Thing About Me #17, and Naked Mondays

Favorite moment from this week so far:

Kid C came home from school with his shirt off. Tried to convince me Mondays were “Naked Day” at school.

Biggest Brain Dead Moment:

I had to read this headline from the newspaper about 100 times before the sentence sounded right.

“Gmail Outage Deprives Millions of Email”

Anyone else?

One More Notch in the Longest 25 Things About Me Tag in the World.

Since we have a lot of new blog readers, I thought we should make some headway in the “Longest 25 Things about me Tag in the History of the World.”

We are on #17. Here’s a recap for the newbies. (I’ve never consolidated the list before. Looking at it, I wonder why I even bother.)

1-16:

1. I'm a girl.

2. I'm a dork

3. I skipped this one, because I had to brush my teeth.

4. I skipped this one, because I was coming back from brushing my teeth.

5. I beat up Sam in his sleep.

6. Wooo Hoo! Only 845 more to go!

7. I pee, like, 15 times before I go to bed.

8. I'm a hypochondriac.

9. Really, number 8 should count for two, because it's such a big part of my life.

10. I have a very paranoid relationship with food in my fridge.

I found this meat in my freezer on Monday. Date: November 2005. 2005. 2005.

11. I talk to signs. I get angry at them.

12. Ummm…

13. Walked out of “I love you, Man” because I was offended. Saw “Watchmen” instead.

14. Spring forward to #15, for daylight savings.

15. Let me know if we’re in a fight. Otherwise, I’ll never know.

16. I like to drain pus.

Wow. Lame.

Observations from the list so far:
a. I’m not very likable.
b. I’m not very creative.
c. I’m incredibly lazy.
d. I’m kinda gross.

Moving on…
Thing about me #17

My brain is unable to process things, like details.

I know some of you are thinking, “If it can’t process details, WTH does it do?” Which is a very good question. One for a later post.

My friends know this about me, and often say things like, “Don’t worry, I’ll send you an email about it later.”

Segue: Anywho, my good friend Cath has 5 kids ages 4 and under.

Let me repeat. FIVE KIDS ages FOUR AND UNDER!

This wrinkle in the universe was made possible by two sets of twins (2 year olds and newborns).

I’ve been meaning to do something for her for like, forever. But I suck. So after three months of prompting myself, I finally made the effort.

I decided to go to Costco, and pick up whatever she needed. Because I can always find something I need at Costco.

I stopped by, and she told me she needed bacon. Because what young mother doesn’t?

I go to Costco. Find a few baubles for myself. Two hundred dollars later, I’m on my way back to Cath’s house.

2 blocks away, as I’m twisting around so I can pat myself on the back, I make a sinking realization.

No bacon.

All she asked for was bacon. I went to Costco specifically to get the bacon for her. Spent 200 dollars. Forgot the Rakkin Frakkin bacon!

I would’ve gone back, but my warped psyche will not allow me to go shopping twice in one day. (That should totally be #18. I hate shopping!)

Sorry, Cath. We’ll try it again next week, shall we?

Friday Preview: I have way too many books, most of them autographed. So, starting Friday, we will have weekly blog contests. Stay tuned!

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Book Giveaway Contest Winners... and Thing About Me #16

First off, a shout out to author Sarah Burningham from Harper Studio Publishers in NY, for listing my blog as one she visits for a laugh. Shhh, everyone act natural, and put on your best "New-York-hip-dressed-in-black-with-a-side-of-Big-Apple-Pizza" so she'll feel welcome. (Her book BOYOLOGY just hit shelves. If you have teenagers, check it out.)

Contest Winners for the Gigantic Signed Book Giveaway:
Smokey dressed up for the occasion of drawing names, but he had to give me the winners over the phone, due to a previous speaking engagement of his. I'm just happy he found the time in between modeling gigs for Purina Cat Chow.

Twitter Contest
1. CyntheaLiu
2. Writing Hannah
3. Steve Weber

Link Contest
1. Shellie
2. Ruth
3. Everead.

Congratulations! Please email me your mailing addresses at brosam (at) gmail (dot) com.

THE LONGEST 25 THINGS ABOUT ME TAG

We are into, I believe, month 3 of the 25 things about me tag. It's gotta be a record or something, right? Shouldn't there be a reward?

Thing about me #16: I love to pick and drain.

I only thought of this because the other day, we were discussing stress dreams.
You know, the ones where you're a waitress, and you can't read your own handwriting, and your uniform is a pair of overalls (because you work at a place called Cowboy Grub), and you forgot to wear a shirt under your overalls, so you're trying to strategically place the straps just right, all the while explaining to the retired folk at Table 3 exactly where the meat in the "Best of the Bull" dish comes from?

"Best of the Bull"

Okay, maybe it's just me.

All of my stress dreams are about nude waitressing. Always. Except for the ones where I'm on Broadway, and I can't remember my lines. And I'm a man. Only I can't find my man parts. (Which, I guess really means I'm dreaming I'm a woman. I don't know. Psychology majors out there?)

Stress dreams have nothing to do with my THING #16. So I should probably just erase the above. But I'm not gonna. Cuz that's how I roll.

Thing #16 has to do with my calm, relaxing dreams. And this is where it gets a little gross. (I know, you thought it couldn't get grosser than the Bull Testicles dish. We really did serve it when I worked at The Cowboy Grub. Because that's what you serve at Cowboy-themed restaurants.)

I digress. In my happiest dreams, when life is rather balanced, I dream about Drainage. I love to drain. Okay, I can already tell this is going to be too yuk for the blog, but it's late, and I no longer have a choice, because I have to go whack my hair.

so
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

I dream about removing giant wax plugs from my ears. Squeezing that zit. Scratching that scab. Even hocking logies.

NOT A DREAM
Neighbor A came over to my house one day to show me a cut on her leg. It had become infected, the skin pulled tight, a faint white color under the tissue. I told her it had to be drained.

She didn't believe me. I think because my reaction scared her. I basically ran at her leg with the garden shears, saying, "It'll feel better, and we'll both be happy! Trust me!"

The Instacare ended up draining it and, unfortunately, they didn't have an observation room with a two-way mirror so I could watch. Neighbor A did feel better, and she admitted I was right. But that doesn't make up for my loss. It's not like she could go out and cut her leg again and shove some dirt in the wound just to make me feel better. Unless the preceding sentence gives her some ideas...

Speaking of drainage (which 9 times out of 10, I am) poor little Niece E (not to be confused with her twin sister, Niece E) suffers from an affliction I like to call "Ape Arms". It's where your arms must be an inch too long, because you keep knocking things off of shelves and whacking bystanders in the face. (To clarify, not that they look too long, just that they keep getting caught in doors and stuff).

I know this, because I, too, suffer from a severe case of "Ape Arms". So I was totally empathetic when Niece E slammed her pointer finger in a door, and had to have the resulting ball of pus on the end of her finger drained.

Now, one smashed finger may not be a definitive sign of "Ape Arms", but a couple of days later, when she slammed her middle finger into another door, and had to have that finger drained as well (through the top of the nail. Ewww) the diagnosis was complete.

I had to take a picture, but it really doesn't do it justice, because I took it with my iPhone. The old one, not the new one.

Yep. Ape Arms. She might as well just cut her fingers off, and save a lifetime of bruises.

Oh, to be a doctor in the age of boils.

And just so you know, I found a really cool video of pus being drained from a leg, but I refrained from posting it. I must be growing. Email me if you want the link.

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Thing About Me #15: Let me know if we're in a fight...

The other day, my brother-in-law picked me up a Star Trek glass from Burger King. I don't really think he considered the ramifications of such an action.

At Sunday dinner, sis-in-law E started shouting the names of the Star Trek shows, and all their incarnations, to prove she deserved the glass.

Other sis-in-law E started planning trips to Burger Kings across the valley, saying I didn't deserve the glass, and to accept such a gift would be admitting I was a Trekkie.

I finally concluded we were all losers.

THING ABOUT ME #13

Wait, are we on 13 or 14?

Okay, thing about me number 15, continuing the longest 25 thingies about me tag.

15. I don't know if there's a word for it. What do you call someone who sees a toddler in the middle of the street, no adult around, and thinks everything's probably fine with that picture. Because if there was a problem, someone somewhere would surely grab the toddler out of harm's way. I'm hungry. What's for lunch? Why does my ear itch?

That's the affliction I have.

So the other day I was helping my sister move. Just me and her. We were in the middle of packing the moving truck when she had to leave suddenly to go to her new house and pay the blind guy. (Guy who installs blinds. Not sight-challenged guy.)

My sister leaves, and I'm in the front yard alone.

Her next door neighbor comes over, says hi to me, how's it goin', that sort of stuff.

Then she goes inside the house to find my sister.

And I just watch her go inside. She's calling to my sister. Wandering about, looking for her.

And I go back to packing.

After a while, the neighbor comes out. She says, "Do you know where Erin is?"

me: "Um, yeah. She's not here. She left a little while ago."

She looks at me for a moment. It finally hits me.

me: "Which, I guess I should have mentioned before you went wandering through the house, calling for her."

I have a friend -- Friend A , a.k.a. Aunt S -- who laughs about this sort of attribute of mine. She discovered it when she said to me one day, "I'm so glad we were able to get over that whole Eden fiasco."

me: "Um, what Eden fiasco?"

A: "You know, when we had that disastrous weekend with our two families in Eden, and you left in a huff because you were all mad about something?"

me: "I remember the weekend, but I had fun."

A: "No, you didn't. I only saw the exhaust pipe as you and Sam peeled out of the parking lot."

me: "That's not how I remember it..."

A: "Then how do you account for the fact that we didn't speak to each other for over four months?"

me (shocked): "We didn't speak for four months?"

A: "Even my husband [who is arguably the nicest man on the face of the planet] said you must have hated me."

me: "Wow. I'm sorry."

A: "Why are you sorry? You didn't even know we were in a fight."

me: "Um, so are we done fighting now?"

A: "Yes."

me: "Good. I'm glad we resolved the issue."

I wish this was just an isolated incident, but it's not. Friend R says I'm like a man in this respect. I didn't really take it as a compliment.

So, what is the word for it? Inattentive? Clueless? Male?

Please, if any of you reading this are in a fight with me, leave a comment. Let me know the situation, and if I need to apologize.

And if we are not on speaking terms, then the comments section is the perfect place to start the healing process. But first, let me know we are not speaking.

Have a great Memorial Day Weekend. Are you going anywhere? I'm helping my sister lay sod and then I may see this cool new movie. See y'all Wednesday.


Trekkies Bash New Star Trek Film As 'Fun, Watchable'

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Thing About Me #13, and more Free Books.

Thing # 13
(In the longest "25 things about me" tag in the history of the universe):

13. I walked out of the movie "I Love You, Man."

You know, the comedy with Paul Rudd and... that other guy?

I haven't walked out of a movie in years. Perhaps decades.

But I walked out of this one.

You know that uncomfortable humor? Like, in The Office? Especially the British version? I can handle The Office.

But for some reason, the pure pathetic factor of Paul Rudd in this movie made me cringe. I was covering my eyes and plugging my ears when everyone else in the theater was laughing.

Sam was puking his guts out, he was laughing so hard. And that was during the scene where Paul Rudd pukes his guts out.

That scene was the last straw. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want to make Sam leave, so I told him to stay and I would wander about and find another movie to sneak into.

Once in the hallway, I perused the possibilities:

1. Marley and Me (Nope. I can't handle the death of dogs.)
2. Duplicity (Nada. If Clive Owen is gonna have anyone, it's gonna be me.)
3. Slumdog Millionaire (No way. I can't stand to see endangered children.)
4. Watchmen (Hmmm... Rated R for strong graphic violence, sexuality, nudity-- mostly by a naked blue man -- and language.)

So, Sam gets out of his movie.

Sam: "Sorry, honey. I didn't know I Love You Man was going to be so disturbing."

me: "That's okay. It's just that there's only so much I can take."

Sam: "What movie did you end up going to?"

me: "Watchmen."

Sam (raising one eyebrow, if he could): "What is wrong with you? You walk out of one movie, because it's uncomfortable, and instead you go see Watchmen?"

me (shaking my head): "I know. I have no idea what's wrong with me. All of the other ones looked too offensive to me."

Sam: "Like Marley and Me?"

me: "Don't even pretend that dog doesn't die at the end. Who would want to watch that? Give me a post-apocalyptic dystopian universe any day over a dead dog."

There's gotta be a screw loose. Somewhere. Seriously, what is wrong with me?

CONTEST TIME
Three Books to Give Away

1. For Lurkers: Any lurkers out there? Time to De-Lurk! (You can de-lurk by leaving a comment and becoming a follower). Then you get a free YA book of your choosing.

2. For Lurkers: Want a signed copy of Far World: Water Keep by J. Scott Savage? I have one for the second de-lurker. Hardcover.

3. For regulars: For you non-de-lurkers, anyone who convinces one brave soul to publicly "follow" my blog gets entered into a drawing to win an autographed copy of The 13th Reality by James Dashner.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Dashner Dude, he is huge. And his hunger-games-ish trilogy comes out this fall with the first book THE MAZE RUNNER.

So he's huge now, and he's going to be even huger. More huge. Bigger.

Easy Peezy, right? And don't be scared to de-lurk. We're all very nice here. Although Cam can be a little iffy (I kid! She just speaks her mind, especially when she questions my dork factor). And Erin is quite snarky. (She's my sister, so it's okay). But really, they're harmless.

And, I know you lurkers are out there. Come on in. Don't make me name names. Kent. Just kidding.

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My First Autograph... and a Day at the Mosque

Yesterday we went to the Badshahi Mosque and the Lahore Fort. These were the places I was most anticipating, and also the places I most wanted to fit in.

We started off at the Lahore Fort- a palace of sorts built when the Islamic Republic of Pakistan used to be a kingdom.

As you can see, I dressed the part. I wore a traditional shirt and shawl. But that did nothing to hide my complete American-ness.

(Olfat: our driver, me, Amra, Ahmed, Umer, and the Major: our Security)

Our entourage didn't make us any less conspicuous, considering most of them dressed in traditional western garb. In fact, besides my good friend Amra, I was the only one trying to look like a Pakistani. And failing miserably.

Shortly after we began our tour, we noticed the extreme attention our little group was receiving. The expressions ranged from curious to friendly to downright excited.

People began to follow our little group along on the tour, waving and smiling as we went. It even got to the point where some of the more adventurous spectators approached our escorts, asking if they could take a picture with us.

The climax was this darling Pakistani girl who came up to me with a notebook and pen, and shyly asked for my autograph. I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't worth anything!

Our next stop was the Badshahi Mosque- the fourth largest behind Mecca, Faisal (in Islamabad) and another one (I'm trying to remember).

Once within its walls, the women are asked to cover their heads as a sign of respect, and everyone must take their shoes off. (Which made walking on the red stone in 100 degree temps a little difficult).

Amra and me in the Mosque

This cute little girl had been following me, staring wide-eyed at my hair.

At one point, I wasn't paying attention, and one of our guides told me to go stand in the corner and face the wall. I assumed this is what the muslim women were supposed to do in this particular room, so I quickly obeyed. (Not wanting to offend). I thought this was very strange, because I know a tiny bit about the Islamic religion, and I couldn't remember any part where the women are forced to stand in a corner, facing the wall.

Me, being dumb.

A couple moments later, I could hear a voice coming to me from above. No, it was not a prophet. It was my friend Amra, who was standing in the opposite corner. I finally realized it was an Echo chamber, and that's why they made me stand in the corner- so Amra and I could hear each other talk. Yeah, I felt very Christian at that moment.

Since it's one a.m., I'll leave you with these pictures and blog more later. I find this country fascinating and the people kind and inviting.

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Cowpies and Brain Masala

Howdy Y'all! We are living quite comfortably in sunny Pakistan. It's only April, and the temperature is hovering around 100 degrees. But it's a dry heat.

Yesterday we drove down to visit Sam's dairy farm, and I finally got to meet the bovine harem. They are all lovely women. Whoops, I mean cows.

The drive took about an hour and a half, and let me just say I finally got a taste of how it is to live dangerously. On the main road (the GT, that goes from Islamabad up north all the way through Pakistan to Karachi in the south) cars share space with giant decorated buses, mopeds, rickshaws, and donkeys pulling carts.



It is truly a spectacle. On one moped, I saw a father, a mother holding a 3 month old baby, and two young children, maybe 4 and 2 years old. Five people on a moped. They definitely understand about conservation.










It's considered good form to honk your horn constantly, politely letting the slow guy in front of you know that if he doesn't move out of the way soon, our car will courteously ram him off the road. In fact, it's rude if you don't honk.

This is what happens when you don't move out of the way fast enough.

Most of the time, I just closed my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts


On the sides of many homes (like the one pictured below), the people throw, um, cowpies on the wall. When the sun dries them out, they use the pies to burn for fuel. See? Conservation.












For the day, I was provided my own "lady-in-waiting" Saira. She was a delight to be around, and she was so beautiful, I felt incredibly underdressed and unworthy, and so I often asked her if I could get her anything. She became a fast friend.

At the dairy farm, our car was met with salutes from the security team, and when I got out of the car, the farm team was lined up, waiting to give me a bouquet of flowers. Again, I felt extremely welcome, and underdressed.
I got to plant a tree in my name, and then I watered it.





But of course, being completely plant-illiterate, I drowned the poor little dear. So the plaque saying "Mrs. Brodi planted a tree" will probably be replaced by a little tombstone saying "Mrs. Brodi murdered a tree. Right here in this very spot. May the tree rest in peace, and may Mrs. Brodi stay in her own country."





There was a little cafe of sorts for the workers, where a man would bake roti (kind of like wheat tortilla) in a tandoor. I can only imagine how tough his job will be in the summer, when the temps reach 120 degrees. I could barely stand within five feet of the oven.




This is a picture of a little square clay hut, where a family lives. We would see these often along the side of the road on the way.





Today, Saira and I are going shopping, and she's going to try to help me with my fashion sense (Pakistani, and even American). Everyone I've met so far has been so kind and nice and good. I can already tell my trip is going to go by way too fast. The only bad part has been the jet lag. It feels like I have the flu or something and around 3:00 in the morning, I have a sudden craving for a roasted chicken. But I'm guessing that's how everyone deals with jet lag, right?

Favorite menu item so far: brain masala. Yes, it's exactly how it sounds.

Favorite conversation: When Sam tried to order a hamburger.

waiter: "No, sir, we don't have hamburger."

Sam: "I promise, I've had hamburgers here before. Like, all the time."

waiter: "No. No hamburger. Ever."

awkward pause.

waiter: "We do have beef burger. Perhaps you would like that?"

I mean, he has a good point. Where did we come up with "hamburger" when there isn't any actual ham in said burger?

Due to internet glitches, the comments are off right now, but I know you would all express a desire to be here, right?

Blog y'all later.

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We're Finally in Pakistan: the Capital of Romance... isn't it?

Well, we're finally here. In Pakistan.

36 hours on a plane.

When Sam used to complain about the flight, I'd to say things to him like: "You should consider yourself lucky. 36 hours, all to yourself, no pressure to exercise, no screaming kids. It's like the perfect way to spend 36 hours, while I'm at home taking care of the kids. By myself."

Wanna know what I think now? I was totally right! Once we were on Singapore airlines, it was like a party in the sky. Of course, that may have been because of the... um... anti-anxiety medications I took. I won't tell you the exact name of the pill, but it rhymes with "shmalium."

I thought it would be safer for everyone concerned if I took shmalium, as opposed to me doing one of the following:
1. Spontaneously combusting
2. Shaking uncontrollably
3. Jumping out the window

My favorite thing said to me on the trip so far: (Spoken by the Pakistani-American guy from L.A. who was going home to visit family):

"Isn't it cool? Within a mere few hours, you leave the safest country in the world and arrive at the most dangerous." He also mentioned how Pakistan gets a raw deal in the media, and I believe he is right.

He also was traveling with an American friend who had never been to Pakistan. The friend decided to grow a beard before the trip to better blend in. So bearing that in mind, I have decided that the entire time I'm here, I'm not shaving. Not even my sideburns. In no time, I will blend right in as well.

Upon exiting the airport, we found ourselves among a throng of hundreds of Pakistani's, many (if not most) in traditional garb. I felt very very blond. I didn't get a chance to take pictures, because the last thing I wanted to do is look very very blond and look like a tourist too. So I will get pics today and tomorrow to post.

I woke up this morning to Sam asking me this question: "Holy cow, Bro. Do you wanna see the awesomest toenail ever?"

No matter the country, some things never change.

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I'M LEAVING ON A JET PLANE... and ANOTHER CONTEST WEEEEENER

Announcing the winner of the autographed copy of Sydney Salter’s My Big Nose and Other Natural disasters…

Kim Woodruff! Please email me your address so I can mail you your book.

Thank you to everyone who provided a question for Sydney. More contests coming up.

AND THIS IS WHY I SHOULDN'T PLAY WITH MATCHES

The other night I was lighting our gas fireplace with one of those long matches. When I struck the match, the head popped off and flew down my shirt, nestling snugly in my cleavage. This makes it sound like I was showing a lot of cleavage, which of course I was not. The match head flew with that perfect one-in-a-million trajectory to land there.

I always seem to beat the odds when it involves personal injury.

You know how there’s that moment, just after striking a match, when the head ignites and it sounds all sizzly? Yeah, so that happened. In my cleavage.

I was screaming, and running around our living room, clawing at my shirt, yelling, “It burns! It burns!”

And Sam had the nerve to laugh.

So I took another match, shoved it down his cleavage, and dared him to light it.

CONFRONTING THE OTHER WOMEN IN SAM’S LIFE

I’m finally going to meet Sam’s other women. He has hundreds of them, and the rumor is they’re a bunch of cows.

Yep, I’m going to Pakistan on Monday. (Did I mention Sam builds dairies in Pakistan?) I’m leaving Monday, which means I’ll actually arrive in Pakistan sometime next year.

I think it's 36 hours by plane, so I plan on having Sam club me over the head just after takeoff.

I’ve been doing my research, and I hear it’s the new vacay spot for flashy celebrities, so I’m bringing my flowered mu-mu and my camera, in case I run into the Jolie-Pitts trying to steal some kids.

But I also plan on laying low - it is, after all, Pakistan - so I’m bringing my trenchcoat to wear over my mu-mu. A cowboy hat will top off the ensemble. And my parasol made out of the American flag.

Hopefully, my outbreak of “spontaneous awkward-hug-itis” will have run its course by then. I’ve heard rumors of some sort of cultural divide between our two nations.

I will definitely blog from what is literally the other side of the world. Wish me luck! Or as they say in Pakistan, “Auf Wiedersehen, suckahs!”

If you’re wondering where I got my cultural savvy, it was from the Internetz of course.

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