Stranded: An Impromptu Restaurant Review

Today’s post was going to be about my book. That is, after all, the reason I started blogging. I was going to reveal all these juicy book details, but instead I am so busy recovering that all I can offer is a restaurant review. Recovering from what, you might ask? Well, from spending the night STRANDED in Lehi, Utah.

On Wednesday I spent the afternoon in Provo, visiting my delightful friends/former college roommates (shout out to Dee, Mim, and Ruth). Of course, while I was enjoying good company and great Mexican food inside, it was snowing outside. But that was to be expected, as it’s been snowing like crazy here.

Also expected was heavy traffic as I journeyed to my North Salt Lake home. But there’s heavy traffic and there’s completely motionless traffic, and this traffic fell into the latter category.

6:45—Wow, we haven’t moved in ten minutes

6:55—I’m right here by the exit, should I get off and take back roads home?

7:05—I’ll get lost if I do that

7:15—If I’m still here at 7:30, I’ll get off

7:25—If I’m still here at 7:30, I’ll just spend the night here

7:35—Where am I, anyway?

Answer: Lehi. The winds were 75 MPH and the snow was blowing willy-nilly. Yes, that’s right: willy-nilly.

I pulled off the freeway and into a motel parking lot. I do not wish to devote much time to reviewing this motel. Only to say that it was the type of motel that advertises its rate on its sign ($39.99, fyi). It was the type of motel that looked dirty at first glance, but further inspection proved that it wasn’t dirty; just in dire need of refurbishment (i.e., the ceramic on the tub was chipped rather than stained). By way of toiletries were two mini bars of soap.

Now, for the restaurant review. My inclination was to order pizza from the (comparable) safety of my room, but delivery had been closed for the evening. And who could blame those brave, but not suicidal, delivery drivers? The nice Dominos man suggested One Man Band Diner, just steps from my motel.

Okay, so it was a lot of steps. But it was worth it.

One Man Band Diner is one of those places where you order from a phone at your table. BUT unlike other restaurants of that variety, this one is reasonably priced. The beverage selection is ample, with fountain drinks including apple beer (!) and wicked-good hot chocolate. Food is prepared in an open kitchen, so you can watch your salad/sandwich/burger as it’s made. The dessert menu changes daily, and on this day included hot-fudge raspberry brownies. What more needs be said?

If you are ever in Lehi (whether because you are stranded or because, for some reason, you wanted to go to Lehi) I highly recommend this diner.

I do not, however, particularly endorse the Motel 6.

Signs

I need to go to Las Vegas. No, seriously, I really do.

It’s research for the newest book I’m working on. I already had parts of the LV scenes written from when I began this story many moons ago. Simply put, they blew. I knew I needed to go see Vegas for myself. I needed inspiration. I needed to gorge myself at buffets. I needed for no one else to ever, ever, read my previous attempts at those Las Vegas scenes. Ever.

So I convinced my husband to take a roadtrip to Sin City with me. I looked up hotel deals on my favorite travel site. On Thursday, January 24, I booked a lovely, very inexpensive room at the Monte Carlo, complete with two complimentary buffet coupons (How I do love me the deals). The next day my husband IMs me a link very similar to this one:

http://www.lvrj.com/news/14480217.html

Yes, one day I make reservations at a hotel, the next day it’s BURNING!

Our reservation is in six days.

“Do you think this is a sign?” I ask my husband. He, of course, answers that he does not believe in signs.

A reasonable enough answer. A good one, even, considering that he didn’t want to take this trip in the first place.

But still. . .

1411

Your Birthdate: October 14

You work well with others. That is, you're good at getting them to do work for you. It's true that you get by on your charm. But so what? You make people happy! You're dynamic, clever, and funny. And people like to have you around. But you're so restless, they better not expect you to stay around for long. Your strength: Your superstar charisma Your weakness: Commitment means nothing to you Your power color: Fuchsia Your power symbol: Diamond Your power month: May

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

A Day In The Life

Yesterday was a typical Day in the Life of Emily Wing Smith. Not necessarily because it is what I do on a typical day. Yesterday exemplifies the issues I face on a typical day. 9:00 am—woke up. Yep, I don’t wake up until 9. Or, actually, later, depending on the day. This is not because I am a lazy sack of trash. Okay, it is because I am a lazy sack of trash. But it is also because I’m a writer. I keep pretty strange hours. Luckily this is okay by my husband. He always wakes me up when he leaves in the morning, usually about 7:30, kisses me goodbye, and lets me go back to sleep. Which I do.

9:45 am—left to pick up Hannah. Hannah is my fourteen-year-old sister, and yesterday was one of those made-up school holidays so people get a four-day weekend. I thought, perfect opportunity for some quality sister-bonding. We decided to go shopping. Hannah needed new pants, as she is now 5’10 and all her pants are too short. I needed new pants as I am 5’4 and all my pants are nasty at the bottom because they drag on the ground so much. And it is winter in Utah and the ground isn’t pretty. Anyway, I drove off to Hannah’s house, knowing full-well its location, as it is the same stately manor in which I spent my teenage years, and even some of my young-adulthood. Thus, it baffles the mind why I turned onto the WRONG FREEWAY to get there.

Of course, while it may baffle the general mind, to my mind it made perfect sense. I am an extremely poor navigator and an even poorer driver. This is not the first time I have gotten lost going someplace I’ve been several times before. I am a pro at finding “alternative routes” to my most frequent destinations. Alas, this time luck was not on my side. Or the side of the car about two yards ahead of me on said WRONG FREEWAY. Although I didn’t know until 20 minutes later, when I finally crawled past it, this car had somehow gotten munched. No wonder traffic had been at a stand-still.

11:00 am—Hannah and I were finally in downtown Salt Lake City, livin’ it up sista -style. We talked about the general lameness of ninth-grade while walking from store to store in the freezing cold. We bought bath products that smelled like flowers and/or fruit. We tried on pants. We found pants. We purchased pants. My pants were part of a velour “loungewear” combo, which is perfect for me, as I spend a great deal of time at my computer, lounging away. As the clerk was ringing them up, she looked directly at me and said, “Do you guys wear these to school?”

Hannah and I exchanged the briefest of looks. Since this has happened before, we knew what to do. Which was lie. “Yep,” I said.

I do not go to school. I have graduated from school—high school, college, grad school. I’ve finished them all. I am almost positive this sales clerk was younger than me. Generally speaking, I am not a proponent of lying. But I never have the heart to tell people I’m twenty-seven.

1:30 pm—took Hannah home. Did some work on my newest novel while I waited for a very important computer package for my husband. This is the story of my life. Computer thing after computer thing arrives at our house, whether via post or my husband himself. I never have any idea what these things actually are, which makes it hard to have the right level of enthusiasm.

Got a call from my awesome mother-in-law. Yoriko is a headstrong, hilarious woman who, although she lived in Japan for the first twentysomething years of her life, is somehow more technologically-challenged than I am. Every time she leaves a message on our answering machine, it’s like she’s never used one before. “Hello….?...Uh, hello, Emily?...Yes, well, I was wondering something so if you could call me back…well, talk to you later, thanksbye.” Another thing I love about Yoriko is that she’s even tighter with a buck than I am. So she’s been figuring out how to take a family vacation to Hawaii using only timeshare-exchanges and frequent-flier miles. Now she’s made the reservation for all eight of us at a resort on the Big Island, which should make for a very interesting trip. She gave me a link to a website that, it turns out, doesn’t exist, and said goodbye. Gotta love that woman.

5:00 pm—husband returned from work. I realized I had once again forgotten to make/plan for dinner. Likewise, I had forgotten to go to the store, and the contents of our refrigerator were limited to half-a-hunk of cheddar cheese, some pickle relish, and a bag of mini carrots. We made spaghetti from the year’s supply of non-perishable food we keep in our basement (in case of natural disaster, or, you know, the End of the World). We shredded the cheddar cheese and put that on top.

After dinner a friend from my church came over to discuss Girls Camp. This is a camp for all the teenage girls in our congregation. I’m in charge of teaching the girls at church on Sunday and doing activities with them during the week. She is in charge of planning their camp. This is a Good Thing, as I am many things, but a camper I am not.

Let me just say this: I am worried I will have to go to camp.

Best of State

So I'm not one of those people hooked on American Idol, but I did record last night's season finale on my DVR. I work with the teenage girls in my new congregation, and with their adament love for Blake...well, I had to see it all wrap up. Thank goodness for the miracle of the DVR. Let's put aside the constant commercial breaks. What's up with the Golden Idols? Why would I want to watch people who can't sing accept awards for not being able to sing? During a SINGING competition?

It reminded me way, way too much of an event I attended Saturday night. A little soiree called "Best of State."

This was a favor to my dad, whose law firm had apparently won the honor of "Best of State" something (luckily, it was something law-related...Best Legal Services, I think they put it. But I can't remember. And I left my program there). Anyway, he had to go and my mom was busy, so I was a last minute fill-in. Which meant donning the satiny gown I haden’t worn since my honeymoon cruise over four years ago.

The food was decent, and the presentation of the awards was blessedly brief. But the award categories ranged from random (Best of State Dog Groomer /Pet Hygienist) to ridiculous (Best of State Political Figure).

But what interested me most? The awards for the “creative arts”: Best of State Playwright, Fiction Writer, and Non-Fiction Writer. Now, I may be a writer myself, but I don’t claim to know of every author or (any professional) playwright in my state. So it really doesn’t matter that I wasn’t familiar with any of the winners. It does, however, beg the question: by what criteria are these writers judged? The same criteria used to award Best of State Pet Hygienist? Can the winners now add to their query letters the line: “Please note that I am the best fiction (non-fiction) writer in my state?”

Will editors realize this distinction is equivalent to that of a Golden Idol?

756

So, I'm realizing that the things I find significant enough to write about are rare, indeed. In part, this is because the whole livejournal thing confuses me a bit. But let's not kid ourselves. I'm just really bad at keeping a journal, and as much as I wish this bad habit didn't include blogs, it does. There are lots of things that happened to me over the last nine months that I would consider blog-worthy. Of course, at the time when they were happeninging, the last thing I had time for was blogging. Isn't that how it goes, though? The more you have to write, the less time you have to write it?

Blogable Events In My Life Since August 25th:

* taught AP Psychology at my former high school while my former high school AP Psychology teacher was on maternity leave. Don't get me wrong. I am not a teacher. I am a twenty-six-year-old English grad. Who once took AP Psychology. So we see the sad state of affairs regarding public schools in the big square state in which I reside. Anyway, teaching high school is a fair amount of work, even if it is only for three months. Especially because while this was going on I

*bought a new house. Which was good. Because my husband's commute to his new job was starting to totally bite. So we found a beautiful new place in a neighborhood much closer to his new office. Which was good. Except that it meant we

*sold our old house, and that is pretty much always a pain in the neck. And this was no exception. Although it only took nine days to find a buyer. And the family who bought the house was awesome. So the whole selling-a-house thing went smoothly and it was also fairly hassle-free when we

*moved into our new house, only I didn't actually put things away in my kitchen for about a month. I'm kind of OCD when it comes to arranging things in my kitchen. There was no time for it. Likewise, there was no time to put any books on the bookshelves. Digging through boxes to find the book I wanted was annoying, but I told myself bookshelf arrangement (about which I am also fairly OCD) would have to wait until I

*graduated from Vermont College. Which I did in January, with a Masters of Fine Arts degree in Writing for Children and Young Adults. It was one of the the most amazing experiences in my life (going to VC, not graduating. Although that pretty much rocked, too). And while this didn't happen until four long months after I graduated, because of my time at VC and the wise input I received there I finally

*finished my "novel." Yep, the one I've been trying to write for nearly two years. And this time, when I finished writing, it felt done.

Now we see if anyone agrees with me.

My First Entry

So. I'm trying to write a novel. I say "trying" because every time I think I've written the novel, it turns out I haven't. Yeah. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to say. I thought that was the whole reason I was writing. Guess not. One of the characters in my work-in-progress is a blogger. M., my wise faculty advisor at Vermont College, liked the blog form, but asked me to think about how my character would really blog. And I realized I needed first-hand experience with blogs. Not just reading them (which I do regularly) but actually keeping one. Learning exactly how much of my life I feel comfortable putting out there into the blogosphere knowing that someone might actually read it. Seeing what events in my life are actually significant enough to prompt me to blog.

I'm hoping that maybe this will be more than an exercise. Maybe it will give me, you know, an epiphany.

Or at least some vague idea of what this novel I'm writing is actually about.