So here I am, sitting in my cozy little apartment in Indianapolis. On New Year's Eve. Alone.
I laugh at the idea that I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do more than this. It doesn't help that the snot slide now in use on the front of my face leads me to believe that I'm not suitable for the public. I was given a binder of all of my blogs from my sister Kelly for Christmas. Reading them, completely sober, I still laugh out loud. I'm not sure if that's a good thing.
I'm trying to conjure up the strength to make a list of New Year's Resolutions....which I will aptly title : Things I very highly doubt I will ever do in 2013
1. Begin to exercise. (I feel it's time for someone to rewrite the definition of exercise)
Now I know there's some uber excited Barbie look alike- Richard Simmons sounding guru out there that would say that my first goal is not specific enough and therefore doomed to fail...so before you people go all ape shit on me..I'll start over and try to be more specific.
1. Participate in some form of activity that requires motion of my body that would not otherwise be done, on a daily basis lasting somewhere between 5-60 minutes.
2. Eat foods that are actually made of food. Basically limit the amount of maltodextran, sodium benzoate, and other unknown foreign substances. Maybe starting with adding an apple a day.
3. Floss everyday.
4. Take my vitamins and whole food supplements every day.
5. Meditate, not just when in line at Walmart in an attempt to thwart my desire to pummel the person in front of me with a can of corn because of a ridiculous price check.
6. never make a list of things to do more than 5 items long. Let's not get stressed out about being overly busy!
Dear Holiest of Holies- It was awesome that the world didn't in fact END this month. But with that being said I would like to put in a few requests for 2013.. Please, enough snow already. If you have any ideas about unplanned pregnancies, please surprise those who are excited by the prospect. May the Fiscal Cliff drop us all off into a huge pile of Gold at the end of the unseen Rainbow. Last. but MOST importantly, let the pregnancy of Kim Kardashian and Kanye West not end with the birth of the worlds largest ego maniac (Thanks my friend for that perfect description). Your faithful Servant Brooke, this snot slide is not open to the public, Albertson
Monday, December 31, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
December 18, 2012
Does anyone else freak out when getting a massage? You know...they "step out" to let you get undressed and it's like BAM!!!! How fast can I possibly take my clothes off and place them somewhat neatly (read: ugly lady undergarments hidden from sight) and jump over the table a la the Duke's of Hazzard so that I might get under the covers before the masseuse walks back in. Is it just me? And seriously..after working up a sweat it usually takes them a good 3 minutes more before they ever even knock..so why am I complete lunatic....?? Seriously...this person is about to rub their lotioned up hands all over my body- like touching skin on skin- and I'm worried that someone might see my opossum (yes it is spelt with an o- I know things!) OH...you gave me that look because I called my woman-ness a North American Marsupial. Hey..it's better than cheeseburger- or snatch. Really - snatch..how completely foul of a word...although I do kinda giggle when I say it. Snatch. Ridiculous right? Every time I see that title for the movie Brad Pitt was in I just cringe..I haven't even watched it for fear of it being about a bunch of funky vaginas.
I feel this might not be appropriate water cooler conversation but definitely appropriate Happy Hour conversation! Please......discuss.
But really..is it just me in the Speed Undressing Olympics??
On a more serious note. Nah. Never mind. Yeah--- like I could go without speaking my mind. Something tragic happened in Connecticut on Dec 14, 2012. Young Children were killed. I don't really consider myself "media" but I would hate to be a hypocrite- The Media sensationalizes everything! Maybe if people started realizing that negative attention is still attention then we wouldn't be having all these students "Columbine-ing" all over this damn country. I understand that news is news, but in my opinion news is one thing and the complete and utter destruction of lives is another. I realize that in other countries there are teachers who carry guns on field trips and that suicide bombers are a dime a dozen and in that regard we don't know anything when it comes to public acts of violence. I would just like to ask about how many inner city schools have deaths by violence that we never hear about??? Is one students life lost more tragic than another because of their economic social status? Has anyone else noticed this? Do we not hear about Gangs shooting up schools because it doesn't happen? Because they know that shit is fucked up! and they do all their shootin' on the mean streets?? And seriously- I would like..just once- a news anchor to say- "26 people were killed at an Elementary School by some obviously psychotic, desperately pathetic loser" what are they worried about...hurting a murderous assholes feelings? Is there some reason why these nut jobs aren't called out at face value? Why are we so willing to spare society an accurate description of the assailant being totally and completely vicious? Freedom of Speech goes in all directions. Do you think the majority of people feel that the parents had NO IDEA their kid was going to go ballistic someday? That they didn't have the slightest inkling that maybe he was 20 paces off center and not even therapy and drugs were helping him. How many teachers did he pass by that knew he was whacked out when he, himself was in school? Why aren't these desperately sick kids getting help, even if it means institutionalization? Why? Because instead...we load them up with anti psychotics, anti-anxiety, anti-mentally insane drugs and keep our fingers crossed that they take them everyday. Let's just hope for the best that little Johnny behaves.
I'm taking donations for the purchase of a Caribbean Island for those who have been tested and found to be not crazy. Any takers on real estate?
Dear God-
It's beyond any one's comprehension as to how someone could kill 26 people, with 20 of those not even having an age in the double digits. From Tsunamis to murderous acts of insanity- this Christmas season is marked by way to many people as a time to mourn. My heart reaches out, not to the dead and their living counter parts- but to the remaining of us who have been so blessed to go unscathed, to do what is right. Help us help each other. Help us put aside our pride, our fear, and our disinterest to reach out and do what is absolutely essential.
Your faithful servant- Brooke-current gold medalist in the undressing Olympics- Albertson
I feel this might not be appropriate water cooler conversation but definitely appropriate Happy Hour conversation! Please......discuss.
But really..is it just me in the Speed Undressing Olympics??
On a more serious note. Nah. Never mind. Yeah--- like I could go without speaking my mind. Something tragic happened in Connecticut on Dec 14, 2012. Young Children were killed. I don't really consider myself "media" but I would hate to be a hypocrite- The Media sensationalizes everything! Maybe if people started realizing that negative attention is still attention then we wouldn't be having all these students "Columbine-ing" all over this damn country. I understand that news is news, but in my opinion news is one thing and the complete and utter destruction of lives is another. I realize that in other countries there are teachers who carry guns on field trips and that suicide bombers are a dime a dozen and in that regard we don't know anything when it comes to public acts of violence. I would just like to ask about how many inner city schools have deaths by violence that we never hear about??? Is one students life lost more tragic than another because of their economic social status? Has anyone else noticed this? Do we not hear about Gangs shooting up schools because it doesn't happen? Because they know that shit is fucked up! and they do all their shootin' on the mean streets?? And seriously- I would like..just once- a news anchor to say- "26 people were killed at an Elementary School by some obviously psychotic, desperately pathetic loser" what are they worried about...hurting a murderous assholes feelings? Is there some reason why these nut jobs aren't called out at face value? Why are we so willing to spare society an accurate description of the assailant being totally and completely vicious? Freedom of Speech goes in all directions. Do you think the majority of people feel that the parents had NO IDEA their kid was going to go ballistic someday? That they didn't have the slightest inkling that maybe he was 20 paces off center and not even therapy and drugs were helping him. How many teachers did he pass by that knew he was whacked out when he, himself was in school? Why aren't these desperately sick kids getting help, even if it means institutionalization? Why? Because instead...we load them up with anti psychotics, anti-anxiety, anti-mentally insane drugs and keep our fingers crossed that they take them everyday. Let's just hope for the best that little Johnny behaves.
I'm taking donations for the purchase of a Caribbean Island for those who have been tested and found to be not crazy. Any takers on real estate?
Dear God-
It's beyond any one's comprehension as to how someone could kill 26 people, with 20 of those not even having an age in the double digits. From Tsunamis to murderous acts of insanity- this Christmas season is marked by way to many people as a time to mourn. My heart reaches out, not to the dead and their living counter parts- but to the remaining of us who have been so blessed to go unscathed, to do what is right. Help us help each other. Help us put aside our pride, our fear, and our disinterest to reach out and do what is absolutely essential.
Your faithful servant- Brooke-current gold medalist in the undressing Olympics- Albertson
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
December 11, 2012
The list of things that have happened since my last blog is mind boggling.
Here are the highlights: depression, exhaustion, Hawaii with Suzanne (afuckingmazing), Obama re-elected, got the hell out of dodge (read Vegas), Aunt died (RIP Heidy with a Y-), new apartment in Indianapolis, pissed off some nurses in a peer interview- didn't get an ER job, spent 3 nights in my apartment TOTAL in the 20 days I've had it, have been living a guilt trip of my own mental making because of the great man who loves me, who I can't reciprocate the feelings for and last but not least-scrapped ice off my windshield for the first time in 6 years. 2 Weeks until Christmas...and it's so great to be home. I'm serious. No really.
To Summarize that lengthy list- I've gained 10 pounds from the sitting. Sitting on the plane, sitting on the beach, sitting in the car, sitting in the hospital, sitting at the funeral, sitting in the car some more. Sitting inside because it's the freaking North Pole out there at 31 degrees! The way awesome thing though is that when I went to buy some fat jeans I was very excited that they were in fact the same size as I have been wearing...just different brands....you know...us Midwestern girls sometimes wear a more husky cut !!!! That's awful. Please don't call me husky. or burly. or chunky. or corn fed. And...no, I'm really not big boned either.
I'm just going to call it my holiday weight.
It is what it is.
Those are the most ridiculous 5 words ever put together that I've ever heard. I'm guilty of saying them because I can't say what I'm really thinking. It is what it is...no shit. If it was what it wasn't, then it wouldn't be what it isn't and it's still the same damn thing. So I say...let's do away with redundant, ridiculousness and not be afraid to say...just deal with it. As an adult, I've done my fair share of belly aching, but when I finally realized being a whining, bitching and moaning woman of a certain age was really unflattering, I cut back tremendously on my diet of "that's bullshit"; "some people are morons"; "this place sucks"; and so on and so forth....
I figure if I want my happily ever after I better not start off being a grumpy old maid.
Dear Past, Present and Future-
You've always been with me. Teaching me, reminding me-sometimes gently and sometimes with a big punch in the gut, and leading me to the person I am and will be. Thank you for being real and unwavering in your quest of making me a better person. You have taught me the value of truth, lead me to believe in faith, and helped me to realize the principles and beliefs that make me who I am.
Happy Holidays, your faithful servant, Brooke
Here are the highlights: depression, exhaustion, Hawaii with Suzanne (afuckingmazing), Obama re-elected, got the hell out of dodge (read Vegas), Aunt died (RIP Heidy with a Y-), new apartment in Indianapolis, pissed off some nurses in a peer interview- didn't get an ER job, spent 3 nights in my apartment TOTAL in the 20 days I've had it, have been living a guilt trip of my own mental making because of the great man who loves me, who I can't reciprocate the feelings for and last but not least-scrapped ice off my windshield for the first time in 6 years. 2 Weeks until Christmas...and it's so great to be home. I'm serious. No really.
To Summarize that lengthy list- I've gained 10 pounds from the sitting. Sitting on the plane, sitting on the beach, sitting in the car, sitting in the hospital, sitting at the funeral, sitting in the car some more. Sitting inside because it's the freaking North Pole out there at 31 degrees! The way awesome thing though is that when I went to buy some fat jeans I was very excited that they were in fact the same size as I have been wearing...just different brands....you know...us Midwestern girls sometimes wear a more husky cut !!!! That's awful. Please don't call me husky. or burly. or chunky. or corn fed. And...no, I'm really not big boned either.
I'm just going to call it my holiday weight.
It is what it is.
Those are the most ridiculous 5 words ever put together that I've ever heard. I'm guilty of saying them because I can't say what I'm really thinking. It is what it is...no shit. If it was what it wasn't, then it wouldn't be what it isn't and it's still the same damn thing. So I say...let's do away with redundant, ridiculousness and not be afraid to say...just deal with it. As an adult, I've done my fair share of belly aching, but when I finally realized being a whining, bitching and moaning woman of a certain age was really unflattering, I cut back tremendously on my diet of "that's bullshit"; "some people are morons"; "this place sucks"; and so on and so forth....
I figure if I want my happily ever after I better not start off being a grumpy old maid.
Dear Past, Present and Future-
You've always been with me. Teaching me, reminding me-sometimes gently and sometimes with a big punch in the gut, and leading me to the person I am and will be. Thank you for being real and unwavering in your quest of making me a better person. You have taught me the value of truth, lead me to believe in faith, and helped me to realize the principles and beliefs that make me who I am.
Happy Holidays, your faithful servant, Brooke
Monday, October 15, 2012
October 15, 2012
So there I was- 15 years ago- standing in a tiny chapel at Treasure Island in Las Vegas marrying a young man that I adored but pretty much knew "I do" was the wrong answer. I've spent the last 15 years trying to avoid this same mistake but as those who know me well know it can take time to convince myself that I do actually know what I am talking about from time to time. I married the second guy in the same city but different chapel- at the Monte Carlo. I know what you are thinking..."Are you karate kidding me! You got married twice in Vegas!!!" Or maybe even more pathetic- "You've been married twice!" Yep..I'm an equal opportunity divorcee. I wasn't living in Las Vegas at either point in my matrimonial vow taking..but I find myself here now. Wanting to stay but wanting to go all at the same time. The dating scene is quite like a freak parade. One look through any of my online dating accounts (yes, I have many!) at the various men who have "winked" "flirted" or just come out and asked if I wanted to "wrestle" would scare anyone off. I've just had an epiphany. Maybe online is not the place to meet good. eligible, non-Velcro wallet carrying guys. Well..I actually did realize that this summer and enlisted the oh so NOT helpful matchmaking service of eLove. I eLoathe my matchmaker. I want to stab her beady little eyes out. LOL..not that I've ever seen her eyes. But if she keeps referring these men to me that she says "I can't assume you wouldn't find him attractive"- well that statement speaks for itself. Heads will roll.
Yes.. I said karate kidding.( snort, giggle.. and I think I'M A GREAT CATCH! That's even funnier!)
I need a whole new perspective on this whole single late 30's woman. ohhh....not late..MID 30's. Yes.. that's better. A mid 30's woman with so much going for her- and who am I kidding. Most of the time a night at home blogging is 100 times more satisfying than dating. I have to say a night at home reading, picking the toe jam out of my big toenails (you gotta get that nasty funk out of there- it ain't healthy!), or sleeping has been more satisfying than most the dates I've been on- EVER. Except the one date where we had the Arcade Olympics and he won but was sweating like a beast after word...because apparently he was NOT going to lose to a girl! That was a fun date.
I was hoping that the date that I met in Baggage Claim at McCarren Airport would have been a huge success because I loved the uniqueness of our meeting location (totally my idea). He said it was zany. I should've known right then I wasn't going to be swept off my flip flops. Didn't Beaver Cleaver say zany. Or some other non-sexy person. The too short tie died t-shirt sealed the deal for me. He really was that super nice guy too..but that is also the problem. You can't be boy scouting all over me- makes me itch in my pants. I don't want a boy or even a guy. I want a man. And if I'm the manliest of the two of us..that is a MAJOR problem. Yes, I know I rewired a light and changed my own windshield wipers this summer..but really, if those little forays into anything resembling Tim the tool man Taylor are more than you've ever even contemplated, then adios nancy pants, come back when you can change my oil!
WHAT? Too picky?
Me? You bet your sweet nancy pants I am.
Dear Online Dating Dude-
No, I do not accept your chat request because I feel that the lack of self realization that allowed you to post that topless picture of you in the bathroom mirror (take number 126) is an obvious indication of how incredibly dense you are. And no I don't care how long anything is on your body whether it's 3 or 8 inches.. and on that same note, I would like to say your Hulk Hogan look alike winner trophy was glaring too much for me to really appreciate how NOT 43 years old you are. I hear Jerry Springer is looking for people to fill his studio audience, maybe you could meet your beloved there.
Yours, in as much respect as I can muster,
Brooke -not with a ten foot pole or a million dollars or if we were the last two living things on this planet- you haven't gotten the point yet, I'm politely trying to say- go fuck yourself- Albertson.
Yes.. I said karate kidding.( snort, giggle.. and I think I'M A GREAT CATCH! That's even funnier!)
I need a whole new perspective on this whole single late 30's woman. ohhh....not late..MID 30's. Yes.. that's better. A mid 30's woman with so much going for her- and who am I kidding. Most of the time a night at home blogging is 100 times more satisfying than dating. I have to say a night at home reading, picking the toe jam out of my big toenails (you gotta get that nasty funk out of there- it ain't healthy!), or sleeping has been more satisfying than most the dates I've been on- EVER. Except the one date where we had the Arcade Olympics and he won but was sweating like a beast after word...because apparently he was NOT going to lose to a girl! That was a fun date.
I was hoping that the date that I met in Baggage Claim at McCarren Airport would have been a huge success because I loved the uniqueness of our meeting location (totally my idea). He said it was zany. I should've known right then I wasn't going to be swept off my flip flops. Didn't Beaver Cleaver say zany. Or some other non-sexy person. The too short tie died t-shirt sealed the deal for me. He really was that super nice guy too..but that is also the problem. You can't be boy scouting all over me- makes me itch in my pants. I don't want a boy or even a guy. I want a man. And if I'm the manliest of the two of us..that is a MAJOR problem. Yes, I know I rewired a light and changed my own windshield wipers this summer..but really, if those little forays into anything resembling Tim the tool man Taylor are more than you've ever even contemplated, then adios nancy pants, come back when you can change my oil!
WHAT? Too picky?
Me? You bet your sweet nancy pants I am.
Dear Online Dating Dude-
No, I do not accept your chat request because I feel that the lack of self realization that allowed you to post that topless picture of you in the bathroom mirror (take number 126) is an obvious indication of how incredibly dense you are. And no I don't care how long anything is on your body whether it's 3 or 8 inches.. and on that same note, I would like to say your Hulk Hogan look alike winner trophy was glaring too much for me to really appreciate how NOT 43 years old you are. I hear Jerry Springer is looking for people to fill his studio audience, maybe you could meet your beloved there.
Yours, in as much respect as I can muster,
Brooke -not with a ten foot pole or a million dollars or if we were the last two living things on this planet- you haven't gotten the point yet, I'm politely trying to say- go fuck yourself- Albertson.
Friday, October 5, 2012
October 5, 2012
So there I was lying on the floor of a suite at Red Rock Hotel and Casino, with a large, flesh toned penis suction cupped to my forehead. Keepin it classy obviously, but let me get to the point. At what age does this type of nonsense become..."frowned upon" or even ridiculed by those younger than myself? Are Bachelorette parties after the age of 35 supposed to be more tame? In my expert opinion, and of course I have one, the older the attendees of the party, the crazier it is likely to become. Not in the..let's do a line of coke in the bathroom and party until 6 am three days from now..but less inhibited and more um...alcoholic in nature. Older women have a lot more stress they need to drink away! Let's compare a bachelorette party of a 25 year old and a 35 year old.
25 year old- has all her high school and college girlfriends attend and inevitably one if not all of them get snarky about the groom to be, old feuds, stolen boyfriends, ruined clothes, and the tacky/cheap/fill in the blank engagement ring.
35 year old- has her close friends (possibly those that helped her survive her divorce) her co-workers that she enjoys hanging out with and inevitably women that never knew each other start doing shots to salute their bride to be for finding a man that has a stable job, does his share of the household chores, doesn't have a huge beer gut, and realizes why AXE body spray is NOT his scent.
A 25 year old- will likely hold her party at a somewhat local venue, whether it be a club, a bar, someones "nice" house that has a pool, or a nice hotel where 8 girls sleep in a room made for 4. They go out for a group dinner at the Olive Garden, and chug drinks during happy hour (a bucket of beer for $10! SOLD!)
A 35 year old- might grab a plane to Vegas (unless you live there!) or South Beach and live the weekend in style in a hotel room (if not a suite) with no more than 4 women, and even then..it's usually less. There's always a pre-party where shenanigans ensue (before the VIP table is available) and these shenanigans will vary depending on the particular group involved. Will dine on amazing food, drink whatever they fancy at any time, and when the group decides which latest hot spot they will pounce on, they get there in style via a limousine.
A 25 year old- will wear something completely slutty likely bought from Charlotte Russe and be decorated from head to toe in the awful bachelorette/penis/ cardboard tiara..and will make all of her lemmings wear atrocious pink and white buttons that say "I'm with the Bride" to prove they are in fact with her.
A 35 year old- will buy a $300 dress and shoes and look amazing while donning only one piece of bachelorette/penis nonsense just for the sake of argument. If she chooses to wear a tiara..it will not be cardboard. Her entourage will look equally gorgeous and relaxed as they aren't worried that they only have $20 left and it's only 10:30.
The one common theme for both bachelorette parties is that there will be men who swarm around- usually- it's the weird creepy dudes that are in their late 40's and have Velcro wallets.
Strippers- they are no different for either group. Generally not worth the money, and really, once you've seen one pelvic thrust you've seen them all..usually makes for good blackmail photos though.
In the end- there is nothing that I've encountered so far that hasn't gotten better with age. Even if I might be carrying 10 pounds more at 35 then I did at 25, or have to be religious about covering the gray hairs that are showing up, I can honestly say I wouldn't go back. I feel a sense of pride and pity for the young 20 something brides, knowing that I was once one of them and knowing too, that it's a much harder road than any of them are expecting. I try, very hard I might add, to imagine those young brides living happily ever after. I always give a very heartfelt "Good luck to you"..but you will hardly ever hear me say "Congratulations". It is a rite of passage that often times is an emotional tsunami and no matter what- life will never be as simple as it was before.
But who am I to say..I'm a 36 year old double divorcee with a dog and two cats! and that suction cup penis is the closest thing I've had as a prospect in a long while! Holy cannoli...the next time I get married I'm going cheap and trashy (the wedding, not the man- fingers crossed)!
The moral of the story is this- something my sister has said to me a time or two.."Do whatever makes you feel like a Rock Star!"
Dear Mother Mary,
I want to thank you for ruining my sense of purity with your whole Immaculate Conception - why didn't you just fess up and tell it like it was..someone slipped you a micky and boom 9 months later you had a baby boy... oh..wait..that'll be the story I go with if I ever get knocked up. Either way..there's no comparing to you.
Keeping it Classy, your faithful servant, Brooke aka Dickhead Albertson
25 year old- has all her high school and college girlfriends attend and inevitably one if not all of them get snarky about the groom to be, old feuds, stolen boyfriends, ruined clothes, and the tacky/cheap/fill in the blank engagement ring.
35 year old- has her close friends (possibly those that helped her survive her divorce) her co-workers that she enjoys hanging out with and inevitably women that never knew each other start doing shots to salute their bride to be for finding a man that has a stable job, does his share of the household chores, doesn't have a huge beer gut, and realizes why AXE body spray is NOT his scent.
A 25 year old- will likely hold her party at a somewhat local venue, whether it be a club, a bar, someones "nice" house that has a pool, or a nice hotel where 8 girls sleep in a room made for 4. They go out for a group dinner at the Olive Garden, and chug drinks during happy hour (a bucket of beer for $10! SOLD!)
A 35 year old- might grab a plane to Vegas (unless you live there!) or South Beach and live the weekend in style in a hotel room (if not a suite) with no more than 4 women, and even then..it's usually less. There's always a pre-party where shenanigans ensue (before the VIP table is available) and these shenanigans will vary depending on the particular group involved. Will dine on amazing food, drink whatever they fancy at any time, and when the group decides which latest hot spot they will pounce on, they get there in style via a limousine.
A 25 year old- will wear something completely slutty likely bought from Charlotte Russe and be decorated from head to toe in the awful bachelorette/penis/ cardboard tiara..and will make all of her lemmings wear atrocious pink and white buttons that say "I'm with the Bride" to prove they are in fact with her.
A 35 year old- will buy a $300 dress and shoes and look amazing while donning only one piece of bachelorette/penis nonsense just for the sake of argument. If she chooses to wear a tiara..it will not be cardboard. Her entourage will look equally gorgeous and relaxed as they aren't worried that they only have $20 left and it's only 10:30.
The one common theme for both bachelorette parties is that there will be men who swarm around- usually- it's the weird creepy dudes that are in their late 40's and have Velcro wallets.
Strippers- they are no different for either group. Generally not worth the money, and really, once you've seen one pelvic thrust you've seen them all..usually makes for good blackmail photos though.
In the end- there is nothing that I've encountered so far that hasn't gotten better with age. Even if I might be carrying 10 pounds more at 35 then I did at 25, or have to be religious about covering the gray hairs that are showing up, I can honestly say I wouldn't go back. I feel a sense of pride and pity for the young 20 something brides, knowing that I was once one of them and knowing too, that it's a much harder road than any of them are expecting. I try, very hard I might add, to imagine those young brides living happily ever after. I always give a very heartfelt "Good luck to you"..but you will hardly ever hear me say "Congratulations". It is a rite of passage that often times is an emotional tsunami and no matter what- life will never be as simple as it was before.
But who am I to say..I'm a 36 year old double divorcee with a dog and two cats! and that suction cup penis is the closest thing I've had as a prospect in a long while! Holy cannoli...the next time I get married I'm going cheap and trashy (the wedding, not the man- fingers crossed)!
The moral of the story is this- something my sister has said to me a time or two.."Do whatever makes you feel like a Rock Star!"
Dear Mother Mary,
I want to thank you for ruining my sense of purity with your whole Immaculate Conception - why didn't you just fess up and tell it like it was..someone slipped you a micky and boom 9 months later you had a baby boy... oh..wait..that'll be the story I go with if I ever get knocked up. Either way..there's no comparing to you.
Keeping it Classy, your faithful servant, Brooke aka Dickhead Albertson
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
September 4, 2012
So there I was in Louisville, Kentucky surrounded by half naked tri-athletes (of all places-because nothing screams fit, physical prowess like Kentucky?). Not just any triathletes...the hard bodied, etched and beautiful types about to do the mother of all Triathalons- Ironman 140 + miles of complete ridiculousness (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, 26.2 mile run). Now I fully understand that this might be the time where some one with my Pillsbury dough boy Buddha belly might feel a bit-lacking in the physique category but no, I did not feel lacking at all. I know full well I don't have the guts to do even a third of that race. Yes, I did a marathon once, but that was apparently some fluke of nature, and very unlikely to be a repeat event. Knowing I don't have the mental or physical fortitude to ever even DESIRE to do something so atrocious, I don't hold myself to the physical standards that these obviously amazing athletes, albeit slightly crazy, hold themselves to in order to actually live through such hell, I mean event. The gear alone costs more than my college tuition (which isn't really saying much since I went to a state school in Indiana..but still!) It was an impressive sight no matter how you look at it, or drool as I might have been doing once or twenty-nine times.
Tara, my good good friend who used to get plastered on Long Island Iced Teas with me in Boston, over a decade ago, who used to enjoy the simple life of sleeping in and being hung over while watching Sex in the City on VHS...who has spent most of the last 10 years bettering herself so that at 40 years old she could actually compete and finish her Ironman event in under 14 hours, had every ounce of my support. I am so proud of her. And I wasn't even a teeny bit jealous that she has a metabolic age of a 17 year old and I have a metabolic age of a 50 year old. Or that at 40 she has more energy after 140 miles of hell than I do after a long, deep 12 hour sleep. I didn't silently die inside a little bit when I got back home and tried to "jog" only to find out my metabolism isn't the only thing that's 50 years old..so are my knees, my lungs and apparently the arch of my feet..maybe not 50..more like 62.5 (you know..excited to be able to retire early). She is truly an inspiration and if it weren't for the fact that she totally rocks, I would totally hate her.
So what I learned the most during that time in Louisville is that I am not healthy. (Mind you I was there with a lumbar sprain after some crazy old coot in the hospital tried to do a swan dive out of bed and my attempt to help another nurse "assist" her to the top of the bed where normal, non-crazy patients lay was an exercise in how to have one's ass broken. Yes..not just my lumbar got sprained..there was gluteus involved..she literally made me pull my ass out). So I was already three limps towards getting a handicap sticker and feeling oh so poised, graceful and elegant to begin with and the very fact that I did not feel like an inferior troll next to all these admirable athletic types is completely miraculous. I like to think it was my own mental Ironman and I succeeded beautifully.
Needless to say I have been home and vowed on my unborn children that I am going to get healthy. (I know..I've said this 99.8 million times. BUT THIS TIME I'M SERIOUS!)
I've decided carbs are the enemy and right after I finish this Dr. Pepper I'm never having another soda again. EVER. (unless of course someone happens to buy me a Captain and Coke not realizing I'm no longer drinking my signature drink because I've given up soda.. I will have to drink it because I wouldn't want to make them feel bad.) (But that will be it.) (Seriously). Stop smirking.
To prove my dedication to my health I have chosen to volunteer at the Ironman World Championships here in Las Vegas next weekend. In the medical tent. To help injured athletes and not at all to convince myself that all that activity is dangerous and harmful to the body.
Dear 50 Year Old Metabolism,
I know we've had some good times, mostly involving late nights, adult beverages, and something akin to dancing and carrying on. I truly cherish those memories (see Facebook Album "days gone by"). I want you to know that my attempt to destroy you and eliminate you from my body is not to be taken personally. It's not you, it's me. I feel it's time I go in a different direction. I hope you can understand that I just need time to myself. I really wish the best for you.
Your beloved host,
Lard Ass Albertson
Tara, my good good friend who used to get plastered on Long Island Iced Teas with me in Boston, over a decade ago, who used to enjoy the simple life of sleeping in and being hung over while watching Sex in the City on VHS...who has spent most of the last 10 years bettering herself so that at 40 years old she could actually compete and finish her Ironman event in under 14 hours, had every ounce of my support. I am so proud of her. And I wasn't even a teeny bit jealous that she has a metabolic age of a 17 year old and I have a metabolic age of a 50 year old. Or that at 40 she has more energy after 140 miles of hell than I do after a long, deep 12 hour sleep. I didn't silently die inside a little bit when I got back home and tried to "jog" only to find out my metabolism isn't the only thing that's 50 years old..so are my knees, my lungs and apparently the arch of my feet..maybe not 50..more like 62.5 (you know..excited to be able to retire early). She is truly an inspiration and if it weren't for the fact that she totally rocks, I would totally hate her.
So what I learned the most during that time in Louisville is that I am not healthy. (Mind you I was there with a lumbar sprain after some crazy old coot in the hospital tried to do a swan dive out of bed and my attempt to help another nurse "assist" her to the top of the bed where normal, non-crazy patients lay was an exercise in how to have one's ass broken. Yes..not just my lumbar got sprained..there was gluteus involved..she literally made me pull my ass out). So I was already three limps towards getting a handicap sticker and feeling oh so poised, graceful and elegant to begin with and the very fact that I did not feel like an inferior troll next to all these admirable athletic types is completely miraculous. I like to think it was my own mental Ironman and I succeeded beautifully.
Needless to say I have been home and vowed on my unborn children that I am going to get healthy. (I know..I've said this 99.8 million times. BUT THIS TIME I'M SERIOUS!)
I've decided carbs are the enemy and right after I finish this Dr. Pepper I'm never having another soda again. EVER. (unless of course someone happens to buy me a Captain and Coke not realizing I'm no longer drinking my signature drink because I've given up soda.. I will have to drink it because I wouldn't want to make them feel bad.) (But that will be it.) (Seriously). Stop smirking.
To prove my dedication to my health I have chosen to volunteer at the Ironman World Championships here in Las Vegas next weekend. In the medical tent. To help injured athletes and not at all to convince myself that all that activity is dangerous and harmful to the body.
Dear 50 Year Old Metabolism,
I know we've had some good times, mostly involving late nights, adult beverages, and something akin to dancing and carrying on. I truly cherish those memories (see Facebook Album "days gone by"). I want you to know that my attempt to destroy you and eliminate you from my body is not to be taken personally. It's not you, it's me. I feel it's time I go in a different direction. I hope you can understand that I just need time to myself. I really wish the best for you.
Your beloved host,
Lard Ass Albertson
Thursday, August 16, 2012
August 16, 2012
Dear Brooke,
Today is your birthday. 36! Congratulations. Considering some of the moronic shit you've done in these past 3 decades it's actually a miracle you are still alive! (really- backroading?? just because there isn't much to run in to out in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean you can't get yourself killed drinking and driving..and all that peeing in the road!) Not to mention the abundant amount of talking to strangers, bad Internet dating, swimming after eating, and overall general shenanigans that have resulted in an unknown amount of liver damage. So it's generally believed that if you've made it this far you're probably not going anywhere anytime soon. (but your liver kindly asks to keep it in mind the next time someone yells SHOTS!)
But it's time to get serious. 36 means a lot of things. It's an age where the body wants to start a downward spiral and it will happen, but let's not allow it free range with the gas pedal. SPF, working out, healthy food, less alcohol, lots of peace of mind, and laughter.
Goals for the next 36 years-
love
laugh
take risks
enjoy your family (the one you were born into and the one you created)
give it your best shot
always be true to who you are
stop worrying what size pants you wear
be "all in"
never lose your spirit of adventure
All my love,
the one and only you
Today is your birthday. 36! Congratulations. Considering some of the moronic shit you've done in these past 3 decades it's actually a miracle you are still alive! (really- backroading?? just because there isn't much to run in to out in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean you can't get yourself killed drinking and driving..and all that peeing in the road!) Not to mention the abundant amount of talking to strangers, bad Internet dating, swimming after eating, and overall general shenanigans that have resulted in an unknown amount of liver damage. So it's generally believed that if you've made it this far you're probably not going anywhere anytime soon. (but your liver kindly asks to keep it in mind the next time someone yells SHOTS!)
But it's time to get serious. 36 means a lot of things. It's an age where the body wants to start a downward spiral and it will happen, but let's not allow it free range with the gas pedal. SPF, working out, healthy food, less alcohol, lots of peace of mind, and laughter.
Goals for the next 36 years-
love
laugh
take risks
enjoy your family (the one you were born into and the one you created)
give it your best shot
always be true to who you are
stop worrying what size pants you wear
be "all in"
never lose your spirit of adventure
All my love,
the one and only you
Sunday, August 5, 2012
August 5, 2012
It has not escaped my attention that I may, in fact be, a complete moron. There are various anecdotes that would actually prove this theory correctly. For instance, I picked up a National Geographic magazine about Space and the Universe and when I got home to read it, I quickly realized I was just looking at the cool pictures. They were swirly and twinkly with pretty colors..not my fault. The photographer- editor magazine dude should get a raise! Anyway..I decided that for $12.95 the least I could do was read an article or two. So I did. Which makes me want to build a deep underground bunker so that when the next huge solar flare wipes out all of earth's inhabitants, well in reality I'll probably still be dead, but not so much instantaneous powder form like all the surface walkers (that's who I would be warning on my doomsday, big cardboard sign-that I would swirl around while dancing with my headphones on the corner of Las Vegas Blvd and Flamingo, next to the dude in the platform boots wearing sparkly butterfly wings and very little else.) Yes.. the articles were terrifying. Asteroids colliding, moons doing things.. I don't know.. there were lots of big words and large numbers and it was really enough to make me want to eat A LOT of oatmeal cream pies, because really.. they always cheer me up. And according to these sciency astrophysicality types we're doomed in the next 600 years. Excusethefuckoutof me? I know. 600 years. Seriously ass face. You write this article all intimidating and making me feel helpless as an ant on a freeway and at the end you mention it's not really OUR concern, but it COULD be. (I guess those 2 cream pies will have to be considered unnecessary at this juncture). This is why I don't read smarty pants stuff, or watch sophisticated news shows like Fox (ahhhh hahahahaha! Bazinga!) You see what I'm getting at correct? It doesn't matter what view you take or what apocalyptic stance you dread the most...something..SOME THING will eventually get us. I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer (wouldn't that be a great porn star name! Along with Hershey Ramrod!) but it's as if we all worry about our weight, our health, our status, our soul...and in the end...what? We might all end up on the wrong side of a bad B-movie and actually die an instant death by incineration (I hope I'm eating a Little Debbie). Not a bad way to go.
I know in that previous bit of intellectualizing I was trying to do there were multiple examples of my moronic self..but apparently I have no shame and will continue on this conversation thread. Another reason why I'm a complete moron, shit. I lost my train of thought. Well- hey..there ya go!
Oh yeah..I remember..after just watching the award winning movie (I should certainly hope anyway) Magic Mike- I have a quandary. Why is it called a Male Revue? I suppose it has something to do with the fact that I'm thinking Male Review- but obviously..that isn't the spelling and obviously technology has made it so hard to look up a damn word (when your technology runs slower than traffic jam) that I could really care less because the fact of the matter is hot shit and holy water..that boy is gifted (Mr Tatum- I'm single and I know stuff- call me!). Did you see those body rolls and no Mom I'm not explaining what that means..but it does not in fact have anything to do with the body rolls I am assuming you are thinking of- as he clearly has NONE of those. Think of it as a dance move. Have Kelly show you!!! ahahaha- Love ya sissy!
Bazinga! Oh Sheldon Cooper- you put the crack in my ass you're so funny.
Having had my own male stripper experience with an incredibly dreamy, oh so yummy -makes Channing Tatum look like a plain farm boy kind of guy- I can say with absolute confidence that it is a GIFT. You can't teach that kind of sex on legs wanna climb him like a jungle gym because of the simple way he moves his body...it is a natural talent. I know this because I myself- could never be taught that kind of yowza. Some of you have seen me dance, and more than one of you has said that I remind you of Drew Berrymore in "Never Been Kissed" when she's stoned, dancing on stage, riding a hot pink boa like one of those horse heads on a stick. (To summarize- DISASTER!) And Kim..who actually took me to a strip pole dance class can attest that I'm as sexy as two paraplegics fighting over the handicap seat. So I feel I have the knowledge regarding the talents and gifts of strippers..and I say HELL YES put pole dancing in the Olympics...much more exciting than badmitton or curling? wtf???
Have you ever imagined someone being a paraplegic from the waist up??? You know..they sit there all shaking a leg at you trying to get your attention, which would suck unless they learned REALLY BIG sign language and used their legs for it...that'd be one hot mess- especially if the lady wanted to wear a skirt...poor thing with her goodies hanging out. Someone get her some pants!
yes.. I have officially offended almost everyone. The cripples (is it bad that I'm giggling at using that word..it's kind of fun to go all politically incorrect- say it with me....cripples!!) The Strippers and the Porn stars..and even Little Debbie would probably wish to be removed from this particular blog even though it's just because she's an uptight bitch without a sense of humor and she was in the smart section of the blog anyway!
Dear Hostess,
Debbie called - she's seen Magic Mike- she wants a vibrator and a continuous loop of the scene in the movie where Mike is stripping to the song My Pony by Ginuwine. It's the least you could do.
Your faithful customer,
Brooke I want a hot piece of stripper ass so I might feel smarter Albertson
I know in that previous bit of intellectualizing I was trying to do there were multiple examples of my moronic self..but apparently I have no shame and will continue on this conversation thread. Another reason why I'm a complete moron, shit. I lost my train of thought. Well- hey..there ya go!
Oh yeah..I remember..after just watching the award winning movie (I should certainly hope anyway) Magic Mike- I have a quandary. Why is it called a Male Revue? I suppose it has something to do with the fact that I'm thinking Male Review- but obviously..that isn't the spelling and obviously technology has made it so hard to look up a damn word (when your technology runs slower than traffic jam) that I could really care less because the fact of the matter is hot shit and holy water..that boy is gifted (Mr Tatum- I'm single and I know stuff- call me!). Did you see those body rolls and no Mom I'm not explaining what that means..but it does not in fact have anything to do with the body rolls I am assuming you are thinking of- as he clearly has NONE of those. Think of it as a dance move. Have Kelly show you!!! ahahaha- Love ya sissy!
Bazinga! Oh Sheldon Cooper- you put the crack in my ass you're so funny.
Having had my own male stripper experience with an incredibly dreamy, oh so yummy -makes Channing Tatum look like a plain farm boy kind of guy- I can say with absolute confidence that it is a GIFT. You can't teach that kind of sex on legs wanna climb him like a jungle gym because of the simple way he moves his body...it is a natural talent. I know this because I myself- could never be taught that kind of yowza. Some of you have seen me dance, and more than one of you has said that I remind you of Drew Berrymore in "Never Been Kissed" when she's stoned, dancing on stage, riding a hot pink boa like one of those horse heads on a stick. (To summarize- DISASTER!) And Kim..who actually took me to a strip pole dance class can attest that I'm as sexy as two paraplegics fighting over the handicap seat. So I feel I have the knowledge regarding the talents and gifts of strippers..and I say HELL YES put pole dancing in the Olympics...much more exciting than badmitton or curling? wtf???
Have you ever imagined someone being a paraplegic from the waist up??? You know..they sit there all shaking a leg at you trying to get your attention, which would suck unless they learned REALLY BIG sign language and used their legs for it...that'd be one hot mess- especially if the lady wanted to wear a skirt...poor thing with her goodies hanging out. Someone get her some pants!
yes.. I have officially offended almost everyone. The cripples (is it bad that I'm giggling at using that word..it's kind of fun to go all politically incorrect- say it with me....cripples!!) The Strippers and the Porn stars..and even Little Debbie would probably wish to be removed from this particular blog even though it's just because she's an uptight bitch without a sense of humor and she was in the smart section of the blog anyway!
Dear Hostess,
Debbie called - she's seen Magic Mike- she wants a vibrator and a continuous loop of the scene in the movie where Mike is stripping to the song My Pony by Ginuwine. It's the least you could do.
Your faithful customer,
Brooke I want a hot piece of stripper ass so I might feel smarter Albertson
Sunday, July 22, 2012
July 22, 2012
My sister called this evening to tell me that my Grandfather has had a hemorrhagic stroke. Bleeding in the brain that appears to be spontaneous, unlike earlier this year when he had a fall and hit his head. I wish I could sort out the emotion of all of this. The one thing that confuses me is the idea of karma. How is it that a man who becomes confused, potentially to the point of not recognizing his family or even understanding surroundings, can be living out some predetermined karma? He isn't of the same mind. I guess I just don't get how it's useful to his soul. I am of no authority on any of this, but I almost wonder if it's more for those around him. He wasn't a horrible man. He sometimes wasn't very nice or especially loving. He was a self made success in his working years. He provided for his children and his grandchildren. When he does die, I wonder what people will say about him. People that I have never met. Was he a different kind of man with them? Will they describe a man that I never knew?
It makes me think of my own mortality. At the end of my time- today or 50 years from now- I wonder what I will have been. What was my Grandfather like at 35? Was he like me with a quick wit, a perverted sense of humor and sometimes heartless approach to getting the job done? Did he move away from all of his family at a young age to find success? And when he found that success, did it change him? Did he regret? And how did the tide of life turn him from an absolutely non-spiritual man, to a devout church attendee, and what did he find inside of those sacred walls?
Should I die young- will my friends and family gather around and all relish in the memory of the same person? Will I be described consistently by those who knew me? Of course there are those who have hunkered down with me through my darkest days and who were there to nourish my soul, and they have an understanding of my deepest soul that others might not. Yes- I am who I am with everyone. I am still the competitive girl from high school. I am still outgoing without a bashful bone in my body. I am still the romantic that hopes for love like those found in the movies. I still work hard, sleep with a box fan, and prefer to drive the car than be the passenger. I like to lead not follow. I like to laugh and joke and be lighthearted as often as humanly possible. I also like to dissect the inner workings of my mind and emotions. I still find great joy in deep conversations about life, love, loss and living to our fullest human capacity. I am tolerant when it is called for and I am unmoving when it is necessary. I have found happiness in all types of places and I still search to find it fully within my own heart. Eiffel Tower, Great Barrier Reef- a beautiful lake in Maine. My current quest in life is to find it in the everyday of life. I am so blessed to have a great job, a loving handful of friends that I would do anything for and vice versa, a family who rallies around to share in simple conversation and an easy afternoon. I enjoy simple luxuries- nice sheets, good food, and the company of people who are worth the effort.
Dear Grandpa,
One of my earliest memories of you was on the 4th of July out at Boggs, when you guys lived in the trailer. You held me on your lap as the men were putting off fireworks in the road. I hated it. It was so loud and hurt my ears. You told me it hurt yours too. I have that one memory of you being protective of me. I cherish it. You used to always give us $20 each when you saw us, until I was in my late teens. You always seemed larger than life to me when I was younger. I remember when you and Grandma's friends would play a card game with nickels. I remember when you moved from that trailer to a house in Jasper. At Grandma's funeral, I remember a man grieving for the loss of a woman he'd known since his childhood, but who could only articulate how much you were losing in relationship to your own life. "Who would do your laundry now?" you asked.
I was taller than you by then. I began to see you as the older man that you had become. Now, I have seen you hold your Great Grandson and I have seen the wheel of life turn on you. Your best days are behind you. You reportedly have good days and bad days. You shuffle your feet when you walk. You fight hard to keep some form of control, but what I see is a man that knows his time is near and I can't begin to understand how scary that is. Maybe a stroke is in fact a blessing. To save you from the reality that you would never have been able to live with. The man with a sharp mind that is receding may be glad to go, so as not to endure a life of helplessness and dependence. I want to thank you Grandpa for everything I have learned from you. I want to tell you I was always proud to say I was Andy Albertson's granddaughter and I still am. I love you Grandpa. Then and now.
Always,
Brooke
It makes me think of my own mortality. At the end of my time- today or 50 years from now- I wonder what I will have been. What was my Grandfather like at 35? Was he like me with a quick wit, a perverted sense of humor and sometimes heartless approach to getting the job done? Did he move away from all of his family at a young age to find success? And when he found that success, did it change him? Did he regret? And how did the tide of life turn him from an absolutely non-spiritual man, to a devout church attendee, and what did he find inside of those sacred walls?
Should I die young- will my friends and family gather around and all relish in the memory of the same person? Will I be described consistently by those who knew me? Of course there are those who have hunkered down with me through my darkest days and who were there to nourish my soul, and they have an understanding of my deepest soul that others might not. Yes- I am who I am with everyone. I am still the competitive girl from high school. I am still outgoing without a bashful bone in my body. I am still the romantic that hopes for love like those found in the movies. I still work hard, sleep with a box fan, and prefer to drive the car than be the passenger. I like to lead not follow. I like to laugh and joke and be lighthearted as often as humanly possible. I also like to dissect the inner workings of my mind and emotions. I still find great joy in deep conversations about life, love, loss and living to our fullest human capacity. I am tolerant when it is called for and I am unmoving when it is necessary. I have found happiness in all types of places and I still search to find it fully within my own heart. Eiffel Tower, Great Barrier Reef- a beautiful lake in Maine. My current quest in life is to find it in the everyday of life. I am so blessed to have a great job, a loving handful of friends that I would do anything for and vice versa, a family who rallies around to share in simple conversation and an easy afternoon. I enjoy simple luxuries- nice sheets, good food, and the company of people who are worth the effort.
Dear Grandpa,
One of my earliest memories of you was on the 4th of July out at Boggs, when you guys lived in the trailer. You held me on your lap as the men were putting off fireworks in the road. I hated it. It was so loud and hurt my ears. You told me it hurt yours too. I have that one memory of you being protective of me. I cherish it. You used to always give us $20 each when you saw us, until I was in my late teens. You always seemed larger than life to me when I was younger. I remember when you and Grandma's friends would play a card game with nickels. I remember when you moved from that trailer to a house in Jasper. At Grandma's funeral, I remember a man grieving for the loss of a woman he'd known since his childhood, but who could only articulate how much you were losing in relationship to your own life. "Who would do your laundry now?" you asked.
I was taller than you by then. I began to see you as the older man that you had become. Now, I have seen you hold your Great Grandson and I have seen the wheel of life turn on you. Your best days are behind you. You reportedly have good days and bad days. You shuffle your feet when you walk. You fight hard to keep some form of control, but what I see is a man that knows his time is near and I can't begin to understand how scary that is. Maybe a stroke is in fact a blessing. To save you from the reality that you would never have been able to live with. The man with a sharp mind that is receding may be glad to go, so as not to endure a life of helplessness and dependence. I want to thank you Grandpa for everything I have learned from you. I want to tell you I was always proud to say I was Andy Albertson's granddaughter and I still am. I love you Grandpa. Then and now.
Always,
Brooke
Saturday, June 30, 2012
June 29, 2012
I consider myself an opinionated woman with an open mind. Some might use the term "know it all" or bitch...but this isn't an English lesson.
The "rant" you are about to read probably has absolutely NO basis in actual fact, but what I consider first hand experience. They are my thoughts on things and I have really wanted to blow some steam off on some of these topics. I also understand fully that I'm a bit dramatic and sometimes wholly inaccurate.
CRASH TEST DUMMIES
I would LOVE to "watch out for motorcycles". How about they NOT ride on the lane dividing line between traffic. Really? Inching your way up two or three car lengths at a stop light? or even better, zooming beside me and the other guy going well over the speed limit on the interstate to get through traffic? Who said they can do this? Maybe the bumper sticker should read Watch Our for MORONS who drive motorcycles. Tis the season for the low IQ to be out topless on a high speed piece of machinery. Some things really should have appropriate warning signs. Do not operate this machinary if you can't spell 401K.
NEXT!
The older I get, the more I realize that we will not be celebrating many more of those "50th Wedding Anniversary" events. It pisses me off that people judge someone based on their marital status, or lack there of. That there's this nostalgic and overly romantic ideal invisibly permeating every soul in this country, ridiculing us for- not sticking through the hard times, for giving up on our relationship, and sweet baby Jesus even forsaking our marriage vows. We're being brain washed to think that we don't have the "stuff" it takes to be successful in a marriage, and shame on us because of it. As if we are somehow lacking in personal strength and fortitude and have the values of a piece of plywood. I say..go fuck yourself. I'm going to get all Freakonomics on you now. Women could not get their own credit until 1975. My mother was married and had one child and it would have required her husband to get credit. That's not shit that happened on the Mayflower. That JUST happened. Women before that were married off by their parents (read: asshole fathers) for land, or hell maybe just a nice fat pig. Women had so little value in society, and even today do not always get equal pay as their male counterparts. So tell me, how is it that living and being married to a man for 50-60-70 years is romantic? Endearing? You can bet your sweet ass that alot of those husbands didn't think of their wives as equals or even care what kind of sexually transmitted diseases he brought home to her. Those husbands who could physically and mentally abuse those women for 5 and 6 decades. BRAIN WASHED. Women could not possibly imagine they had a choice to get out. Guess what? We do now. My marriages (yes 2 of them) taught me a lot about who I am, what I deserve, and what I kind of bullshit nonsense I will not endure. I want to thank my second husband for helping me to totally annhilate my credit. Men no longer get a free pass. Women are independent, successful, strong, and capable of being happy without some jackass trying to convince her otherwise. I'd gladly be married for 50 years, knowing full well that I can take care of myself if that train some how goes horribly off track. So please....take your passive aggressive guilt trip about how "they don't make 'em like that anymore" and shove it down someone else's throat.
ALIENS-
It seems so simple to me. Maybe it's just not as hard as everyone else is making it. I was having a conversation with a friend and the topic of moving to Europe came up. I immediately thought..that would take big bucks. You would need to have some serious cash to make that kind of move. I'm sure it would be amazing. Ah..the freedom we have to see the world and enrich our lives and our livers with yummy European culture. It's awesome that it is, in fact possible.
Open the GOD DAMN BORDERS and then regulate that shit. Let people come into our country and enrich their lives, better themselves as citizens of this world. Make it easier to get here and it will become easier to track people who are total ass wads and need to be deported. Imagine the 1 million people who would get the opportunity to pay taxes and apply for loans and start businesses. When those folks got off the Mayflower (really, twice in one blog?) they had no right to be here, but there wasn't any reason why they shouldn't be either. The locals didn't like us at that time..and look what happened to them...The Casino Industry. So I ask- what is the harm? Drug trafficing..seriously? Have you been to Southern Indiana? Pretty sure those entitled, white upstanding American citizens have done enough of that themselves. The more you build fences, the more you escalate what people will do to get here. Knock Knock??? Why, Jose! Nice to see you, come on in.
OBAMACARE
I am so far away from politics it's actually a shame, an embarrasing, uneducated shame. I just wanted to preface what I am about to say. I don't know the ins and outs of Obamacare or why everyone's in an uproar about the recent Supreme Court Ruling. What I know about healthcare is this......it's a dirty, money making racket. Hospitals and Doctors have historically been paid based on volume of services rendered. As you can imagine, the hospitals get bogged down with sick, chronically ill patients that end up getting hospitalized a few times a year. Can you say CHA CHING? Now. Being that a lot of people depend on some form of insurance, or government assistance, you can rest assured that those programs are not happy with $20,000 hospital visits (multiplied by millions and millions of visits). What is trying to be reformed is not only that everyone can get access to care, because it is a universal right, but that the care they do get is high quality and cost effective. You end up in the hospital and the surgeon cuts off the wrong body part..sure that's an impressive error. That is not what needs reformed (of course that should never happen, but it isn't what is spending our healthcare dollars.) What needs reformed is that patients who are hospitalized don't get sicker because of the very nature of being in the hospital. If that hospital wants to get reimbursed they had better get their A team out and make sure patients aren't laying in a bed of urine and feces, that there aren't a boat load of duplicated tests to find out the same information and that all patients get the minimum standard of good care. What we had WAS NOT WORKING. Sure Obamacare isn't perfect. It's flawed, there will be peaks and valleys while we all try to make it work. If you want to make a difference then put down your Big Mac and supersized Coke, walk your morbidly obese ass over to your computer and really start educating yourself on the health care crisis in this country, and THEN.. you run for President and change it. We need to be accountable for our own mentality of "I'm broken, now fix me". You didn't get to be overweight in the last month. Your smoking one cigarette didn't give you lung disease but the 30 years of smoking did, and the fact that your diet consists of all fast food all the time, is probably why you had to have bypass surgery at 45. It's not rocket science people. TAKE CARE OF YOUR BODY. Move it around once in awhile, eat things that are grown in a garden, and stop trying to embalm yourself with alcohol and preservatives (that last one was for me!).
That's all I have to say about that.
For Now.
I'm pretty sure I'll share more opinions later. I'm looking at you religion, plastic surgeons, and the welfare system.
The "rant" you are about to read probably has absolutely NO basis in actual fact, but what I consider first hand experience. They are my thoughts on things and I have really wanted to blow some steam off on some of these topics. I also understand fully that I'm a bit dramatic and sometimes wholly inaccurate.
CRASH TEST DUMMIES
I would LOVE to "watch out for motorcycles". How about they NOT ride on the lane dividing line between traffic. Really? Inching your way up two or three car lengths at a stop light? or even better, zooming beside me and the other guy going well over the speed limit on the interstate to get through traffic? Who said they can do this? Maybe the bumper sticker should read Watch Our for MORONS who drive motorcycles. Tis the season for the low IQ to be out topless on a high speed piece of machinery. Some things really should have appropriate warning signs. Do not operate this machinary if you can't spell 401K.
NEXT!
The older I get, the more I realize that we will not be celebrating many more of those "50th Wedding Anniversary" events. It pisses me off that people judge someone based on their marital status, or lack there of. That there's this nostalgic and overly romantic ideal invisibly permeating every soul in this country, ridiculing us for- not sticking through the hard times, for giving up on our relationship, and sweet baby Jesus even forsaking our marriage vows. We're being brain washed to think that we don't have the "stuff" it takes to be successful in a marriage, and shame on us because of it. As if we are somehow lacking in personal strength and fortitude and have the values of a piece of plywood. I say..go fuck yourself. I'm going to get all Freakonomics on you now. Women could not get their own credit until 1975. My mother was married and had one child and it would have required her husband to get credit. That's not shit that happened on the Mayflower. That JUST happened. Women before that were married off by their parents (read: asshole fathers) for land, or hell maybe just a nice fat pig. Women had so little value in society, and even today do not always get equal pay as their male counterparts. So tell me, how is it that living and being married to a man for 50-60-70 years is romantic? Endearing? You can bet your sweet ass that alot of those husbands didn't think of their wives as equals or even care what kind of sexually transmitted diseases he brought home to her. Those husbands who could physically and mentally abuse those women for 5 and 6 decades. BRAIN WASHED. Women could not possibly imagine they had a choice to get out. Guess what? We do now. My marriages (yes 2 of them) taught me a lot about who I am, what I deserve, and what I kind of bullshit nonsense I will not endure. I want to thank my second husband for helping me to totally annhilate my credit. Men no longer get a free pass. Women are independent, successful, strong, and capable of being happy without some jackass trying to convince her otherwise. I'd gladly be married for 50 years, knowing full well that I can take care of myself if that train some how goes horribly off track. So please....take your passive aggressive guilt trip about how "they don't make 'em like that anymore" and shove it down someone else's throat.
ALIENS-
It seems so simple to me. Maybe it's just not as hard as everyone else is making it. I was having a conversation with a friend and the topic of moving to Europe came up. I immediately thought..that would take big bucks. You would need to have some serious cash to make that kind of move. I'm sure it would be amazing. Ah..the freedom we have to see the world and enrich our lives and our livers with yummy European culture. It's awesome that it is, in fact possible.
Open the GOD DAMN BORDERS and then regulate that shit. Let people come into our country and enrich their lives, better themselves as citizens of this world. Make it easier to get here and it will become easier to track people who are total ass wads and need to be deported. Imagine the 1 million people who would get the opportunity to pay taxes and apply for loans and start businesses. When those folks got off the Mayflower (really, twice in one blog?) they had no right to be here, but there wasn't any reason why they shouldn't be either. The locals didn't like us at that time..and look what happened to them...The Casino Industry. So I ask- what is the harm? Drug trafficing..seriously? Have you been to Southern Indiana? Pretty sure those entitled, white upstanding American citizens have done enough of that themselves. The more you build fences, the more you escalate what people will do to get here. Knock Knock??? Why, Jose! Nice to see you, come on in.
OBAMACARE
I am so far away from politics it's actually a shame, an embarrasing, uneducated shame. I just wanted to preface what I am about to say. I don't know the ins and outs of Obamacare or why everyone's in an uproar about the recent Supreme Court Ruling. What I know about healthcare is this......it's a dirty, money making racket. Hospitals and Doctors have historically been paid based on volume of services rendered. As you can imagine, the hospitals get bogged down with sick, chronically ill patients that end up getting hospitalized a few times a year. Can you say CHA CHING? Now. Being that a lot of people depend on some form of insurance, or government assistance, you can rest assured that those programs are not happy with $20,000 hospital visits (multiplied by millions and millions of visits). What is trying to be reformed is not only that everyone can get access to care, because it is a universal right, but that the care they do get is high quality and cost effective. You end up in the hospital and the surgeon cuts off the wrong body part..sure that's an impressive error. That is not what needs reformed (of course that should never happen, but it isn't what is spending our healthcare dollars.) What needs reformed is that patients who are hospitalized don't get sicker because of the very nature of being in the hospital. If that hospital wants to get reimbursed they had better get their A team out and make sure patients aren't laying in a bed of urine and feces, that there aren't a boat load of duplicated tests to find out the same information and that all patients get the minimum standard of good care. What we had WAS NOT WORKING. Sure Obamacare isn't perfect. It's flawed, there will be peaks and valleys while we all try to make it work. If you want to make a difference then put down your Big Mac and supersized Coke, walk your morbidly obese ass over to your computer and really start educating yourself on the health care crisis in this country, and THEN.. you run for President and change it. We need to be accountable for our own mentality of "I'm broken, now fix me". You didn't get to be overweight in the last month. Your smoking one cigarette didn't give you lung disease but the 30 years of smoking did, and the fact that your diet consists of all fast food all the time, is probably why you had to have bypass surgery at 45. It's not rocket science people. TAKE CARE OF YOUR BODY. Move it around once in awhile, eat things that are grown in a garden, and stop trying to embalm yourself with alcohol and preservatives (that last one was for me!).
That's all I have to say about that.
For Now.
I'm pretty sure I'll share more opinions later. I'm looking at you religion, plastic surgeons, and the welfare system.
Monday, June 25, 2012
June 25, 2012
There I was...(coming up on almost 2 years ago now) living a life I was ready to leave. Some of you know this story, a personal period full of pain and anguish for me. I revisit it now for personal reasons. For reasons I can't explain in detail, but that the word smith in me feels the need to talk about it now.
Heavier than any feeling imaginable. Darker than any blackest night. My thoughts, my body, my life was unbearable. I tell you that breathing hurt because of the mental anguish of knowing another breath would follow the last one. I just needed it to end. I could not FEEL that way anymore. I've said it before...death would have been kinder, easier in fact. This hollow, hopeless shell of a soul was not me and therefore was no longer of any use to me. My choice was insulin and metoprolol (a medication that drops the blood pressure and the heart rate). I stood in front of the drug dispensing machine at work calculating what I would need. Ironically enough it was my depression that saved me in that moment. I was so hateful of myself that I assumed I would not even be able to kill myself properly and I would end up living through it and forever be known as the nurse who tried to kill herself with stolen drugs. I walked away. Less than 12 hours later I was institutionalized.
This is not a glamorous story. It has no funny anecdotes and there will not be praying tongue in cheek at the end of it.
This was a time of being broken. Of self loathing, hatred in fact, and burial. I sat there..in that institution, not being helped by any "groups". Biding my time and putting on a smiling face (a face that just didn't have tears running down it). My people loved me. I cried to my sisters, my parents, my dearest friend Suzanne. I cried at the loss they would feel when I would eventually be gone. I could not...not live..any longer. I was dead inside.
Hope is a funny thing. We find ourselves hoping for all manner of things..good weather, a raise, a tall dark and handsome man to sweep us off our feet. Frivolous, petty things. I fully believe we should be taught the proper art of being hopeful, not to mention a few other things like self worth, confidence, love, and feeling understood.
The sad and unfortunate matter is that my story has happened to so many people. Maybe you. Maybe your loved one. The space a soul stands in during the very deepest of depressions is unreachable for the most part. Nothing logical will do. It is wholly miraculous to make it out alive. What brings the saddened soul to the surface is not the out stretched hands of those that love them, so much as it is the graceful spirit within that knows you have been down long enough. Breathing faith into the livable life.
One must bury the shell of pain. Shed it and leave it to rot in the hell it created..and walk toward the beauty of being alive. It's not about huge mile stones or bucket lists. It's not about material possessions or fame and fortune. It's about the acceptance of being flawed, imperfect and lost. To embrace each day thankful for the ability to know oneself and ultimately be understood by that most important soul.
Love the people you will love. I beg of you to start with yourself first.
Heavier than any feeling imaginable. Darker than any blackest night. My thoughts, my body, my life was unbearable. I tell you that breathing hurt because of the mental anguish of knowing another breath would follow the last one. I just needed it to end. I could not FEEL that way anymore. I've said it before...death would have been kinder, easier in fact. This hollow, hopeless shell of a soul was not me and therefore was no longer of any use to me. My choice was insulin and metoprolol (a medication that drops the blood pressure and the heart rate). I stood in front of the drug dispensing machine at work calculating what I would need. Ironically enough it was my depression that saved me in that moment. I was so hateful of myself that I assumed I would not even be able to kill myself properly and I would end up living through it and forever be known as the nurse who tried to kill herself with stolen drugs. I walked away. Less than 12 hours later I was institutionalized.
This is not a glamorous story. It has no funny anecdotes and there will not be praying tongue in cheek at the end of it.
This was a time of being broken. Of self loathing, hatred in fact, and burial. I sat there..in that institution, not being helped by any "groups". Biding my time and putting on a smiling face (a face that just didn't have tears running down it). My people loved me. I cried to my sisters, my parents, my dearest friend Suzanne. I cried at the loss they would feel when I would eventually be gone. I could not...not live..any longer. I was dead inside.
Hope is a funny thing. We find ourselves hoping for all manner of things..good weather, a raise, a tall dark and handsome man to sweep us off our feet. Frivolous, petty things. I fully believe we should be taught the proper art of being hopeful, not to mention a few other things like self worth, confidence, love, and feeling understood.
The sad and unfortunate matter is that my story has happened to so many people. Maybe you. Maybe your loved one. The space a soul stands in during the very deepest of depressions is unreachable for the most part. Nothing logical will do. It is wholly miraculous to make it out alive. What brings the saddened soul to the surface is not the out stretched hands of those that love them, so much as it is the graceful spirit within that knows you have been down long enough. Breathing faith into the livable life.
One must bury the shell of pain. Shed it and leave it to rot in the hell it created..and walk toward the beauty of being alive. It's not about huge mile stones or bucket lists. It's not about material possessions or fame and fortune. It's about the acceptance of being flawed, imperfect and lost. To embrace each day thankful for the ability to know oneself and ultimately be understood by that most important soul.
Love the people you will love. I beg of you to start with yourself first.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
June 19, 2012
So there I was at THE country bar in Vegas, my first time and by myself of course. Now.. being that I lived in Nashville and that somehow makes me a superior judge of country bars, I was somewhat confused by the line dancing to hip hop and the enormous disco ball. I mean apparently "country" is different out west! Who knew!
I felt comfortable, even without cowboy boots or cutoff jean shorts. I was doing my thing..sitting back and taking it all in (read: smirking and judging the others). I have a fairly strict policy of not making eye contact with people who freak me out. You know the type. Out of the corner of your eye you might notice a guy limping, or an undesirable moving closer to you, and usually anyone in a cowboy hat and a belt buckle, but I had to let that slide here. These are the people you DO NOT make eye contact with. It didn't matter. The 5'3 Hispanic gentleman with a ten gallon hat on and I was still taller than him tapped me on the shoulder anyway. He pointed to the dance floor. I obviously assumed he didn't speak English. BUT NO! Not only did he not speak English, he could not speak at all. Or hear. Yes- a deaf and mute Mexican wanted to spin me around the dance floor (and really..how could he do that without being able to hear the music??? riddle me that!). Boy was I flattered..or not. The actual thought that went through my head was.."you're kidding me right?" I smiled and vehmenantly shook my head no and walked away. He obviously didn't yell any obscenities at me. Although he might have flipped me off.
Although, in hindsight I'm guessing he would have been better company than the lurking Arab man. (Also under 5'5") who asked if he could buy me a drink, and when I said no thank you he continued to stand and chat me up anyway. One would imagine after my fourth time walking away from the guy he would take a hint. I should have pretended I was deaf and mute. Damn...why am I just thinking that now! Would have been brilliant!
These encounters as a single woman really get me thinking. Is it me? Am I THAT girl? I wrongly assumed that it might be that I am alone in these bars. But then that would not explain the same types of men who wink at me on what I now like to call UNmatch.com. Really, your 63 with more hair on your upper lip than on the top of your head and you felt it appropriate to wink at me, a 35 year old woman. How's that gonna work? Take me out for steak and a side of viagra? Sheesh. Now..I'm not trying to be arrogant, but I'm not ugly am I? I mean, I have good grooming habits. I don't appear to be someone who hates old people or kicks puppies, so what's up with the completely inappropriate freak parade of men interested in me? Now there have been the rare occasions, ok...reverse. Rare occasion..not plural, that a normal appearing, non-cowboy hat wearing, employed man did reciprocate interest. The downfall is the deal breakers. He had 2 children. I just can't go down that road again. Unfortunately, as my great friends Suzanne and Chris pointed out, I might have to start dating younger men as to avoid that pitfall all together. Younger men. Have you met them? My heart breaks a little bit at the thought of an XBox being a permanent fixture in my living room or discussing why I don't want to go to South Padre for Spring Break. And to be honest, as much as I would love to be referred to as a cougar, I think I'll pass.
There are plenty of men out there to give me "attention". 30 somethings that know how to have just the right amount of facial hair and just enough charm to sound sincere, but in my experience they are all Industry guys. Translation..in Las Vegas you work in the Industry if you are a bartender, waiter, in a show, cook, etc. Further translation...I would be the Sugar Mama... that's fun..for like a week.
So what's a girl to do. ...Let's get real..what's a woman, who's been divorced twice, sliding down the back side of her 30's, who might want to have children someday- do about finding Mr. Right? (Tall, dark, handsome, childless, light hearted, and as successful as I am). I thought about twirling one of those signs on the corner. A big arrow that says "no really ..I'm not desperate". I refuse to do any more online dating. Seriously..edisharmony.com hooked me up with my ex-husband last year. No thank you. Next!
So.. and I cringe a little at admitting this, but fuck it. I have enlisted the expertise of a professional Matchmaker. (yikes!!!) I know what you're thinking. OH MY GOD...those really exist?! and umm...yes. I filled out form after form of personality questionnaires, authorized a background check, and jumped head first in the idea of taking my "happily ever after" just as serious as I would purchasing a home, planning for retirement or an epic vacation. And I am telling you right now...I am freaked the fuck out. What if they are all cowboy hat wearing Arabs with snaggle teeth and a lisp? Do normal, good looking, successful men really need to use this service? I would like to think that I am a normal (shut up), fairly ok looking (with makeup and jeans that make me look skinny) and successful (regardless of what my single digit credit score says). So there has to be at least a few prospects out there?
I'm going to die old and alone with cats.
hahahaha....or not.
I'm investing in my future happiness. Time to put up or shut up folks. So.. wish me luck, and give your super cute cousin/neighbor/co-worker/brother my information so that I don't end up dating men who will be out on parole in 10 years (or 8 for good behavior). Because really..if the matchmaker is a bust..I'm going straight to the correctional systems!
Dear Heavenly Father-
My sexual promiscuity may be your reason for making all good and decent men be repelled by me. I get that. For the record I just want to say, if you didn't want us to like it, then you shouldn't have made it so much fun. Huh? See my point. So in my opinion you are partly to blame for this. Now that we have gotten that little issue straightened out I would just like to say thank you for allowing me the strength and fortitude to kiss a lot of frogs and still not give up on my Prince Charming. Your faithful servant, Brooke, Queen of the Frogs.
I felt comfortable, even without cowboy boots or cutoff jean shorts. I was doing my thing..sitting back and taking it all in (read: smirking and judging the others). I have a fairly strict policy of not making eye contact with people who freak me out. You know the type. Out of the corner of your eye you might notice a guy limping, or an undesirable moving closer to you, and usually anyone in a cowboy hat and a belt buckle, but I had to let that slide here. These are the people you DO NOT make eye contact with. It didn't matter. The 5'3 Hispanic gentleman with a ten gallon hat on and I was still taller than him tapped me on the shoulder anyway. He pointed to the dance floor. I obviously assumed he didn't speak English. BUT NO! Not only did he not speak English, he could not speak at all. Or hear. Yes- a deaf and mute Mexican wanted to spin me around the dance floor (and really..how could he do that without being able to hear the music??? riddle me that!). Boy was I flattered..or not. The actual thought that went through my head was.."you're kidding me right?" I smiled and vehmenantly shook my head no and walked away. He obviously didn't yell any obscenities at me. Although he might have flipped me off.
Although, in hindsight I'm guessing he would have been better company than the lurking Arab man. (Also under 5'5") who asked if he could buy me a drink, and when I said no thank you he continued to stand and chat me up anyway. One would imagine after my fourth time walking away from the guy he would take a hint. I should have pretended I was deaf and mute. Damn...why am I just thinking that now! Would have been brilliant!
These encounters as a single woman really get me thinking. Is it me? Am I THAT girl? I wrongly assumed that it might be that I am alone in these bars. But then that would not explain the same types of men who wink at me on what I now like to call UNmatch.com. Really, your 63 with more hair on your upper lip than on the top of your head and you felt it appropriate to wink at me, a 35 year old woman. How's that gonna work? Take me out for steak and a side of viagra? Sheesh. Now..I'm not trying to be arrogant, but I'm not ugly am I? I mean, I have good grooming habits. I don't appear to be someone who hates old people or kicks puppies, so what's up with the completely inappropriate freak parade of men interested in me? Now there have been the rare occasions, ok...reverse. Rare occasion..not plural, that a normal appearing, non-cowboy hat wearing, employed man did reciprocate interest. The downfall is the deal breakers. He had 2 children. I just can't go down that road again. Unfortunately, as my great friends Suzanne and Chris pointed out, I might have to start dating younger men as to avoid that pitfall all together. Younger men. Have you met them? My heart breaks a little bit at the thought of an XBox being a permanent fixture in my living room or discussing why I don't want to go to South Padre for Spring Break. And to be honest, as much as I would love to be referred to as a cougar, I think I'll pass.
There are plenty of men out there to give me "attention". 30 somethings that know how to have just the right amount of facial hair and just enough charm to sound sincere, but in my experience they are all Industry guys. Translation..in Las Vegas you work in the Industry if you are a bartender, waiter, in a show, cook, etc. Further translation...I would be the Sugar Mama... that's fun..for like a week.
So what's a girl to do. ...Let's get real..what's a woman, who's been divorced twice, sliding down the back side of her 30's, who might want to have children someday- do about finding Mr. Right? (Tall, dark, handsome, childless, light hearted, and as successful as I am). I thought about twirling one of those signs on the corner. A big arrow that says "no really ..I'm not desperate". I refuse to do any more online dating. Seriously..edisharmony.com hooked me up with my ex-husband last year. No thank you. Next!
So.. and I cringe a little at admitting this, but fuck it. I have enlisted the expertise of a professional Matchmaker. (yikes!!!) I know what you're thinking. OH MY GOD...those really exist?! and umm...yes. I filled out form after form of personality questionnaires, authorized a background check, and jumped head first in the idea of taking my "happily ever after" just as serious as I would purchasing a home, planning for retirement or an epic vacation. And I am telling you right now...I am freaked the fuck out. What if they are all cowboy hat wearing Arabs with snaggle teeth and a lisp? Do normal, good looking, successful men really need to use this service? I would like to think that I am a normal (shut up), fairly ok looking (with makeup and jeans that make me look skinny) and successful (regardless of what my single digit credit score says). So there has to be at least a few prospects out there?
I'm going to die old and alone with cats.
hahahaha....or not.
I'm investing in my future happiness. Time to put up or shut up folks. So.. wish me luck, and give your super cute cousin/neighbor/co-worker/brother my information so that I don't end up dating men who will be out on parole in 10 years (or 8 for good behavior). Because really..if the matchmaker is a bust..I'm going straight to the correctional systems!
Dear Heavenly Father-
My sexual promiscuity may be your reason for making all good and decent men be repelled by me. I get that. For the record I just want to say, if you didn't want us to like it, then you shouldn't have made it so much fun. Huh? See my point. So in my opinion you are partly to blame for this. Now that we have gotten that little issue straightened out I would just like to say thank you for allowing me the strength and fortitude to kiss a lot of frogs and still not give up on my Prince Charming. Your faithful servant, Brooke, Queen of the Frogs.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012
So there I was being so funny and cool as usual (shut up! I am to funny!) and sending out text messages about how my sister Kelly and I were staying at THE PALMS for the weekend. About to hang out with Flo-Rida, Diddy and 50 Cent (by hang out, I mean wait for hours in the sun driving up a $180 bar tab until Slo-Rida decided to grace us with his presence for 30 minutes). We were TOTALLY Rock Stars! Unfortunately...the auto correct on my phone decided we were rocketeers instead. FAIL! It was fun saying that we were partying like Rocketeers all weekend..eventually all the cool kids were doing it.
Although there was an unfortunate crotch incident that occurred (thankfully to Kelly and not so much me)..let me just explain it this way...a young woman decided to stand and dance where Kelly was sitting and Kelly dared not inhale too strongly in fear of catching a whiff of her lady parts (did you just sniff? what is THAT about!) You can imagine, what with all the sweating in the sun.. and I think she was European (not ur a peein!). Those were some really fun 30 minutes though...looking at that hot piece of man muscle! Flo-Rida not the female European.. WOW!
Our rocketeering continued on later that evening at the Playboy Club and Moon (Diddy wasn't worth $150 per person..just sayin) and drinks were had, food was eaten, and two beautiful sisters went home without incident! Whew...
And then...the pain rained down upon me as if a burning hot poker were being held to my flesh (I kind of feel like I have the authority on what the fires of hell will feel like). That crazy bitch sister of mine got me into a tattoo shop and my stupid ass thought..sure ok! I watched her get one..didn't seem so bad..and since I had always wanted a tattoo and said I would get one if I ever could commit to one thing..and I had recently thought of a cool quote I would like..then apparently the fires of hell aligned perfectly for me to fulfill this masochistic experience. Fucking Shakespeare with all your smug and witty verbiage. "To thine own self be true" my foot! literally on my foot. FYI...it hurts THAT bad. Kelly and the tattooed ink master were all chatty chat chattin about her cold feet as he was inking her ankle..he mentioned she should put on a foot sweater! HAHAHAHA foot sweater. How funny right?!?! Where I come from we call it a sock.. but hey.. to each his own!
Later that night at Ghostbar...Sis decided she was gonna tear da club up! Hell yes...there were 3 bouncers involved. Because my little sister can get a little out of hand in a big way. (snicker, snicker, snort...you go sissy!) OK..before my mother calls and asks if she got arrested..here's the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Sitting there minding our own damn business and trying to get cute pictures of ourselves on our phones so we could post them on Facebook..(hence proof of how cool we are!) her purse, not zipped, fell toward the back of the couch and her driver's license fell down between the crack of the cushions. 3 burly bouncers had to come and disassemble the damn couch so she could get it back... yep...totally Rocketeers.
The next day at our own little pool party (no the burnt flesh was not in the sun or the pool!) was good times starting off at noon with a pitcher of mojitos (or after 3 pitchers what I liked to call Mo-G- toes!)
The escapades of one very confidant woman I'll just call the mermaid on crack were thoroughly enjoyable. Picture that slow motion Christy Brinkley hair shake on a 45 year old black woman coming out of the pool, with a short blond fro. And you can bet your sweet ass she had her swagger on...the kick of her hips when she walked almost made her look like her legs were different lengths. RE DICK U LUSS! oh...and she was with the DJ or so she told anyone who looked in her general direction as it's hard to tell if you're making eye contact with someone wearing sunglasses! oh funny funny times. Our catch phrase..."Whatch yo name is shawty!" That's "What is your name short girl" in an urban dialect that I haven't quite placed yet. Kelly left early for reasons I can only presume were related to me drinking 3 pitchers of mo g toes! I doubled up on the milk thistle so there was not even a lick of a hangover! Which is totally how a rocketeer parties.
The shenanigans were even more fun when Robin and her two long time friends showed up.. They were super fun and it's great being single and partying with married women...as they are always trying to hook you up with hot men. Well..by hot..you know I am starting to question Robin's opinion of me. In Santa Monica there were the questionable German dudes (not attractive but totally fun) and then this weekend some old man named Arthur? or Arnold? ugh..really Robin? You think we would've been good together...I might have to take you off my man hunt duties. Less beer gut and gray hair and more within 10 years of my own age. Please and thank you! wink wink.
Dear Yahweh,
What's up shawty?!?! I write to you in full confession of the greed, gluttony, and whatever the names of all the 7 deadly dwarfs are, that I participated freely and willingly in each one. Feel free to text me and I'll get you on the guest list the next time you're in town. Your faithful servant, Brooke.
Although there was an unfortunate crotch incident that occurred (thankfully to Kelly and not so much me)..let me just explain it this way...a young woman decided to stand and dance where Kelly was sitting and Kelly dared not inhale too strongly in fear of catching a whiff of her lady parts (did you just sniff? what is THAT about!) You can imagine, what with all the sweating in the sun.. and I think she was European (not ur a peein!). Those were some really fun 30 minutes though...looking at that hot piece of man muscle! Flo-Rida not the female European.. WOW!
Our rocketeering continued on later that evening at the Playboy Club and Moon (Diddy wasn't worth $150 per person..just sayin) and drinks were had, food was eaten, and two beautiful sisters went home without incident! Whew...
And then...the pain rained down upon me as if a burning hot poker were being held to my flesh (I kind of feel like I have the authority on what the fires of hell will feel like). That crazy bitch sister of mine got me into a tattoo shop and my stupid ass thought..sure ok! I watched her get one..didn't seem so bad..and since I had always wanted a tattoo and said I would get one if I ever could commit to one thing..and I had recently thought of a cool quote I would like..then apparently the fires of hell aligned perfectly for me to fulfill this masochistic experience. Fucking Shakespeare with all your smug and witty verbiage. "To thine own self be true" my foot! literally on my foot. FYI...it hurts THAT bad. Kelly and the tattooed ink master were all chatty chat chattin about her cold feet as he was inking her ankle..he mentioned she should put on a foot sweater! HAHAHAHA foot sweater. How funny right?!?! Where I come from we call it a sock.. but hey.. to each his own!
Later that night at Ghostbar...Sis decided she was gonna tear da club up! Hell yes...there were 3 bouncers involved. Because my little sister can get a little out of hand in a big way. (snicker, snicker, snort...you go sissy!) OK..before my mother calls and asks if she got arrested..here's the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Sitting there minding our own damn business and trying to get cute pictures of ourselves on our phones so we could post them on Facebook..(hence proof of how cool we are!) her purse, not zipped, fell toward the back of the couch and her driver's license fell down between the crack of the cushions. 3 burly bouncers had to come and disassemble the damn couch so she could get it back... yep...totally Rocketeers.
The next day at our own little pool party (no the burnt flesh was not in the sun or the pool!) was good times starting off at noon with a pitcher of mojitos (or after 3 pitchers what I liked to call Mo-G- toes!)
The escapades of one very confidant woman I'll just call the mermaid on crack were thoroughly enjoyable. Picture that slow motion Christy Brinkley hair shake on a 45 year old black woman coming out of the pool, with a short blond fro. And you can bet your sweet ass she had her swagger on...the kick of her hips when she walked almost made her look like her legs were different lengths. RE DICK U LUSS! oh...and she was with the DJ or so she told anyone who looked in her general direction as it's hard to tell if you're making eye contact with someone wearing sunglasses! oh funny funny times. Our catch phrase..."Whatch yo name is shawty!" That's "What is your name short girl" in an urban dialect that I haven't quite placed yet. Kelly left early for reasons I can only presume were related to me drinking 3 pitchers of mo g toes! I doubled up on the milk thistle so there was not even a lick of a hangover! Which is totally how a rocketeer parties.
The shenanigans were even more fun when Robin and her two long time friends showed up.. They were super fun and it's great being single and partying with married women...as they are always trying to hook you up with hot men. Well..by hot..you know I am starting to question Robin's opinion of me. In Santa Monica there were the questionable German dudes (not attractive but totally fun) and then this weekend some old man named Arthur? or Arnold? ugh..really Robin? You think we would've been good together...I might have to take you off my man hunt duties. Less beer gut and gray hair and more within 10 years of my own age. Please and thank you! wink wink.
Dear Yahweh,
What's up shawty?!?! I write to you in full confession of the greed, gluttony, and whatever the names of all the 7 deadly dwarfs are, that I participated freely and willingly in each one. Feel free to text me and I'll get you on the guest list the next time you're in town. Your faithful servant, Brooke.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
April 5, 2012
So there I was......sitting on a stack of cushions listening to The Guru speak about spirituality. It was myself and one other young woman who I will only call..The Tart. Seriously..who wears a black lace shirt to hear someone speak about the mysteries of the universe? Who? I'll tell you...The Tart. I digress.. so at this juncture in my life I have basically buried the crazy Naturopath in to the back recesses of my mind and decided that my quest will continue. Which leads us back to the stack of cushions, The Guru, and The Tart. He's exactly what you are picturing. White linen pants, long white linen shirt, a simple long brown beaded necklace, barefoot and just shy of waist long straight gray hair. Oh yeah..I was totally feeling the vibe. Vibe, incense overdose...whatever. He's very interesting. "All that is, is all there ever was and all there will ever be." Pretty straight forward stuff. I think he was dumbing it down for you know who.. but, I can't really be sure. He talked about things and as he would say something, I would naturally think in my mind (where else right?) of a comment or maybe a question. Which he would then respond to. I swear this guy was reading my mind. SWEAR. Which was a thought I eventually had while sitting on that cushion. It went something like this----"Wow, he's totally reading my mind. Amazing. Thank God I'm not thinking about his penis. OH SHIT, now he knows I'm thinking about his penis. I have to stop thinking, penis. Shit. The more I try not to think about it.. the more I'm.. fuck..don't visualize it! Shit. Row row row your boat gently down the stream. penis. marrily marrily marrily marrily whew no penis, life is but a dream." Yep. Who's the Tart now? Needless to say, eye contact was a bit tricky afterwards.
Is it just me? Does any of this happen to other people? I'm sure it must. I mean come on. I'm sure The Guru has been in many a meditation and known exactly who passed a silent "all that was for lunch" fart. I'm certain. Hell he could probably tell what the main course was.
Do they have homes for people like me? Maybe home is not the right word. I think the word I'm looking for is institution.
Let's change the subject before anyone gets any ideas.
April 14th is the 100 year Anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic and I have been invited to a "Titanic" party. Yes, a costume is required. They will be handing out cards that tells whether you were in steerage, first class, etc. My take on the whole thing is that there is no damn way I'm putting on a long skirt, high collared shirt and some ridiculously offensive hat. But..I don't want to be a party pooper, so I will go dressed in all white- as, wait for it, the iceberg! bwaahhhahahahaha. I just kill me! This is important because later in the evening I have a 40th birthday party to go to and at least I can go out in public in all white and no one will think anything of it. Then again this is Vegas and if I had some early 1900's get up on people might give me money to take a picture with me. Hmm...a thought to consider.
Dear All That Is- I know it's been awhile since we've chatted. You've been especially kind to me lately and I would like to express my gratitude. I know with my recent breakup that I might have some karma coming at me and I'm ready for anything you throw at me. Not like that whole "penis" incident. That totally took me by surprise. Well played on that one by the way. So thanks for your gifts and glory, and The Hunger Games. Katniss totally rocks. Your faithful servant, Brooke aka The Tart.
Is it just me? Does any of this happen to other people? I'm sure it must. I mean come on. I'm sure The Guru has been in many a meditation and known exactly who passed a silent "all that was for lunch" fart. I'm certain. Hell he could probably tell what the main course was.
Do they have homes for people like me? Maybe home is not the right word. I think the word I'm looking for is institution.
Let's change the subject before anyone gets any ideas.
April 14th is the 100 year Anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic and I have been invited to a "Titanic" party. Yes, a costume is required. They will be handing out cards that tells whether you were in steerage, first class, etc. My take on the whole thing is that there is no damn way I'm putting on a long skirt, high collared shirt and some ridiculously offensive hat. But..I don't want to be a party pooper, so I will go dressed in all white- as, wait for it, the iceberg! bwaahhhahahahaha. I just kill me! This is important because later in the evening I have a 40th birthday party to go to and at least I can go out in public in all white and no one will think anything of it. Then again this is Vegas and if I had some early 1900's get up on people might give me money to take a picture with me. Hmm...a thought to consider.
Dear All That Is- I know it's been awhile since we've chatted. You've been especially kind to me lately and I would like to express my gratitude. I know with my recent breakup that I might have some karma coming at me and I'm ready for anything you throw at me. Not like that whole "penis" incident. That totally took me by surprise. Well played on that one by the way. So thanks for your gifts and glory, and The Hunger Games. Katniss totally rocks. Your faithful servant, Brooke aka The Tart.
Friday, January 6, 2012
January 6, 2012
So there I was, YELLING at my patient...."HOLD YOUR HORSES!!!" at midnight, in an Intensive Care Unit. The cause for this I have narrowed down to 6 possible reasons: a) He's a total and complete asshole who barks ridiculous orders every 2.36 seconds b) my last nerve got ran over by some bitch in an Escalade
c) the nursing profession might not have been the best choice for me d) Karma is rearing its ugly head and I am apparently going to be a Dung Beetle in my next life e) my tank of compassion and caring ran out a long time ago and the price to refuel is too high f) all of the above and possibly PMS.
Now, let's consider reason a) for a minute. This man was 300 pounds and 5'6", could barely hold up his own arm and continually wanted ME to stand HIM up. HIM the not so much a brick shit house but more like a pizza dough port-a-potty kind of guy (without the warm dough smell thank Christ!) who could allow toddlers to use his enormous gut (read: FUCKING HUGE) as a trampoline. A seriously good reason I propose. Nevertheless, b) does have some merit because I swear that Walmart pipes in "crazy" into the air vents and each shopping experience takes 15.8 years off of some one's ability to cope with ridiculousness. So, valid by any one's definition. Reason c) holds water although for the last 15 years as a nurse, 80% of the time I have been able to control my shit, but still 20% of dealing with customer service and wiping ass tends to take a toll. It's looking to be a very tight race here. d) in an effort to not piss off the Karma gods, I will say that I deserve to be a Dung Beetle and will solemnly swear to do it with grace and compassion. Now e) reasoning tells us that attitude and care really are things that should come to us when we see others in need, feel strong emotion and empathy- I say forget about it.. when you put on a happy face and bounce around like there's sunshine coming out of your ass for years and years, one should be allowed a bad day. I will attempt to refuel my care and compassion tanks while listening to Sarah Mclachlan sing for those sad, abused, neglected animals. Oh..and the commercials for the kids with flies around their faces. As you can see, all reasons are valid so..F) U win..!
You know who else I would like to tell to hold their horses? Jillian Michaels. Sure I would like to be "Ripped in 30" but you bantering on about "GET SOME" only makes me want to claw your eyes out with a pitchfork. Really...Get some of what exactly? A torn ACL, a jacked up rotator cuff?? I'm getting as good as I can with my wimpy arms, non-existent core, and buddha belly thank you very much. So keep your nonsensical phrases (and I dare say sexual innuendo) to yourself.
Dear Elohim, I recognize that attitude is a choice and that in essence what we think, we are. So forgive me for lacking in the "grin and bear it" category. All things considered, I don't think I'm a bad person, I just think I have an incredibly accurate "bullshit" detector and must respond accordingly. BUT, if you could bestow on me an ever increasing amount of compassion, I would greatly appreciate it. Your faithful servant, Brooke "who wants to get some pizza?" Albertson
c) the nursing profession might not have been the best choice for me d) Karma is rearing its ugly head and I am apparently going to be a Dung Beetle in my next life e) my tank of compassion and caring ran out a long time ago and the price to refuel is too high f) all of the above and possibly PMS.
Now, let's consider reason a) for a minute. This man was 300 pounds and 5'6", could barely hold up his own arm and continually wanted ME to stand HIM up. HIM the not so much a brick shit house but more like a pizza dough port-a-potty kind of guy (without the warm dough smell thank Christ!) who could allow toddlers to use his enormous gut (read: FUCKING HUGE) as a trampoline. A seriously good reason I propose. Nevertheless, b) does have some merit because I swear that Walmart pipes in "crazy" into the air vents and each shopping experience takes 15.8 years off of some one's ability to cope with ridiculousness. So, valid by any one's definition. Reason c) holds water although for the last 15 years as a nurse, 80% of the time I have been able to control my shit, but still 20% of dealing with customer service and wiping ass tends to take a toll. It's looking to be a very tight race here. d) in an effort to not piss off the Karma gods, I will say that I deserve to be a Dung Beetle and will solemnly swear to do it with grace and compassion. Now e) reasoning tells us that attitude and care really are things that should come to us when we see others in need, feel strong emotion and empathy- I say forget about it.. when you put on a happy face and bounce around like there's sunshine coming out of your ass for years and years, one should be allowed a bad day. I will attempt to refuel my care and compassion tanks while listening to Sarah Mclachlan sing for those sad, abused, neglected animals. Oh..and the commercials for the kids with flies around their faces. As you can see, all reasons are valid so..F) U win..!
You know who else I would like to tell to hold their horses? Jillian Michaels. Sure I would like to be "Ripped in 30" but you bantering on about "GET SOME" only makes me want to claw your eyes out with a pitchfork. Really...Get some of what exactly? A torn ACL, a jacked up rotator cuff?? I'm getting as good as I can with my wimpy arms, non-existent core, and buddha belly thank you very much. So keep your nonsensical phrases (and I dare say sexual innuendo) to yourself.
Dear Elohim, I recognize that attitude is a choice and that in essence what we think, we are. So forgive me for lacking in the "grin and bear it" category. All things considered, I don't think I'm a bad person, I just think I have an incredibly accurate "bullshit" detector and must respond accordingly. BUT, if you could bestow on me an ever increasing amount of compassion, I would greatly appreciate it. Your faithful servant, Brooke "who wants to get some pizza?" Albertson
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