December 31, 2012

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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