September 22, 2013

So here I am, feeling a bit goofy blogging so soon after my last blog. But, there's something inside of me, a knowing that I feel I should share.

I've lived my life being restless. Restless to get out of high school and then college. Hurrying along the path of life. GET ME THERE. What does that mean? Get me to a place where I am comfortable breathing in my own skin. I know only one or two other people that have felt this similar unease. Wishing for peace and solitude. Finding that small piece of  heaven in our very own universe. From coast to coast I searched. Finding it in small pockets of time and emotion. Reaching out to hold onto it, but never getting it in my grip. There have been souls on my path, sign holders, of which way I should turn. I wasn't fluent in sign language. It's there. Even beyond my own fumbling ability, I can see it. But seeing and learning something isn't necessarily knowing it.

Living the life- the dream really, of success, love and happiness is not how you might imagine. A great love in a great city, the world at your feet: it's not there. Loving beyond reason with your entire being: it's not there. Giving more of yourself than you knew you had: it's not there. Taking every precaution, every simple act of faith, every step toward stability does not ensure that you'll get it right.

It's not out there. It's not in the car, the home, the job, the love of your better half. It's not in the amazing feeling of knowing you've been THERE; it's not in the stories of boy bands or celebrity sightings. I recently felt so sad because my dream life in Vegas was over and that my fourth trip to Paris is NOWHERE near to becoming a reality. That New York City will not see my presence any time soon and that 2002 was a long, long time ago. I've felt the stereotypical judgment of being who I am when I am me at this very moment. I am one person's dream and another person's nightmare. I am free. I am unrestricted in life. Money is my only limiter. My laugh can be shared with whom ever I want. My time can be spent completely selfishly because there is no one that relies on me besides my pets. I am capable of limitless things. I am alone.
I make great money and even though my credit was trashed in my divorce that doesn't stop me from moving forward.

I sleep as much as I want.
I exercise when I feel like it.
I drink when I want. Eat what I want.
I go out of town when I want.

You need to hear this.
Listen to me now.
Life is NOT this moment. They tell you it is. They tell you not to hold on to promises of the future because they are not guaranteed. Life is made up of memories and moments. There is truth in that but I beg of you to hear me.
Life begins when you know who YOU are. Not the daughter. Not the wife. Not the sister, cousin, girlfriend, best friend, enemy, co-worker, or mother. It's You who sits on the edge of tomorrow, with no regard of anything but your own volition to go forward- that is where life lives. Few have the chance to relish in that space. To dream and breath and belong in the entirety of themselves. What you find there, in that nanosecond, is that YOU are enough. No fancy clothes or designer anythings make a damn dent in that brief breath of forever. To glimpse the truth that nothing defines you but the walls of your own making. To realize that someone else's judgment of you is their own truth that has no basis of reality in your life. Your mirror is your mind. It is breakable, but it is also incredibly strong, durable and capable of reflecting what stands before it. Stand there in the strength of who you are.

YOU choose.
That feeling of happiness is yours...because it's you.
That anger, that frustration, is yours....because it's you.
Pain= you.
Laughter= you.
debt=you.
fear=you.
sickness=you.
LOVE=YOU.
choose wisely. It is in your power to be happy, healthy or miserable.
It is your right to live fully in love and fulfillment.
Feed yourself with the beauty that you find in life. In sunshine and rain. In the sweet tenderness of love for another. In an unrecognizable moment of pride. Yes... my friend, you are THAT amazing, and not just in that blink of an eye. It's a lifetime of awesome wrapped in the flicker of an instant. Trust me.

I love amazing cities. I love knowing that Paris, Las Vegas, Nashville, Boston and Orlando are like pieces of my soul. I love that music affects me to my core and that I hold a special spot in my heart for the less fortunate..people, animals, homes...you name it. I love that I can take care of a complete stranger with everything that I have and walk away in the morning knowing, ultimately, it is not in my hands. I know that for good, bad or ugly- I believe in who I am today. I am the best I have ever been and still the least of what I will one day be. And so are you. No one knocks on our door to give us a gold star for some good deed we might have done. There are no awards for best in class- because life isn't in a classroom. Feed the need to be better. Live the life that moves you forward towards fulfillment. Whatever YOUR fulfillment might be. That is where you find heaven.
I hope to see you there, now or in another life.
Always,
Brooke

September 18, 2013

I've been laughing a lot lately. Good belly laughs and it feels great. I think it really is the best medicine. For instance, today I took my 100 pound dog Beetle outside and as we were walking there was a big puddle from what looked to be the sewer backing up. I stopped and decided to just leap over it, sort of ballerina style. Very graceful, I'm sure you can imagine. I figured Beetle, big boned as she is, would just prance right through it. NO. She looked like she considered her options and then she "jumped" over the puddle. Ok. Ok. I will redefine the word jump in this instance...it was more of a waddle mid air. She cleared the puddle, partly. If she didn't have those pesky back legs she would have totally landed it! I was so astonished that I almost ran into the pine tree. I have never seen her be so proud of herself. Which is good because every time she attempts to get on the couch, I see a brief look of fear and despair as one back leg gets up and as if the sheer will of raising her nose as high as possible will bring the other back leg up she grunts and notches her nose up even higher...and dutifully, the back leg follows. She plops down exasperated, seemingly looking at me like "bring my food over here, I'm never moving again". But then sees the cat and goes flying off the couch ten seconds later. Silly dog. 

Let me take a poll...how drunk do you think someone would have to be, for them to be offered a helmet to wear? bwahahahaahaha...yes, I know a few people that meet this criteria fairly often. But seriously, you're having a great time- boozing and hanging with friends and someone says, hey, you need to wear this helmet because I think you've had too much to drink. I think I would be all shocked like..What! I'm not that drunk, and promptly test gravity by falling down. After I put the helmet on, I might then ask for knee and elbow pads- and it goes without saying, I would want a lid for my cup. In defense of the guy who inspired this, he was on a group beer bike ride..basically everyone pedals while drinking and the one guy who escorts the group steers you all around downtown. So, I suppose a helmet in this instance would be appropriate. Who in the hell wants to peddle while drinking? I mean, I prefer to do my shenanigans in places that let me express my inner dancing queen. Drinking on a bike? Does your butt not hurt as bad after sitting on it that long because you've been drinking? I would insist on an inappropriately loud horn to honk at strangers with because otherwise I would just feel like a douche bag. And what astonishes me are the dudes who came up with this whole idea.."hey dude...you know what would be cool...a big picnic table that holds a keg of beer in the middle."..."Dude! that would be awesome..we could put wheels on it and ride it around..how awesome would that be?!" "freakin awesome dude. pass that bud you're hogging". I might know a few guys who were the creators of this whole hot mess. 

Dear Baby Jesus,

If you can walk on water, and turn that water into wine, would you make a group paddle boat so people could paddle around drinking? Just curious.

Your faithful servant,

Brooke-not-without-my-helmet-Albertson

August 20, 2013

37. Not 36. Not 38.

37.

It's such an ugly number. With this attitude, it could end up being and ugly year. Not sure why I've got a bee in my bonnet about turning 37. 36 seemed so casual and full of life. 37 is like stubbing your toe on a chair in the dark..the chair you said to yourself hours ago you should move or you would end up stubbing your toe. In a nut shell, there is a tendency for a lot of bad language and possibly tears. I've been dreading this for some time. I can remember on my 36th birthday thinking...37 is gonna suck. Look. It sucks. Ain't it just a mystery how that happens?
I think for me the reason 37 is so painful is that it is the apex of the downhill slide. Don't ask me why 37 and not 35..I'm not Stephen Hawking, I don't know these things. He wouldn't know either because I just made it up. Apex. Yep.. downhill sliding...smack dab into a big ol pile of middle age. In a few more years, I will definitely be unable to have children. In a few more years, I will be seen as a "Cougar" (although some young folks think I am now, but I say NAY! 40 is the entry age for Cougar Town- again..my life, my rules.)
I don't look 40. See...I just skipped 37, 38, and 39. After 36------ 40. I may pass for a young 30's. I'm grateful really. It could be much worse...like no such thing as permanent hair color or sunscreen.
I'm trying to embrace it. I'm trying to not cry out for my youth to come back and sit with me for awhile. Hold my hand Young Brooke. Remind me that I really am an amazing specimen of a woman. That my memories of Paris, Venice, Berlin, Sydney, LA, New York and so on are the envy of young women everywhere. I have lived such an incredible life. I have been a witness to such a beautiful world.
I turn and realize it is not the reassurance of Young Brooke that I need. I need the wisdom of elderly Brooke. The lady with the twinkling eyes that laughs at my dramatic expense. Elderly Brooke whispers to me... if only you knew. She holds my thoughts softly. Letting them roll slowly over the worried mind of the present. Fears play tricks and try to build walls around my heart, but Elderly Brooke brushes them away..like a cobweb that hangs too low. Love. Happiness. Fulfillment. Sometimes feeling so out of reach, impossible really to even get a clear picture of them. She whispers that I am all of those things and more.
I smirk and roll my eyes. She laughs and shakes her head. "Trust Me. I know."
Well played Elderly Brooke.
Well played.

August 11, 2013

So there I was looking at these tiny little fruit flies buzzing around my beautiful bowl of fresh produce that I bought at a little farmer's market down the road. My exact thought was "Don't they have something they can put on the fruit, like bug spray, to kill these things" ..yes, that thought made me shake my head too. I've never denied that I am a complete jackass. I drive a Hybrid, not because it saves the Earth or lowers my "carbon footprint" or some such stuff, but because it came in a nice color and I hoped to save money on gas. My Mom is probably the MOST successful woman in the entire Martin County area starting up and running the Recycling Center for Martin County...and I don't recycle. *gasp* The NERVE!
My deodorant AND toothpaste AND makeup AND shampoo AND Dr. Pepper all have ingredients in it that I can't pronounce and that are probably some chemical equivalent to cyanide. And I'm pretty sure the "chicken" bites in my KFC Bowl were made from some ground up left over animal parts that I don't want to thing about at this moment.
I work in a hospital system that ACTUALLY believes they are making their visitors make better health choices because they only sell DIET drinks. What kind of utterly ridiculous nonsense is that? Trying to pass off Diet Pepsi as a HEALTHY choice. Really? Really?



REALLY?

Shock and Awe ladies and gentlemen. Shock and Awe. We all understand that I'm not the world's best organic eating, carbon footprint deleting human being, and even I know that Diet Soda is poison.
So what is one person to do?

I don't know either. But I'm thinking about it.
I started the 21 Day meditation challenge, and it's not solving any of the before mentioned issues..but what it is creating is incredibly tense muscles in my back. You try sitting there Indian style (wait..did they change that to some politically correct thing that I don't know about?)..oh yeah..crossed legs.. with your back straight, doing all that deep breathing and relaxing and see how YOUR back feels. I never thought of myself as a sloucher or someone with bad posture, but apparently, I don't sit or stand straight, or even close, because if I did I wouldn't have been in excruciating, toe curling, teeth clenching pain during my massage today. Who ever came up with the idea of needling and poking some one's tight knots in hopes of "relaxing" them? Masochistic bastards. I've decided after today I only want soft, chunky massage therapists, you know, the type that makes you want to poke their bellies- skinny twiggy types are all bones and that my friends is the fourth level of hell. Add that to your list of criteria when looking for someone to do your massage. "Would you like a male or female?" I want someone chubby and that's all that matters..little sausage fingers surely can't hurt as bad as little Miss Elbows Magoo. But not so big that I can hear them breath. I don't want to get the feeling that pushing around my chubby chub chub is going to be counted as their work out for the day.

Dear Ganesha-
Thank you thank you thank you for helping me overcome my Diet Soda habit. The toxicity to my nervous system may never be fully corrected but I feel blessed to know that I've made big strides in eliminating sources of toxic waste and making better choices on what to put in and on my body.
Your faithful servant-
Brooke-I'll-end-up-having-a-teenage-mutant-turtle-for-a-child-Albertson

July 21, 2013 #1993

So there I was... remembering when with faces from Loogootee High School. A 20 year reunion. Ok..not MY class reunion, because I totally crashed my older sister's high school reunion (tacky? obnoxious? rude? maybe..but would you expect any less?). I find it funny that I was excited to see former team mates, friends and classmates but that there are a lot of folks that never go to theirs. Maybe it has something to do with me living away from the little town that we all took laps in. The back roads, now common daily driving, makes reunions feel unnecessary to those who's homes have remained in the same zip code as our Junior-Senior Proms and Graduations. There are handfuls of us who have left and returned, learning something out in the wild blue yonder--- home is where you make it yes, but making it near the memories of our youths is comforting, secure in ways that really don't make sense, and in the end, familiar territory when the rest of our lives start feeling foreign and unsatisfying.

Funny how memories are remembered differently by the people who experienced them. My sisters will often bring up a story from years gone by and I swear they must have been abducted by aliens or something because it doesn't even sound like something from my memory banks. Those stories are treasures because it's like seeing a snap shot of a forgotten past. My favorites will always be the great stories we all share and could never forget..smoking from the pack of cigarettes we stole from my parents (read=inhaling once and coughing up a lung for the next 30 minutes). Going "muddin" at Lyons farm on endless summer days. Laughing at how now I would have to go buy "cheap" shoes that I wouldn't mind getting ruined #tragedy. The pool parties. The bad hair. The bad clothing choices...I wasn't the only one with my name on the butt of my sweat pants, but I was the only one who walked around with "Broke" when my ass crack decided to munch on my shorts. Unfortunate as wedgies are...I wore those black sweat pants, turned cut off sweat shorts until the holes made them indecent in public. The same goes for my "Don't be a Dick" t-shirt. Wore that to basketball practice all the time hoping to send a subliminal message to Mr. Eyler so that maybe we wouldn't have to run lines at the end of practice.

People I hadn't seen in 20 years said I hadn't changed a bit. That's a compliment right? So many smiles in the crowd hadn't changed either. The tiny point guard and setter on our Volleyball team, Leslie, is exactly as I remember her. Always smiling and talking about The New Kids on the Block. Jami having the very same laugh that is contagious to everyone around. Brett, whose looks finally caught up with his height, was such a wonderful treat to walk down memory lane with. We're adults and it just seems so crazy to me sometimes. Shelley and Elise still crack me up with their senses of humor and I hope that their husbands and the boys they are raising realize just how awesome and laid back their wives/moms are. Wrinkles and gray hair be damned we are all the living testament of being raised in a small town. We might have just turned out ok :-) Some have lost parents already. But only two have been lost themselves. Those are the inevitable conversations that make reunions a bit hard to swallow. As years go by, those numbers will continue to climb and the never ending march of time will remind us to be thankful for the years behind us and hopeful for the years ahead.

Thank You, Class of 1993- for allowing me to share in your reunion. Everyone with the same beautiful face as the one in their senior picture. Beautiful to me, now more than ever, because it is in the undying spirit of our shared experience of high school that laid the foundation for everything that has since come from that far away time. No...I wouldn't go back. Not because any of you were awful, but because of the me that I was at that time has come so far. We all share the common bond of little Loogootee, Indiana. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Memories are made of these-
Brooke-someone-should've-told-me-my-ass-was-Broke-Albertson

June 21, 2013

So apparently it's the first day of summer. Living somewhere that actually has seasons is refreshing, even if this particular season seems to make areas of my body sweat in volumes I would rather not talk about. I mean...one of the many questions I would ask the almighty creator would be "what in the hell is accomplished with sweat that can run down the crack of my back door business?" Let's talk necessity here. Have you ever thought to yourself, Self- 'Thank God I'm sweating like a whore in church, it is really cooling off my ass crack.'  Or have you needed to jump in the pool while laying out because doing so will cool off your poop shoot? NO. I'm thinking that there are places that sweat glands should and should not be. Can I get an Amen? I will not bring up my dismay of sweaty buddha belly rolls. Sometimes, it's better to just stay inside. (a pondering just crossed my brain- maybe the sweaty crack is why all the gangsta wanna be's walk around with their underwear showing- letting that crack breath a little! Like a fine red wine).

Other questions I might consider posing to the One who knows everything-
1. See above paragraph
2. Who died and made you boss?
3. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?
4. Where's the beef?
5. What came first, the chicken or the egg?
6. Does everyone think I'm hysterical or just the people that know me?
7. Why does my nose itch immediately after I put on sterile gloves?
8. If a tree falls in the woods and there is no one around to hear it, does it still make sound?
9. If a man talks in the woods and there is no one around to hear him, is he still wrong?
10. What is the purpose of the appendix (in our bodies, not the one in books, duh!)
11. Does that dress make my butt look fat?
12. Do all dogs go to Heaven?
13. Are we all really in the Matrix?
14. What is the purpose of life?
15. Could I dig my way to China?
16. Is there anybody OUT THERE?
17. Will you tell Beetle when she gets there that she really was THE BEST DOG EVER!

Dear One who knows everything-
I have enclosed these questions as a brief sampling of the many, many questions that plague us humans. We would like answers, either via email, text, or YouTube video.
Sincerely, Your faithful servant- Brooke-no-I-didn't-pee-my-pants-that's- just-my-ass-sweat-Albertson

June 17, 2013

So here I am- wondering what in the Sam Hill I've been doing that has kept me from blogging. I mean..let's be honest, I didn't expect my fast paced, glamorous lifestyle in Indianapolis to keep me so busy. What with all the traffic jams behind tractors and parades of Geese as well as standing in line at Walmart, I can't seem to find a free minute! Jealous aren't ya? Vegas has nothing on this place!
My ass size has resembled a slinky: wide then thin (-er). Not sure what that is all about. Oh..well there was the HCG diet that I did and lost 25 lbs. That was pretty cool, but even now while I'm staying at the same weight it seems to undulate for reasons I don't quite grasp. Is gravity different here in Indiana? Or is my buddha belly moving from front to back without my permission?
Another phenomena that I am none to pleased about is that A LOT of women in Indiana have cute short hair do's. I am no longer a hairstyle minority. It's like that craze for Jennifer Aniston's hairstyle back in the 90's. This must be a midwest thing. So of course I tried making my style somewhat more trendy, you know blow drying it more forward and such. Made me look like an elderly Justin Beiber. I thought about going all Miley Cyrus with the long mohawk thing, but realized, just in time, that she's been on the verge of going off the deep end and really I've done crazy and I'm all set with that. There was a brief thought on getting extensions and then I realized that I've got no funds for that unless I start manufacturing some sort of illegal substance with the ingredients of ephedrine, battery acid, and ground glass. We all know I can't cook and so I chalked up that potential money maker to lack of ability. So I guess I will grow out my fro which will put my hairstyle in the "MOM Zone" of hairstyles for the next gazillion years. UGH...no offense to any of you Moms. This isn't too bad if this is the worst tragedy I've had to endure so far.
My doctor actually asked me about my thoughts on having children. He gave me that "your clock is ticking and really if you're gonna do it you might want to think about cutting down on your shenanigans and look for a potential sperm donor/father/ child support provider" talk. I basically gave him my "if I wanted any oral diarrhea about my advanced maternal age, I would just ask my father for advice on this subject" look, but only replied with a very basic..yeah, I know.
Children. As in those beings that would inherit some of my genetics, and the genetics of someone who felt it was a good idea to procreate with me (God knows that automatically makes them not so bright). We're talking a child that could very well be snarky, smart, chubby, who excels at parallel parking. I think it's hard pressed to believe we need more of those types in the world. Although....passing on my charming sarcasm and unstoppable wit would be worth further consideration. To be honest, I would really only become impregnated if I accidentally fell on some sperm that just happened to be in my way and we all know I'm no Mary!

Dear Fertility Goddess-
Keep your crack whore ideas of me being a mother to yourself and stop trying to kick start my biological clock because it's really not a great idea. I mean really, my crowning achievement in the last 6 months is that I was able to mimic the hairstyle of a Teeny bopping man-child. So that's all I've got to say about that.
Your faithful servant- Brooke-cobwebs-in-my-uterus-Albertson