking out.

He bought the ensemble at Venice Beach.

My dad at his retirement party. Never was known for his fashion sense.

He said Pediatricians don't retire. They simply morph into their superhero alter-egos permanently. 


Recently I watched him conquer a full week with six grandkids, neverending games of beach smash ball and topsy-turvy rides at Disneyland. Knowing how the chemo ravages both his innards and outards with equal ferocity, I couldn't help but think he's already a superhero. 


Happy Birthday Dad. Here's to many more. 

My California Adventure: including Kid B's pigeon impersonation and the scariest gang at Muscle Beach

Hey y'all! I'm back. Sorry for the blog silence on Friday. We decided to make the drive from Dana Point, CA to Salt Lake City in one day, and it was 11 hours in the car. 700 miles.

Yep, that's kid C watching a movie on the computer and Kid B watching the car's dvd. Because apparently the earth would stop rotating if the two of them actually agreed on a movie. What do people do with three kids?

Anywho, it's time for a...

RUNDOWN OF THE TRIP! (Dun Dun DUN) *cue timpani drums*

Grab your snacks now, because this is gonna be long.

We... played at the beach.

Kid C running for his life

 

Kid C thought the "Watch out for rocks" sign at the beach really said, "See how many secret places on your person in which you can hide sand!" He's still sneezing the stuff.

Kid B preferred one degree of separation between him and the water. He would put a sand dolphin on the beach, and then patiently wait for the water to wash it away.

Kid B: Daring the water to get any closer. Just cross this line.

Every once in a while, the water took the challenge.

My nephews Josh and 4-year-old Asher played smashball. It only took them two hour to smash their record. Which was one in a row.

Why is the ball so tiny?!

We also invaded the famed Muscle Beach at Venice Beach. The reason why the gym is empty in the pic is because this pack of hoodlums threw down the gauntlet and the girlie men ran away. Actually we just told them there was a sale on "Juice" down the block. We meant orange juice.

the gang, imposing their lack of muscles, and flexing the fleshy part of their elbows.

We also fed the birds. Because everyone knows the pigeon population is endangered.

Kid B does his pigeon impersonation. He made a buck-25 in change from passers-by who thought he was a pigeon, but then were delighted to discover he was a boy.

Here he is, about to take off.

Venice beach also had the nerve to charge 20 bucks for these Luigi and Yoshi backpacks. Good thing we're not suckers.

These so-called "backpacks" fit all of two quarters inside. Which we had to give the woman selling the backpacks. For "insurance".

Next up was the happiest place on earth: The Lines at Disneyland!

We made the kids wear matching shirts. Because we didn't want to look like tourists.

Kid B and Asher: Thinking to themselves: "Does everyone realize the street behind us is fake? Seriously, adults. It's a wall. A painted wall. Did we pay money for this?"

At one point, we told Kid B he was in charge of crowd control. He actually believes he's leading these people.

Follow me, my people. I shall lead you to the promised land: the Fastpass lane.

Speaking of Fastpasses, I rocked them. Seriously. Check out this stack.

If my writing career ever falls through, I'm going to become a freelance Disneyland guide.

How do I get so many passes at once? It's all in the wrist.

I know it's called Splash Mountain, but why do we have to get so wet?

Check out Kid B's expression. It's like he's too terrified to scream.

I was soaked after this ride, and all I could think about was how many places that water had been. And how many people it had touched before me.

Okay, this post is getting too long. I'll leave you with this hangman board from our game with Kid C. The clues we gave were:

1. Villain

2. Star Wars

3. The villain from Star Wars.

Kid C never got it. Anyone out there have any guesses?

This week I'm going to the world's best writing conference WIFYR. Pronounced Why-Fer. Hope to see some of you there!

NYC Part #2: Where Emily looks crazy on a subway, and Bree runs off with a banana

Hey y'all.


Today, we're heading to Venice Beach. I've never been there, but I hear it's where Muscle Beach is. This is very exciting.


But on to the rundown of my New York trip!


We conquered Broadway, with viewings of Jersey Boys and Wicked.

Emily Wing Smith, Bree Despain and me.

We ate lots of awesome food.

Here we are at Katz's Delicatessen, home of that famous scene from When Harry Met Sally. You know... the one where Sally does the... thing... and that woman says, "I'll have what she's having." Which was a pastrami sandwich. 

Our hotel was near Times Square, so we were there a lot. Below, you can see we asked Stevie Wonder to take our picture. 

iPhone cameras are hard to work.

Bree and I went to the Harry Potter exhibit. We must've gone at a slow time, because we were the only ones in line. I think they were expecting more people to come, because we had to stand in line a long time waiting for them to let us in to the exhibit.

Here's Bree, standing in line. That's how she looks when she's waiting. She struck that pose the entire time.

But no one else came. So they finally let the two of us into this large room with a stage. On the stage was a guy with a fake British accent, standing next to a chair with a hat. The guy and his accent were all, "Who in the audience would like to be sorted by the sorting hat?"


Bree and I looked at each other. We were the only ones in the "audience".


Guy: "Any volunteers?"


us: "..."


Because, when you only have two people, do they really need to be sorted?


Eventually we both took our turns with the sorting hat. We ended up in Gryffindor. We must've been stout of heart.


Emily Wing Smith did a fantastic job at her reading. 

She had to practice on the Subway ride to make sure it timed out right. 

Here's Emily reading out loud. Just for fun, Bree and I took turns acting like she was crazy, and then slowly moving away. 

In between the readings, David Levithan would stand up and read from an educational sex magazine.

David Levithan, describing how boys and girls have different parts. 

That is not a joke. He really did read from the sex magazine.. Somehow, it fit the evening events, but now that I'm telling about it, I can't make it make sense.


I also got to meet with my awesome editor Kristin Daly Rens, as well as Emily from HarperCollins marketing and Allison from publicity. I presented them with a "Mormon Cookbook", and said, in a solemn voice and a bowed head, "This is a gift from my people."

I shouldn't have said it so formally, because they began to gingerly leaf through the pages of casseroles and jello, taking care not to bend the spine, and promising to do right by these hallowed recipes. 


I quickly clarified that I don't actually cook, and that despite what they've heard, these casserole recipes are not actually scripture, so they can feel free to abuse the book without offending anyone.


The rest of my pictures feature only Bree and Emily, because I'd often take out my camera and give a quick, "Smile, girls."


The result is what looks like a series of engagement pictures for them. 


Here's the happy couple, after the official announcement, celebrating at John's Pizzeria.

Each of us - a half - incomplete
together we are as one…
in this there shall be joy.

Look how daintily they ingest their BBQ from Will's Barbecue...

Each hour, each day, each year
We grow as two, yet as one,
We grow apart, yet together
Forming an eternal love

Here they are, under the famous Katz's Delicatessen sign. The world is their oyster!

Love turns
one person into two
and two into one

But, at times, even though they were smiling on the outside, I sensed a restlessness developing...

The most joyous of occasions
Is the union of man and woman
In celebration of life…

Eventually, it came to a boiling point, when I clandestinely snapped this picture of Bree with another man (Robbie, Boy With Books) and... a giant banana.

Three hearts
that beat
as one…

It's okay, though. Emily found someone else too:

Strangely, the "I Feel Lucky" button on Picasa wasn't so lucky this time.

And of course, in the end, the cow ran away with the spoon.

Okay, I just went to Google "Cow ran away with the spoon" to get a picture of the cow and the spoon together, but it turns out it was the dish who ran away with the spoon. 

What the what? Am I the only one who always remembered it as the Cow running away with the spoon? I'm a little disappointed. Here I thought the poem was being all progressive with a mammalian-flatware relationship. Now it turns out the spoon ended up with a plate. This is a little too normal for me. 

So I jotted down the version of the poem as I remember it, and here it is:

Hey diddle diddle,

The cat ate the fiddle

the cow jumped over the moon

Little Bo Peep lost her sheep,

And the cow ran away with the spoon.

I know now that there are many things wrong with my version, not the least of which is that Little Bo Peep doesn't belong there with her sheep, and any cow who jumped over the moon would be way too tired to run away with a spoon. 

And yes, the cat eats the fiddle in my version, but I ask you, how is that so much weirder than a cat who plays the fiddle?

Ohmyheck. Have I really spent this entire blog discussing Hey Diddle Diddle? What is my problem? 

So much for progress. This blog is so long! Take a few days, digest the entire thing, and then let me know what you think. 


Did anyone else have the cow and the spoon together?

NYC Part #1, a.k.a. Why we asked the Front Desk if we could Smell a Hotel Room

By the time you read this, I'll be in Disneyland. Next to a kid. Who will probably be puking his guts out. 


But before I regale you with tales from SoCal, I have to catch you up with tales of the Garden of the NorEast. Is that how the people "in the know" refer to New York City? Or did that homeless guy on the corner of 41st and 6th Ave steer me wrong? He also sold me tickets to the hottest, newest Broadway show called How To Succeed at the Book of Mormon Without Really Trying... Wickedly.


We couldn't ever find the theater. I think we were had.


Our first night there, we met up with a lovely bunch of bloggers, left over from BEA. (Book Expo America).   

Book Bloggers: Stacey (Pageturners) , Emily (Em's Reading Room), Emily Wing Smith (author), me, Lynsey, Pixie (Pageturners), Bree Despain (author) and Waste Paper Prose's Sara. 

This was also our first attempt to find the Perfect Cupcake. We attempted this feat several times. A day. It was a challenge. But our muffin-tops were up to the task!

This was my plate.

New York was hot. And not "hawt", but hot and muggy. And boy does New York get muggy, which is okay because when I sweat, I look like this:

It's weird too, because I started out in jeans and a t-shirt.

Our hotel room had a slight mildew smell to it, so we called down to the desk to see if we could get another room.


Desk guy: "We do have an extra room. On the 30th floor. Do you want it?"


me (after deliberating with Bree and Emily for a few minutes): "Can we smell it before we commit?"


This seemed to be a reasonable request.


A guy named Juan escorts us to the 30th floor, so we can run a test smell. But when we get to the door, it only opens an inch before the security bar inside the room catches. 


Juan knocks softly. "Danielle? We are coming in..." he whispers.


The three of us exchange glances. 


Juan waits for a moment, then unlocks the door again. This time, it opens all the way. He ushers us in, and then rushes in to smooth out a few wrinkles in one of the beds. 


The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar. 


Juan: "So, how does it smell?"


We're all looking at each other like, "Silly Juan. Who cares how it smells? What we all want to know is, who is Danielle, and why is she hiding somewhere in the room?"


Juan notices a few items on the welcome desk askew and wordlessly rearranges them. 


Juan: "What do you think? You want to trade?"


But we are at a loss for words. Namely because:


1. A mysterious woman named Danielle is still hiding out somewhere in the room. Under the bed? In the bathtub? Who knows?


2. Juan has a thick accent. He may have said Daniel. A random man hiding out in the room sounds even worse.


3. What is Danielle doing in there? Why are the sheets rustled? Is this a party room, for "friends" of the employees?


Juan: "Yes or no?"


We all just sort of shook our heads. "No. Um... thanks for letting us smell." I have to say, the ride back down in the elevator, alone with Juan, was a little awkward.


Surprisingly, "smelling a room" was not our strangest request. We also asked for a needle, some rubbing alcohol, and something that could be used to puncture skin. We asked for these on three separate occasions to aid in the extraction of an infected taste bud, a bulging foot blister, and a ripe lip zit. 


I know what you're thinking: "An infected taste bud, a foot blister, and a lip zit? Why wasn't I invited?"


I know what else you're thinking: "She goes to New York City, and all she can blog about is how she got to smell a room?"


I wanna know what you think. Who was the woman? Was it the make out room? You might be tempted to say she was cleaning the room, but then why was it locked? And why did she hide?


I promise I'll have more stories and pictures later. But I have to run to Disneyland. *Dons cape* *Jumps out window* 

This one time, in New York, Rosie O'Donnell, The Jimmer and I took a plane...

Hey, bloggerland. Long time, no see!

So, I get on the plane from NYC to SLC yesterday, and guess who's sitting two rows behind me? 

The Jimmer. Jimmer Fredette. 

You know, this guy:

The Jimmer. Can also be used as a verb. As in "You got Jimmered."

Apparently he's the best college basketball player in the nation. How do I know this? Because the guy next to me asked for his autograph, and then the guy next to him says, "Who is it?" and the original autograph-asker was all, "It's only the best college basketball player in the nation!"

After which, the guy who didn't know the Jimmer proceeded to tell the Jimmer how he was the best basketball player in his own high school, and he still held the record for some sort of statistic, and wasn't the Jimmer impressed?

The Jimmer was impressed.

Don't believe he was really on my plane? Well, I have the photographic evidence:

The Jimmer is The Guy on the left. Coming off my plane. I took this picture clandestinely. No one even knew I was taking a picture... except maybe the guy on the right, who is staring straight at me. 

And guess who else was on the flight? Maybe the title of the post gave it away, but here she is, the lovely Rosie O'Donnell.

Don't believe that's Rosie? I understand. Bree Despain didn't believe me either. So a little while later, I waited for her to turn her face to me... and voila. Here she is.

Doesn't she look great, even after a 5 hour flight? 

Okay, so I'm planning on blogging all about the epic NYC trip, which involved a daily hunt for cupcakes, two broadway shows, blistering heat and humidity, and a tiny dog named Hogi. 

But as for now, I have to pack my bags. Cuz we're leaving for SoCal. Because summer isn't summer unless you hit both coasts in a two week time span. Right?


*added: It really was Rosie O'Donnell. I just could never get a clear shot!