THE VOICES IN MY HEAD ARE BACK, THANK GOODNESS

I saw this cartoon, and it reminded me of the aliens in my book:


Mood Status: Still in the crapper, but benefiting from the subtle warmth of the promise of Spring. (I know. First half of the sentence, gross. Second half, poetic, right?)

Writing ability status: I have a marathon writing day planned for this weekend, and Sam asked me if I was ready.

I answered by saying this: "Yes. The characters in my head have finally started talking to each other again, so I actually have stuff to write. Wooo Hooo!"

Sam says (with hesitant forced laughter): "Hehe... That's great. I'm so relieved you have voices in your head again."

me: "I know, right?"

Online Geek Gaming Status: Okay, so remember those guys who were totally out to destroy my village? Well, since I couldn’t beat them, I joined them! (It was a six day process, complete with interviews, tap-dancing, and begging; not wholly unlike the definition of “Stockholm Syndrome”.)

I don’t feel comfortable giving the name of the new alliance, since I don’t want y’all to think I’m a closet serial killer, but I will tell you the words in the name, and you can unscramble as you wish:

1. War
2. Killers
3. Evil
4. Greatest
5. Of
6. Lords

So, Great, huh? I’m safe now, right? You would think.

The first message the alliance sent me was: “Welcome. And BTW, we’re all under attack from IB.”

The message might as well have read: “Welcome, and I hope you’ve bought your plot and alerted your next of kin, cuz you’re gonna die, and soon.”

IB is, like, the absolute scariest alliance. The “I” stands for “Irrational”, and I can’t tell you what the “B” stands for, since we have younger readers.

So, to put it in perspective, imagine fighting tribal villages for a small piece of land in Africa, only to discover the U.S. is about to nuke all of us, and we have nothing to defend ourselves but rocks and logies.

My villagers are doomed.

I GAVE UP MY SOUL FOR CHEAP PEEPS

Mood:

Okay, so in case you didn't notice, I was kind of on one yesterday.

Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up, and everything seems so utterly pointless?

Like, why do I have to shower? I'm just going to have to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day.

When will it be enough? When will I hit the shower lottery, at which point I'll never have to shower again?

It's not like it halts time, or prevents the aging process. (Although I have had a wonderful blast from my past bite me on the bum... Acne. It's like I just hit puberty.)

Shouldn't we be chipping away at some huge volume of showers? Getting closer to... something? No, not death, those of you who are my pessimistic readers. More like, retirement from showers.

So yesterday, I reached a point where I was mad as H-E-Double Hockey Sticks, and I wasn't gonna take it anymore! (As a side note, can anyone name the movie for the above quote?)

To describe the rest of my day, just repeat the above, only insert the following words for the word "shower":

1. Eat (totally redundant)

2. Revise (Don't tell Ted, kay? Our secret...)

3. Clean (Who am I kidding? There's no way I do this every day)

4. Exercise (Like Dorothy said to the Scarecrow, I think this is the most pointless one of all.)

5. Answer the phone (Seriously, it's not like some announcer comes on and says, "Congrats, Brodi! You have answered the phone one meeeleeeon times! You're done!)

6. Blog (Although, sadly, it seemed I had hit the magic number on this one. No more brilliant posts. Okay, okay, semi-mildly-acne-ridden-guffaw posts. Yesterday, I stared at my computer thinking, "I got nothin'.")

6. Buy Groceries (Where does the food go?
Not only that, I went to WalMart, which as you all know, is just a cover for an underground soul-sucking operation. So I left with only 20% of my soul in tact. Bree knows what I mean.) But, man, did they have a good price on marshmallow peeps. Not a bad exchange, for part of my soul.


Turning Point:
Then Sam came home, and we watched the latest 24 on Tivo, and I have never laughed so hard in my life!

Not that the episode was supposed to be funny. I mean, innocent people were still either maimed, tortured, decapitated or killed. But, I don't know, I guess you just have to watch it with Sam. Hilarious.

Maybe I'll compile some clips and our commentary for y'all on Friday, a la Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Are you all familiar with MST3K? It is, at times, brilliant. For the uninitiated, it is an old show on Sci-Fi, where a man and his two robots are forced to watch really bad, cheesy B movies over and over.

The three of them have a running commentary during the movies where they make fun of the show, and it is hilarious. So below, I present two videos. The first is a car chase scene from "Mitchell" and it is the shorter clip. The second is a compilation of the best lines from three of the movies. When you have six minutes, watch it. Even if you have to watch it at home. Very Funny. I promise.

And it will lighten your mood, especially if yesterday's post brought you down.






I REALLY SHOULDN'T BOTHER PUSHING "PUBLISH POST" TODAY (DOT DOT DOT)

Twitter Status: Most of us are doing... Nothing. But Shellie is wafting in the odor of a hundred-year-old... nevermind.

Cam hates ellipsis... Makes me wonder... Hmmm...

Geek Quote of the Day: "I'm not anti-social; I'm just not user friendly."

Get Your Geek On:

LOST

Jack Vs. Sawyer.

So in our little poll last week, Sawyer beat out Jack as the guy who should end up with Kate. I was a little disappointed there weren't more votes for option number three: "Jack, so Sawyer is free for me". I guess my readers are a little selfish, and don't want me to have Sawyer.

Here's what I have to say about that:




BSG

I was very happy to see the return of Gaius Baltar, but why in the world would Admiral Adama give this guy, and his delusional followers, a bunch of guns? I mean, he's met the guy, right?

Gaius, cult followers, and butt-load of guns. What could possibly go wrong?

BLECH DAY
I'm having one of those days today, so just to bring you all down with me, consider this:

Smoky (my hairless cat who lives with my sis-in-law because I'm allergic) is up to 331 friends on Facebook. I'm still at, like 160.

Not only that, he actually finishes books he starts.

Anyone else sick and tired of February? Who's with me? Anyone?

Self-five.

Brodi is... training puppies to fly through a ring of fire. What are you doing?

Twitter Status: I have joined. Or perhaps the word should be “converted”. I now can Tweet. (I finally discovered the difference between a “Twitter” and a “Tweet”. One can be a noun or a verb, the other is purely a verb with occasional dangling participle properties. I hope that clears it up for everyone. )

My problem with Twitter is that it centers on one supposedly fascinating question- the question that every person in the world has on the tip of their tongues. No, not the meaning of life. No, not the key to cold fusion. Not even the answer to world peace, or why my hair doesn’t like me, or why it must pour when it rains. And don’t get me started on the Chicken V. Egg riddle.

The question is (and everybody say it with me…): What are you doing?

So here’s the conundrum. The eternal answer for 99% of us is (everybody say it with me.. ): Absolutely Nothing. And even if I am doing something, it’s usually not noteworthy.

Seriously, at what point would you actually care what someone is doing? For me, someone would have to be training puppies to fly through a ring of fire… and even then there would have to be pictures involved.

Just once, I wanna see this for a status update:
“Jenny Smith is watching a man - dressed all in black - combat crawl his way through the bushes in her front yard, toward her door. And… what’s that glinting metal object in his hand, reflecting the moonlight? It looks kinda sharp. And, why is he wearing a mask? She’ll keep you posted…”

You can bet I’d be waiting on pins and needles for her next status update! I’d probably cook up some popcorn to chow while I stared at my computer screen.

It wouldn’t hit me until the next day that I should have called the cops or something.

So, here’s a challenge to us all:
Let’s snazzy up those twitter tweets. (You see how the “Twitter” modified the “Tweet” in that sentence? Now is it clear?)

Let’s make it so that when our friends run into us at the grocery store, the first words out of their mouths will be something along the lines of, “Brodi! You’re alive! So, was it a knife in the guy’s hand?”

Or: “I had no idea you could Twitter while flying through the air, without a parachute! I was wondering how that turned out for ya!”

Or: “I know what you mean. I had a goiter that did that exact same thing, except it didn’t explode.”

So, here’s to making memorable Tweets. If you would like to… umm… what’s the appropriate lingo? If you’d like to Tweet my Twitters, I think you just click on the link in the sidebar. Pretty soon, you’ll be living at your computer. Just like me.

AND THIS IS WHY NOBODY IN THEIR RIGHT MIND SHOULD TAG ME...

Revision Status: I clicked "send" just last night. Sam thinks I should be relieved now. I told him he obviously doesn't know me very well.

Okay, so Ronda tagged me, with the 25 things about me thingee-ma-jig. But I really don't think I'll get to 25. So here goes:

Okay, I have been sitting at my computer for, like, 20 minutes. So far, I haven't come up with one.

Yep, another five minutes has gone by. Nothing. In fact, I think I bruised my brain trying to do this. I'm not kidding. Normally I can blog pretty fast, but right now, there's nothing.

Seriously, I can do this. I can do this. You can do this, Brodi. Do it. Do it!

AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH-
1. Ummm... I'm a girl.

2. I'm a dork (as pointed out by number one, and several of my blog commenters on a daily basis. Yes, Cam, I'm talking to you... You too, Dorien. And Shell. Don't get me started on Erin.)

3. Crap. Another brain cramp. Okay, let me go brush my teeth. I think better with clean teeth. Hey- that's a fact about me, right? Number three, done! Now, really, I have to go brush my teeth. Be right back.

4. Okay, I feel better now. My computer screen is no longer melting because of my breath. Where were we? Number four. Right.

5. Sometimes I kick Sam while he's sleeping, and I tell him to stop snoring. Only, he's not really snoring. He's just breathing. The truth is, I couldn't sleep. And I was bored. And I needed someone to blame.

6. Wooo Hoo! Only 845 more to go!

7. I pee, like, 15 times before I go to bed. It's mental. It's all in my head. (That was redundant, huh.) I know it's mental because I went to my doctor, and told her I must have bladder cancer. But when she found out I didn't work in a tire factory, (I guess those are hotbeds for bladder cancer) she said the chances were minimal.

She was right. It was all in my head.

8. Yay! Number 7 reminded me I'm a hypochondriac! That one's easy! Booo Yah! Count it!

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

10. How about we talk crazy quirks? Ummmm... I won't eat leftovers. In fact, I have a very paranoid relationship with food in my fridge. I come from a household where my mother saved leftover scrambled eggs. Yes, you heard me right. Leftover scrambled eggs. As in, to be reheated.

So, yeah, I don't like the fridge. And the fridge has been eyeing me lately as well. I think the feeling is mutual.

11. I talk to signs. Any written set of instructions. And I'm kind of sassy about it. Like when I'm in the shower, and I look at the directions on the shampoo bottle: "Lather, rinse. Repeat if necessary."

I'm all, "Duh. Thanks for pointing out the obvious. I only do this every day. But tell me, what in the world do I do after I rinse?" Yes, I say it out loud.

Then I read the next line: "Follow with Redkin Conditioner."

I'm like, "Oh, well isn't my bottle of shampoo a freakin' genius... Stop staring at me."

12.

12.

12.

You know what? 11's good, right. It's almost, very nearly, halfway there. And since I tend to do everything half-butted anyway, it's perfect.

This was the longest time I've ever spent on a blog post.

So now, I tag, everybody. You're it.

SELF-FIVE... WHO'S WITH ME?

Revision Status: Nearly there.

So, yesterday I decide the only way I'm gonna get my revision done is if I'm away from my home. So I checked in to the Radisson downtown, holed up in my room, and worked for six hours straight.

And you all thought I was crazy on a good day? Lemme tell you, after this marathon sitting, I was talking to the walls. And they were answering. And they were telling me I looked fat in my jeans.

So I decide caffeine is in order. But I don't have change. I trudged through the hallways (which makes it sound like it was snowing inside, but it wasn't), and down the elevator eight floors to the lobby to change a fiver. In my pajamas.

Afterward, as I waited for the elevator in the lobby, a group of business travelers joined me. They are all dressed sharp, talking and laughing. Very loud.

When the elevator arrives, we all sashay inside and push our buttons, and, I swear, they are each staying on separate floors. Every button from 5 through 12 is pushed. (I'm on 8, so it's not that bad.)

Here's the kicker. Once we're inside the elevator, their talking and laughing immediately ceases, and we all stare straight ahead in silence.

I couldn't understand it! One second, they're like a walking cocktail party, and the next they're eerily quiet. This made me very uncomfortable.

So I blurted out, "Sucks to be the one on floor 12, huh?"

Dead silence. No one even looked at me. We were in a 4X4 foot room, it's not like they couldn't hear me.

This makes me want to talk even more. (An annoying trait of mine is the uncontrollable word vomit, especially after hours of revisions. You all probably know this.)

So I'm all, "Floor 12. Know what I mean? Who's with me?"

Uncomfortable laughter, as I'm sure they are thinking, "I thought Utah didn't serve alcohol." My Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms didn't help the situation either.

Finally, days later, when we reached floor 8, I stepped out, head held high. But before the doors closed, I held my own hand up and slapped it while shouting, "Self-five!"

That's when I knew, without a doubt, that no amount of caffeine would help me.

So, in case you've never witnessed a loser self-five, I'm presenting one below. I've never felt so close to "The Todd" on Scrubs.

By the way, the Radisson was great. But I'll probably never show my face again.


DORK SIDE: MY FEMININE VITTLES... AND NEW GEEKS COME OUT OF THE CLOSET







My Readers' geek status: Do you like the show LOST? Well, then, guess what? You are a fellow geek! It’s no longer a title that’s only whispered in dark alleys. It’s official.

Entertainment Weekly has dubbed you all geeks. Welcome. In fact, the exact quote is that Lost is "baring its potentially alienating geek soul and challenging its audience even more with gonzo storytelling."

Now, I don't know what "gonzo storytelling" means, but I would bet it's some sort of vulcan dialect.

Online gaming geek status: I finally pulled out my feminine wyles. Wiles? Whiles? Okay, okay. it was my feminine vittles. Whatever.

Travian is a gender-neutral game, but in my messages to my vicious catapulters, I mentioned that I am a weak girl, and doesn't that make them feel bad, knowing they are catapulting a weak girl? Of course I am assuming they are all boys. (Truthfully, they are probably, like, 16 years old).

Anyway, I was able to talk two of them out of destroying my village, just long enough to become a member of an untouchable alliance.

So, rest assured, my village is safe and secure. And my settlers have voted to expand. They are so loyal to me. I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve it. (In case it’s not clear, settlers are not real people. They are my creations. Hence, the comedy. Cue the laugh track.)

If you know me, you probably know how much I hesitate to play the “weak female” card, but, come on. I have the lives of 410 settlers in my hands!

LOST: Anyone else think Locke’s definitely not dead? Anyone else want to toss Ben overboard?

And give it up for the smoke monster. Here here. Hear hear. Watching that guys arm get ripped off certainly made that smoke seem. . . solid.

Also, I am conducting a poll, on the right. It's a Jack vs. Sawyer poll. And to help in your decision, I have picked these educational videos. One is a compilation of Sawyer's nicknames, the other illustrates how funny Jack sounds when he speeds up. Please watch before you vote. This is very serious business.





JUST WHAT IS THE GOLDEN ORB SUPPOSED TO DO?

Valentine’s Day status: I dressed up as Alice Cullen. Sam wore a headband a la Rafa. Wackiness ensued.

Revision status: Mmmmm… next question.

Great and Terrible Beauty status: Mmmm… next question. So, I’m feeling a little unproductive lately.

THAT FRAKKIN’ GOLDEN ORB

Have any of you seen a little gem of a movie called “Cold Comfort Farm”?







It is set in the English countryside, about a young woman named Flora (Kate Beckinsale) who goes to live with a Motley Crew of relatives after her own parents die. (The matriarch of this eccentric group "saw something nasty in the woodshed." We never find out what exactly it was she saw.)

Flora fancies herself a writer, and every time she starts describing the gorgeous English Countryside, she inevitably gets to a point where she needs to describe the sun. Like, you know, the one in the sky.

Each description starts with “The golden orb…” She can’t help it. In her mind, there is no other way to describe that darn sun, except to call it “The golden orb…” and then she always gets stuck at that point, because she can’t for the life of her figure out just what “The golden orb” should do.

Should it race across the sky? Light the faces of starving children? Melt the ice caps?

My sister author Bree and I were discussing the redundant quirks we can’t avoid giving our characters.

I don’t even realize I’m doing it, until I read the book for the 800th time. (Okay, I’ve only read it 764 times). So, below, I present to you the top three most common actions of my characters:

LANE:
1. She reaches for something, and then she grabs it.
2. She winces. (Most often in anticipation of something).
3. She threatens to puke. (A threat she only follows through on one time… Unfortunately on a special someone)

SAM:
1. He smiles. (at Lane)
2. He furrows his eyebrows. (at Lane)
3. He shoves. (anyone who makes fun of Lane.)

ALEX:
1. He sighs.
2. He deliberates.
3. He grunts in frustration. (Mostly because of Lane. She can frustrate the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks out of anyone.)

But I have to admit each list is a fairly telling description of that character.

Here's an example of Flora's writing: "It was winter. The grimmest hour of the darkest day of the year. The Golden Orb had... had... had what?"

Enjoy the movie trailer here. And if you have a free night, watch it! (I think it has all of the parts on You Tube)

TWILIGHT WITH A NEW TWILIGHT VIRGIN

Follower status: 28. Wow. The pressure. I feel a little like I'm tap dancing, in a room with no music, singing a really bad version of "Let Me Entertain You" a capella.

Welcome to all of you Newbies. I've already received several book requests (a lot of Sarah Dessen... interesting).

For those of you who have yet to request a Young Adult book, click here to email me your choice.

THE BASICS
Purpose of the Blog: I write Young Adult fiction, and I'm in the process of trying to get my first book published. You can vote on the best title here. But the blog has sort of devolved into an amalgam of ramblings from my mutant mush brain.

On your right is the schedule of when you can expect a blog. Toward the back, on either side, are the emergency exits, in case my blog begins a sudden descent into the pits of virtual doom.

Ummmm..... How about a tour of the main players on the blog?

1. Rafael Nadal/Rafa/Mocha-honey: Tennis player. (#1 in the world). My virtual main squeeze. You can read about him here.

2. Ted/Sherpa Ted/Sensei Ted: My agent in New York. He's like the Yin and the Yang; he brings the joy (Yay! He's my agent! He loves my book!) and he brings the pain (Ah crap. Another revision letter). Find out how he got the name "Sherpa" here.

3. Sam: The third man in my life. (Number one in Utah, babe). AKA- the man who puts up with me. (Even though he eats my cake. You can read about it here.)

4. Little Red: my Mac Book. Wanna know how a PC dies a slow, painful, bloody death? You can read about it here. Yes, I named my laptop. I'm a dork, striving for full geek status.

5. Milky Way Cake.

Now, onto the main festivities!

TWILIGHT WITH MY NUMBER THREE MAN








Many of you may know, Sam lost a bet to me and therefore was forced to see Twilight with me. (The bet involved his incredulity regarding the existence of the phrase "Hang on Spider Monkey" in the movie).

You can read his own version on his blog. He took the whole experience better than I would have thought possible. And in some places, better than me.

For instance, in the meadow/sparkly skin scene. I have a really hard time with the lovey-dovey, and so I was just cringing. But Sam kept his cool.

me: "Each time they talk, don't you just die a little death, inside?"

Sam: "No. I could live without the porn glitter on the vamp, but when is the 'So the lion fell in love with the lamb' line?" (Because I've been complaining about that line a lot. Some lines are better read, not spoken).

me (Yelling at the screen): "It's right now! Please don't say it! Please let this time (my 16th time seeing it) be the time you don't say it!" But, of course, they said it.

Sam: "It wasn't that bad."

me: "Are you kidding? It shaved another year off my life!"

Sam (visibly exasperated): "What would you have written?"

me: "I desperately wanted Bella to answer that line with 'Okay, so which one of us is the lion, in your scenario'."

Sam: "And that's why you can't write romance. But I have to admit, the 'personal brand of heroin' line made me taste my own bile. A little."

I feel sort of like a 10 year old boy when I watch romantic scenes. Like, I'm thinking to myself, "Ewwwwww, he just kissed her. Yuck." Seriously, I need to grow up.

So, Sam survived. And I think he liked it more than he cares to admit. In fact, I know he liked it, because yesterday he says to me, out of the blue, "You know who would play a great Lane?" (Lane is the main character in my book. We like to pretend it's going to be a movie someday. Right after Rafa asks me out.)

"That girl who played Alice Cullen. She's quirky, and spunky. I could totally see her playing Lane."

As he's speaking, he's staring off into the distance. So I check out his blog, and he's got a picture of her on his blog. Oh well. I can't blame him. I haven't really stopped talking about Jasper. Then there's the whole Rafa thing. So Sam's free to like Alice Cullen. Technically, I'm his number three woman, behind Alice Cullen and Rebecca De Mornay.

WELCOME TO THE DORK SIDE... AND HOW SAM MIGHT NOT SURVIVE THE WEEK

Revision status: Keepin' on keepin' on.

Follower Status: Wooo Hoo! We now have 20 followers! So, all of you newbies, please email your book of choice pronto. (You can find my email address here )

And just because my heart has grown three sizes since yesterday, I'll also give three more books to the next three followers! (I prefer Young Adult book choices, but I am willing to negotiate). Sam will be so thrilled when he reads this!

Milky Way Cake Status (a.k.a.: how my husband will spend the next week suffering my wrath in the pits of my despair!): So, last night some awesome neighbors invited us over for dessert. Actually, dessert doesn't do it justice. They need a new word for the cake my friend made- something that encapsulates Heaven, gooey-goodness, bucket of butter and Yummmm.

She called this mound of paradise "Milky Way Cake."

Here are the ingredients in a nutshell:
100 milky way candy bars
100 pounds of Butter
pinch of flour
truckload of sugar

How can you go wrong?

So, she sent us each home with a giant chunk of the delectable goo. I couldn't eat any more last night, so this morning I was anticipating the yumm.

But when I woke up, the cake was nowhere to be found. Anywhere. Not a crumb. And I licked every crumb around just to see if it was the crumb I was looking for.

There could only be one culprit to this debauchery. So I took a deep, calming breath, and dialed Sam.

Upon answering, he could tell I was about to transform into a fire-breathing Medusa (he knows me so well), so he thought it would soften the blow somewhat if he told me this little gem:
"Well, yeah, I had a couple of bites, and then I... um... threw the rest away."

I don't know why he thought I would be less mad knowing it was in the trash. The pathetic part is, I actually hoped he was telling the truth. That the cake was in the trash, and somehow salvageable.

But it was a lie. The booger ate the cake.

Yeah, my heart shrank back down to its regular size.





DORK SIDE

I have got to say, it's a good time to be a geek. This week was totally tubular for geeks around the world.

24
Day seven of the crappiest days of Jack's life focuses on a missing "C-I-P device" that, apparently, can bring about a buttload of destruction by... um... well, I'm not really clear on how it happens.

Anyone else think the writers randomly picked three letters out of the alphabet, added the word "device" and threw it into the plot? Just once, I would like one of the characters to suddenly say, "CIP device? What the heck is a CIP device? It doesn't make any sense. Nothing like that exists."

LOST
The island is still on the time skip, and at one point, Sawyer got to see Kate again. And I nearly cried, the scene was so sweet. There's something about seeing a big, strong, manly man going all softy over the "memory" of a girl.





BSG
I have saved the best for last. BEST EPISODE EVER! The conclusion to the coup attempt by Gaeta had me on the edge, yelling at the television screen.

I made two main discoveries about myself (one of which is quite disturbing):

1. I never want to be on the receiving end when President Laura Roslin yells, "We're taking every gun and every bomb and we're coming for YOU!"

2. When Gaeta and Zerick were sitting in front of the firing squad, about to be cast out the airlock, I found myself chanting, "shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, open the airlock, open the airlock, open the airlock."

It made me wonder if I would have been one of those bloodthirsty observers at the Guillotine, eating popcorn and shouting things like, "Drop the blade, kill ze rich! Down with the monarchy!"

Did I mention Sam ate my cake? I bet he's excited to come home tonight... Mwah ha ha.

A KAMAKAZI MOTH... AND YOUR CHANCE FOR A FREE BOOK!


Book Status: The Sherpa has spoken, and revisions are underway. Again.

Suicidal moth status: So I’m making myself my morning hot beverage, just the right ingredients, blended into perfection, and suddenly a kamakazi moth decides there’s no better way to exit this world than to dive into near boiling froth. I hadn’t even taken a sip, when the little suicide bomber crash-landed on the foam, where he spread his wings like an angel, regretted he had but one life to give for his cause, and promptly melted away.
As I stared at the ruined drink, I couldn’t help wondering if this random act of violence was any indication of how my day would be.

Then I got my revision letter from Ted. And I started desperately searching for some boiling liquid into which I could swan-dive.

Just kidding! The revisions are not that bad. And I have no wings, so it couldn’t possibly be as poetic an act as the moth’s. So instead of a graceful exit from this existence, I will just sit at my Little Red (my MacBook for you newbies) and crank out the revisions.

SPECIAL ONE TIME OFFER! ACT FAST!

Okay, so perhaps you have heard of the doom and gloom of the publishing industry at present.

I figure the best reaction is pro-action. (Is that how the saying goes?) The best move is a re-move. Wait, that can’t be right. The best course is a re-course. Whatever. So here’s my big, evil plan. Mwah-ha-ha.

Through my blog, I will gain so many viewers who will buy my book, so the publishers will look at me as a very safe bet. This is where you all play a part.

I currently have 11 followers. (Already enough to guarantee a best-seller, I’m sure).

So, for the next five people that sign up to follow my blog… I will send a brand new book of your choice!! And I would love it if I don’t know you already! (But since chances are slim, it’s okay if I have already made your acquaintance.)

Here’s how it works: sign up to follow my blog using the link at the right. (Or however you do it.) Then go to my website www.brodiashton.com and click on the contact me button, and send me an email with your address and your Young Adult book choice.

And I will send it to you! You have nothing to lose, and everything (well, one book, at least) to gain!

For my current followers, I have not forgotten you! If you want a free book, all you have to do is convince two people to follow my blog, then email me and let me know the two you referred, and I will send you a book as well.

So by the end, I will have doubled my followers (let’s aim for 22, kay?) plus I will have single-handedly rescued the publishers! No Congressional Acts necessary!

Now that’s change we can believe in.

To reiterate, here’s the plan in three simple steps:

1. Gain 22 followers.
2. Take over the world, Pinky and the Brain style.
3. Get my book published.

My next plan of attack will involve figuring out what the heck a Twitter is, and how it is fundamentally different from a Tweet.

If this doesn’t work, I will dive into hot lava. I would really like to postpone this move, since it would probably be my last, so let’s all cross our fingers that option #1 works.

Tweet y’all later!
Tweety out.

(Am I tweeting right?)

WHEN CHILDHOOD BITES YOU IN THE BUM.....

Hi Y'all. Hope you enjoyed your day off from my blog!

A Great and Terrible Beauty status: I have to admit. I'm taking my own sweet time reading this. And I keep looking longingly at the other books on my nightstand.

I know I should just 'love the one I'm with', but I can't help it. I'm sort of ogling 'Graceling'.

A GIRLS' NIGHT OUT and HOW I MADE THE NAUGHTY LIST:

So, I was out with my lady cousins (A, K and W) the other night for a girls night out. We went to Paradise Bakery for dinner, and then we went shopping at Barnes and Noble, where I told them each to pick a young adult book and I'd get it for them.

Their reactions ran the gamut.

First there was cousin K. Excited about the prospect.
Cousin K: "Great. I pick The Hunger Games."

Then there was cousin A. When I said "I'll buy you a book" she must have heard "I'll drown a couple puppies in your honor." Her face was a mixture of confusion and terror.

Here's the transcript (slightly embellished by moi):

me: "I love puppies. I would never drown them. All I want to do is buy you a book."

cousin A (looking a little scared): "But... but... Libraries!"

me: "That's the whole point. Buying you a young adult book helps me. Stimulates the economy. It will all come full circle. So, pick one."

cousin A: "Which one?"

me: "Well, cousin K is getting the Hunger Games. How about that one?"

A: "Is it dark?"

me: "Um... no. It's about puppies."

A: "Because I don't like dark books."

me (wondering how in the world to describe the Hunger Games so it doesn't sound dark): "It takes place in a dystopian future."

A: "Dystopian?"

me: "Yeah. Kind of like Disneyland. It's about a fun group of teenagers, who were handpicked to compete in a contest-"

A: "That doesn't sound so bad."

me: "-Where they fight to the death."

A: Stunned silence. Awkward pause.

me and cousin K: "On second thought, how about the Goose Girl?"

Then there was Cousin W: "Do they have any Young Adult Kamasutra books?"

me: "How about 'Pants on Fire'?"

So, we each left with a couple of books (some of us more grudgingly than others), and the glowing feeling that we helped the struggling publishing industry.

Cousin Facebook status:

At dinner, we got talking about facebook updates, and discovered that only half of us were getting updates from cousin... um... Z.

Cousin Z finally fessed up to having "naughty" and "nice" lists, and so some "nice" people don't get to see all of her conversations.

Apparently I was the only one who made the "naughty" list.

Cousin K was all, "Why am I on the nice list?"

And I'm all, "Maybe I should be asking what I did to get on the naughty list?"

While we were shopping later, I think I discovered how I made the list. Cousin W started reminiscing about when we were all little kids, and we had sleepovers, and, oh yeah, remember the time Brodi kept drawing all those naughty pictures?

I'm like, "What naughty pictures?"

W: "You kept drawing pics of a certain part of the male anatomy." (Sounds like an ex-tenz commerical, I know)

me: "Like on a piece of paper?"

W: "No. Like on a chalkboard. Big drawings."

me: "Ah man. Did you have to pick that moment to have a photographic memory?"

So, I'm pretty sure that's how you make the naughty list.

Enjoy the weekend. I'm going to my friend's shower tomorrow (this time it will be scientifically impossible to show up a week early).

HAPPY WHIPPLE-VERSARY DAD!

A year and a half ago, my Dad was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer.

And a year ago this week, he had one of the most complicated and intense surgeries ever.

The procedure is called THE WHIPPLE. I know, I know, it sounds harmless, right?

It should be called something like: THE BEASTMASTER or THE VORTEX OF FIRE or something else along those lines.

Doctors love their diagrams. One particular day, pre-surgery, we asked a doctor a question, and he answered it by drawing this:

I have no idea what the original question was, but the answer must have been "BANANA."

Before the procedure, they will show you pictures like these:









I prefer my own interpretation of the surgery, with my own diagrams.














The basic rules of THE WHIPPLE (In Brodi's mind) are threefold:

1. Anytime you find an organ, cut it in half. Remove the half that was closest to the pancreas.

2. Sew the remaining halves back together. Keep in mind, after THE WHIPPLE, the knee bone will no longer be connected to the thigh bone, except via the jawbone of an ass.

3. If you hear a loud BUZZ, or if the patient's nose turns red, you must start over.

Congratulations, Dad, on surviving! Happy Whipple-versary!

TUESDAY'S DORK SIDE... STARBUCK FINALLY GETS TO KICK SOME...

Don't forget to vote on my book title! (My niece Lily is hosting the vote...)

Mother of the Year status:
In a moment of sheer stupidity, I taught my 6-year old son the joy of answering questions with this little gem:
"I know you are, but what am I?"

Seriously, at this point I really am wondering, what AM I? What was I thinking?

Me: "Carter, do you want spaghetti?"

Carter: "I know you are spaghetti, but what am I?"

Followed by hysterical laughter. Repeat 200 times.

Tomorrow, we're working on "I'm rubber, you're glue..."

Anyone want a gently used 6-year old? For free?

24
For being shot in the neck, covered in a plastic sheet, buried alive and left for dead, the red-headed FBI chick sure has attitude problems. It's like she's never heard of Jack Bauer!

Favorite moment: Jack Bauer finally uses his awesome rep when the President asks him how she's supposed to know he's trustworthy.

"With all due respect, Madame President, ask around."

Dude, she just got Jack'ed!

BSG

We are hanging on to a serious cliff...
The coup has begun.
It was so refreshing to see Starbuck get back to her kick-butting roots. I'm hoping the conclusion will somehow involve these five ingredients:

1. Starbuck
2. Gaeta
3. Her foot
4. His bum
5. No windows and no doors

Yeah, you better watch your back. She's coming for you. And it's not going to be pretty.


If Apollo never wears a tie again, it will be too soon. He needs to ditch the politics, loosen the tie, and get back to ... um... whatever it was he was doing before.




Anyone else think Admiral Adama is really the dying leader, and not the President?

BLAH BLAH BLAH... AND MAYBE A WORD OR TWO ABOUT RAFA

New Addition: My cute niece Lily is holding a vote on possible titles for my book.* (Echo vs. The Echo Lives in Blackfoot). Which title would you sooner buy? So please click here to vote on your favorite!

*This is all for fun, and may or may not have any bearing on the actual title.

Patience Status: Patience runneth over. Zen holding strong. Peace aboundeth.
So, for the love of the universe, STOP ASKING!!! Or somebody is gonna lose a finger! AARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I kid. But I may have been exaggerating about the patience...

It was a long weekend, filled with gumby-headed moves. I hope they entertain.

GUMBY-HEAD MOVE #1:
Showed up to my friend's baby shower one week early (but still 45 minutes late):

Yep. Knocked on the door, big huge purple present in hand, and the husband answers. In his pajamas. (Keep in mind, I've never met him.)

Him: "Um, I think it's next week."

me: "Don't be ridiculous. I checked the invitation like a hundred times."

Him (asking his wife on cell phone): "Yep, it's not til next week."

me (totally embarassed): "Whoops."

Him: "What's your name? So I can tell my wife?" (So he can tell his wife who the gumby-head is).

me: "Ummmmm..." I momentarily considered owning up to my mistake, but instead I took off running! "You'll never know my name!! So long sucker!!!"

Him (To his wife on the phone): "She's running away. So I'll just point her out next week."

So, yes Monae, it was me.


GUMBY-HEAD MOVE #2

Mother of the Year Status:

So, I'm taking Carter (6 years old) to tennis, and Beckham (3 years old) is tagging along. I get following Carter in to the tennis courts, and I'm talking to my sister and her daughter (Necie- 5) and I'm thinking: "Boy, Necie and Carter in the same class. This could be trouble. I hope Erin keeps her eye on Necie."

When all of a sudden, Erin turns to me: "Where's Beckham?"

And I'm stumped.

So here was my thought process in response to Erin's question:
1. Beckham who?
2. Oh yeah, Beckham my son.
3. I brought him, didn't I?
4. Yes. So, at what point did I lose him? Retrace your steps, Brodi.

I ran back through the courts, out the heavy doors, where Beckham was wandering aimlessly, like a little lost street urchin.

So, for those of you wishing to nominate me for mother of the year, maybe rethink that decision...

Congratulations, Rafa! Australian Open Champion! First hardcourt major title!


I bet you all thought I'd have started this post talking about my mocha-honey's stellar performance in the Australian Open Championship match. Well, I am not that obsessed. I mean, perhaps it deserves a mention. But nothing more. Because, as the saying goes, woman shall not live on biceps alone.

He has so much more to him. Like intensity.My sister-in-law Emily says he's boring. He's only got one face; that look of determination. But below is proof he has another face besides the look of determination. And it's kinda goofy.


After the final point, he levitated inches off the ground just to entertain the crowd.

His greatest rival is Roger Federer. A totally classy player, who's made tennis practically an art form. When Rafa beat him, Roger was going for his 14th major title, to tie Pete Sampras' record. But Rafa stood in his way.

I wish he'd stand in my way. Do any of my readers have the ability to make it so?


Okay, okay. Calm down. Fine. I'll include one gratuitous shot of Rafa, just because I'm giving in to your demands. But I am rolling my eyes the entire time, and I am grudgingly obliging, because I like you all so much.


Reading other people's book status:
Still working on "A Great and Terrible Beauty." I think a few of my readers are joining in, so feel free to do the same.

In the cue: "Graceling" and then "The Book Thief."