So there I was....trying on this...the only word that comes to mind is Psychedelic...trying on this Psychedelic Dress at Macy's. The only real reason I wanted to try it on was because I thought it would look great with my knee high black boots. I put it on and to be honest the mood was sour from the get go because I had to see myself in THAT lighting in just my grandma undergarments. Again..apologize for the traumatic visual. So I pull this dress over my head and I'm surprised that it's actually pretty cute..kind of retro (do not read vintage). I twirl, bend..and yes I added a snap at the end because I was beginning to channel Reese Witherspoon apparently. The true test to any piece of fashion in my wardrobe is the sit test..and I loathe dressing rooms that don't have at least a small slice of sitting apparatus in them. I grab a seat on some laminate and OHMYGOD.. all that comes to mind is that there's obviously another event that can be called "The Thunder from Down Under"..and No..my ass did not explode literally..the seat was apparently calling out to God to please save it from the torture of my body weight on it. It did TOTALLY sound as if I was over taken by a giant gaseous cloud requiring release at that exact moment and apparently the young girl a few dressing rooms down could not contain her laughter. At this juncture I sniff.. I don't really know why... habit. Maybe some disgusting reflex. oh shut up..and thankfully..there was not an odor to be found, so I was glad that I would only be associated with a sound and not a smell..shut up Kelly...So seeing how I jumped up immediately after the explosion I didn't get a true sit test for this cute retro dress but decided to hurry the hell up and get out of there so that no one would know it was me who may or may not have totally ripped one in the dressing room. And of course when I walk out with my sweet retro Friday night outfit I come face to face with the "giggler". So I was totally busted for something I didn't even do. And really who wants to explain that whole "sit test" fiasco to some late teen stick figure who probably looks great in dressing room lighting and gross three way mirrors. Bitch.
Dear God- you're humor does not impress me. Nope. Not at all. Go pick on someone your own size. Your faithful servant, FartyMcfartypants
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
September 12, 2011
So there I was, 3651 days ago, sleeping cozily in my bed. It wasn't unusual for people to call me at such an obscene time in the morning. I mean 9 am might as well be the crack of dawn for a single girl living the life in Boston. But the calls were stacked, and when I looked, they were from my family. I felt fear climb up my spine and grab my throat. It was most likely Dad. He's practically had one foot in the grave since he found out his third child was, in fact, another girl. And as I opened my flip phone to make the dreaded call home. The phone rang again.
"Hello?"
"Brooke! Are you ok?" My older sister Carrie.
"Huh? Me. I'm sleeping. What's up?"
"There are planes crashing into buildings in New York City!"
"What?!"
"Turn on the TV!"
"I don't have a TV!" (seriously..I was a traveling nurse and had much better things to do than watch Golden Girls all day- and I could rent the first couple seasons of Sex and the City- so who needs cable?)
"Well find one. They think it's terrorists. Be careful, there might be more attacks!"
What the hell? Terrorists? 4 hours from here, crashing into a major metropolitan city.
Bang Bang Bang- "Shirein!! Get up get up get up..let me in!" The high rise I lived in had a fairly speedy elevator, but that felt like it took a year to go up to the 27th floor from the 19th floor that my studio was on.
"Are you crazy woman!" Shirein in her poodle pajamas (wtf is that about!) answered the door (also living the single life where 9 am is completely unacceptable for visiting hours).
"There are terrorists crashing planes into buildings in New York City..Turn on the News!"
And we sat there, knees pulled into our chests, mouths covered with shaky hands and watched it all unfold. I saw the news coverage of people jumping from the World Trade Center buildings. I saw some link arms and jump. I watched some jump in an embrace. Some jumped alone. To their deaths. My imagination has no concept of what they were leaving behind in those buildings. The living hell that no one will ever know. They quickly stopped showing footage of the jumpers. The mothers, fathers, husbands and wives stopped being filmed as they escaped and succombed to their fate. The Pentagon was hit. A flight crashed in Pennsylvania. There were warnings of other threats in other cities. We sat there in a high rise across from the Federal Building in Boston and realized getting outside of the city would be a wise decision.
Walking outside for the first time on September 11th in downtown Boston- It felt as if the weight of the world was mourning. Even the pigeons seemed to show their sadness. There were no cars on the streets in Boston. The only business I found open was a 7-11 on the corner. It occured to me that at that moment I could've been experiencing the beginning of the end of the world as we know it. Apocolaypse. I didn't even consider buying water or canned goods. The reason being that the abandoned city had plenty to offer me if I should need it. The silence of a sadness like that grips you and leaves a tattoo where it once held you. Too stunned for anger, too shocked for tears- September 12th will forever be the day that I was most proud to be an American. At the Massachusetts General Hospital on September 12th there were hundreds of people in line to donate blood, and those lines were formed at every hospital in the city, in the state and across the country. People calling to volunteer to do anything. Please..they just wanted to do something. There were American Flags on cars, buses, and every restaurant window. Men and women - strangers living next to each other began to reach out. Began to stand together as Americans. The devastating reality of so many final conversations. The heart wrenching loss of self that wives and husbands must have felt when their loved one never called back. When everything wasn't ok. When there would never be another I love you. I break inside a little bit at the thought of that ever happening to me or to someone I love. But THAT day..we all loved every single one of them and we felt it. We hurt together, even if we would never know that kind of hurt personally.
Soon there were stories of courage and luck and heroism. Of those who missed a flight. Who called in sick. Who made it out. We held onto those lifelines. We stop and remember on September 11th, and the lost are in our thoughts while the living are in our prayers. But I suggest we celebrate on September 12th..the acts of human kindness, no..not just human kindness, but American kindness, and the love that we showed our fellow man. Because United we did stand.
"Hello?"
"Brooke! Are you ok?" My older sister Carrie.
"Huh? Me. I'm sleeping. What's up?"
"There are planes crashing into buildings in New York City!"
"What?!"
"Turn on the TV!"
"I don't have a TV!" (seriously..I was a traveling nurse and had much better things to do than watch Golden Girls all day- and I could rent the first couple seasons of Sex and the City- so who needs cable?)
"Well find one. They think it's terrorists. Be careful, there might be more attacks!"
What the hell? Terrorists? 4 hours from here, crashing into a major metropolitan city.
Bang Bang Bang- "Shirein!! Get up get up get up..let me in!" The high rise I lived in had a fairly speedy elevator, but that felt like it took a year to go up to the 27th floor from the 19th floor that my studio was on.
"Are you crazy woman!" Shirein in her poodle pajamas (wtf is that about!) answered the door (also living the single life where 9 am is completely unacceptable for visiting hours).
"There are terrorists crashing planes into buildings in New York City..Turn on the News!"
And we sat there, knees pulled into our chests, mouths covered with shaky hands and watched it all unfold. I saw the news coverage of people jumping from the World Trade Center buildings. I saw some link arms and jump. I watched some jump in an embrace. Some jumped alone. To their deaths. My imagination has no concept of what they were leaving behind in those buildings. The living hell that no one will ever know. They quickly stopped showing footage of the jumpers. The mothers, fathers, husbands and wives stopped being filmed as they escaped and succombed to their fate. The Pentagon was hit. A flight crashed in Pennsylvania. There were warnings of other threats in other cities. We sat there in a high rise across from the Federal Building in Boston and realized getting outside of the city would be a wise decision.
Walking outside for the first time on September 11th in downtown Boston- It felt as if the weight of the world was mourning. Even the pigeons seemed to show their sadness. There were no cars on the streets in Boston. The only business I found open was a 7-11 on the corner. It occured to me that at that moment I could've been experiencing the beginning of the end of the world as we know it. Apocolaypse. I didn't even consider buying water or canned goods. The reason being that the abandoned city had plenty to offer me if I should need it. The silence of a sadness like that grips you and leaves a tattoo where it once held you. Too stunned for anger, too shocked for tears- September 12th will forever be the day that I was most proud to be an American. At the Massachusetts General Hospital on September 12th there were hundreds of people in line to donate blood, and those lines were formed at every hospital in the city, in the state and across the country. People calling to volunteer to do anything. Please..they just wanted to do something. There were American Flags on cars, buses, and every restaurant window. Men and women - strangers living next to each other began to reach out. Began to stand together as Americans. The devastating reality of so many final conversations. The heart wrenching loss of self that wives and husbands must have felt when their loved one never called back. When everything wasn't ok. When there would never be another I love you. I break inside a little bit at the thought of that ever happening to me or to someone I love. But THAT day..we all loved every single one of them and we felt it. We hurt together, even if we would never know that kind of hurt personally.
Soon there were stories of courage and luck and heroism. Of those who missed a flight. Who called in sick. Who made it out. We held onto those lifelines. We stop and remember on September 11th, and the lost are in our thoughts while the living are in our prayers. But I suggest we celebrate on September 12th..the acts of human kindness, no..not just human kindness, but American kindness, and the love that we showed our fellow man. Because United we did stand.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
September 8, 2011
So there I was laying on my bedroom floor. Yankee Candle candlelight flickering on the walls while Dr. Marti Ross finishes a guided meditation on the CD player (hey..I have my deep side!) Relaxed and happy I roll to my side and about a foot from where my head was laying was a HUGE FUCKING COCKROACH! In my hysteria I am sure there was a loud scream, but I don't recall if it was a shrill girlie scream (yes. yes it was). I jump and I'm sure Michael Jordan's got nothing on me at this point! And that little bastard barely moves! Really, he was taunting me! I slide on a flip flop of death and then the little fucker scurries into the bathroom..bad move mister, carpeting might have saved you! I proceed to River Dance myself around the bathroom floor in attempt to kill the thing! In my mind..it might as well have been a Pterodactyl! IT WAS HUGE! But too bad for him, I AM the LORD of the DANCE! and he is dead. Some of you may remember my previous "roommate" that had a bad run in with a shower curtain rod and the bathtub. Tragic. Although this dinosauresque roach may have had the last laugh since I think I sprained an ankle in the all the flailing, I mean dancing, and there was the part that involved me scraping up dinosaur goo, legs, and possibly roach eggs. It might have been genocide. I could have killed what was possibly millions of generations of Dinosaur roaches. Now Nato will be on my ass for violating the Geneva Convention! Great. I'll be in prison. I won't do well in prison. They surely won't let me have a fan and eye patches to sleep with. This is not looking good for me especially considering they probably put roaches on the payroll at the prison. Roach spit in my food. Heckling me because they'll all know I am a roach killer. It's not good. Not good at all.
Dear Lord... Please forgive me for accidentally dancing on that beautiful creature you blessed my home with. My heart breaks for his/her family as they will surely be impacted by the loss of their loved one. On a positive note, they will get more food, cuz DAMN that bitch was huge! Your faithful servant, Brooke.
Dear Lord... Please forgive me for accidentally dancing on that beautiful creature you blessed my home with. My heart breaks for his/her family as they will surely be impacted by the loss of their loved one. On a positive note, they will get more food, cuz DAMN that bitch was huge! Your faithful servant, Brooke.
Friday, September 2, 2011
September 2, 2011
Picture it.. Vegas, 2011! So there I was..(and props to everyone who picked up on the Golden Girls reference!) plucking my third chin hair this week, hold on this gets more personal, when I sent a small prayer of thanks to our Heavenly Father for the wisdom and foresight of striking me down with a humongous cold sore above my lip, a cheek pimple and PMS today. In my effort at personal growth, my prayer of Thanks went something like this-"God, I realize I've been a 'fucktard' for approximately the last 30 years (I had to have been a decent human being at some stretch, right?) and I am grateful to still be drawing breath. I want to thank you for the opportunity to experience social facial uncomfortableness in these days prior to my trip to LA where I will be convening with the cast of Big Brother 13. Your infinite wisdom knows no bounds and my gratitude spills forth, along with the continued abdominal bloat and possibly dried up, flaky herpie goo. Please hear my prayer. And thanks for getting the refrigerator replaced. Amen, Your faithful servant, Brooke. PS- if things continue as they have been, I fully expect my humpback to rear it's bountiful mound in the next few months and request that I have an ever playing theme song of "My Humps" by Fergie and her black eyed peas, because really there is no limit on shame."
Lovely lady lumps indeed.
PSS..sorry for saying fucktard in my prayer, but it is the beginning of a revolution. A socially backward slide of my moral compass, but a revolution nonetheless.
PSSS..During said convening of Big Brother 13 cast members and myself, a complete Big Brother idiot, having never seen a single episode in 13 seasons, I ask for guidance and support that I might not shoot liquid out of my nose while laughing at my own ridiculous jokes, that I am certain are going to be told, or if liquid should come from any of my orifices may it land on my sister Kelly and no one else, because really, what are sisters for?
PSSSS...and by the way, if you could turn some water into wine, I have a case in the fridge (cold, praise Jesus) and feel like tying one on tonight. I'm feeling a nice Pinot Noir or hell, even a Zinfandel will do in a pinch! But no rush, I need to hit the treadmill. Ciao! Again.. faithful servant, future dweller in the fires of hell, Brooke
Lovely lady lumps indeed.
PSS..sorry for saying fucktard in my prayer, but it is the beginning of a revolution. A socially backward slide of my moral compass, but a revolution nonetheless.
PSSS..During said convening of Big Brother 13 cast members and myself, a complete Big Brother idiot, having never seen a single episode in 13 seasons, I ask for guidance and support that I might not shoot liquid out of my nose while laughing at my own ridiculous jokes, that I am certain are going to be told, or if liquid should come from any of my orifices may it land on my sister Kelly and no one else, because really, what are sisters for?
PSSSS...and by the way, if you could turn some water into wine, I have a case in the fridge (cold, praise Jesus) and feel like tying one on tonight. I'm feeling a nice Pinot Noir or hell, even a Zinfandel will do in a pinch! But no rush, I need to hit the treadmill. Ciao! Again.. faithful servant, future dweller in the fires of hell, Brooke
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)