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.
Monday, October 15, 2012
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.
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