you know that life-altering (LIFE! ALTERING!) moment when you hear your own voice on a recording? and you think to yourself THAT CAN’T BE ME! MY VOICE IS NOT THAT HIGH! SINCE WHEN?! (can anyone relate? please say yes…?)
i experienced those exact (well, not EXACT) same feelings today when i looked through my memory card and saw these pictures that paige had snapped of me and jeff at slab pizza (SUGGEST! SUGGEST!) when they were in town. what am i doing with my face? since when am i so animated? where did i come from?! (and, slightly related, WHY did i get my bangs cut at a hair school?!)

cringing, cringing, laughing, cringing. why? why?!

after-thoughts: did this post have a slight (or very strong!) undertone of narcissism? i’m aware. also maybe i’m digging for some compliments here: “brooke, you look great being animated!” “you guys are so cute!”  “you are unseasonably tan! it must be natural! not fake! totally not obvious!” it’s whatever…

stealing the bounce.

imagine: it’s summer. you’re barefoot and jumping on a trampoline (naked!). up, down. up, down. up, down. you inhale deeply, taking in the peacefulness of the rhythm: up, down. up, down.

suddenly, you hear footsteps. you look and see a portly, disheveled little girl undoubtedly wearing unbecoming denim overalls attempting to climb on the trampoline. after multiple grunts and mumbled profanities, she finally rolls on, exhausted. you’re annoyed at first but then get back in the rhythm of jumping…up, down. up, down. up, down.

now she’s jumping. up, down, up down. she is hopping closer and closer, maintaining eye contact and a maniacal smile the whole time. her weight is shifting; as she goes up, some things stay down and vice versa. up, down. up, up. down. now she’s right next to you. jumping, jumping, jumping and…up, down, up, down…down, down, dead. the b**** stole your bounce!

i’m the b****, the squatty one. with the shifty-weight and poor choice in denim.

i’m the bounce-stealer.

whenever someone has something really, really great happen to them, i metaphorically steal their bounce. i start living vicariously through them and get so uncomfortably excited that it leaves them bewildered, thinking: ‘why the heck is she so excited? and why does she have such poor taste in denim?’

 i stole my roommate avery’s bounce. she works at a little surf store in provo-town (yes, a surf shop in landlocked utah) and yesterday they went on the news in salt lake! or something! i really don’t understand what she was doing but i do know that she had to model outfits on the LIVE TELEVISION! (or something…again, i really don’t know)

but anyways, behold the babe who went on LIVE TELEVISION! (i think i was meant to be a stage mom…but, really):and what were you wearing, you ask? ask no more! my uncanny ability to turn any precious-photo-capturing moment into a sexy-brooke-pose-exposé failed not! meeeeow: …up, down. up, down, down, down, dead.p.s. watch the LIVE TELEVISION show by clicking here.
p.p.s. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILY! love you madly.

sushi and t.m.i.

A wise man once said that when you have nothing else to talk about, you talk about the current condition of your insides:

Currently there is a full-blown battle going on inside of my stomach. The sushi I ate today is having a terribly animated argument with the raspberry-lemon sherbet who is also in a quarrel with the dried apricots that are in the midst of a large altercation with the honey-ham slices.

I think tonight is probably the best night to make some new friends in the community bathroom?

Speaking of bathrooms(my favorite segue!)(I need to stop trying to purposely bring up bathrooms so I can share my 1,000 bathroom stories)(…especially around the opposite gender…), I have a story! Once upon a time I played basketball. I should probably use the term ‘played’ loosely; I mostly just cheered and clapped and distracted people at practice. But anyways, I played basketball.

Before every game, I would imagine all the possible ways I could embarrass myself in front of the large crowd(okay, the few supportive parents) that came and watched our game, tantalized by our high scores and ingenious plays. But anyways, I would imagine all these ways!

Thinking about potentially airballing/getting overly dike-y/dying on the court would make me so nervous before the games that I would have to speed walk/booty clench all the way over to the bathrooms to relieve my…nerves.

One particular game was no different from the others. Five minutes before tip-off, my brain started swarming with these humiliating hypothetical situations and I sprint-clenched my way over to the ladies’ room.

When I walked in a did a little silent yip in my head because there was no one else in there. I decided to take the middle stall, naturally, and cozied(not a word?) on down into the seat to…relieve.

My nerves were especially loud that game but, who cares, I was alone for Pete’s sake!

All of a sudden(!!!), the doors squeaked and two pairs of overly-tanned legs walked in right as my nerves were about to reach maximum…relief.

I was in full panic mode! What was I to do? I had to finish! I couldn’t just stop!

I folded my legs up unto the toilet seat so that they couldn’t see me and watched through the crack as they made their way to the toilets beside me, waited for them to get situated…and then I let my nerves fly. Over and over and over again.

The toilets flushed and the two girls walked out, gave each other the you-are-disgusting-I-can’t-believe-you-just-did-that face, and walked out in silence as I sat there, relieved.

I think I might have ruined their friendship?

…and probably your night.

Sushi and T.M.I…such a lethal combination.

newfound narcissism

Last Saturday, I ventured on over to the local Sprint store with my mother and got myself an HTC Evo 4G.

Why you ask?

Well, raves it’s a ‘war machine’; a beautifully architected slab of a phone that is the fastest, smartest, and strongest of its time. notes that it’s the first 4G cell phone in the U.S. and praises its powerful processor.

And that one commercial claims that it can ‘go toe-to-toe with the iPhone, and beat it.’

Now, you ask, have I enjoyed all these features and utilized them to their fullest? The lightning fast internet? The 4 gigabytes microSD card? The 512MB RAM(what does that even mean…)?

And, if I was being honest(highly unlikely), I would answer no.

But I have discovered my newly found narcissism.

Just look:

(The last one serves as my personal favorite. It as if I am beginning to become ashamed of my outright narcissistic ways so, instead, resorted to the far-less obvious ‘candid’ photo of myself. It looks almost natural, right?)

Right after we left the Sprint store, I began to browse the features of the phone. As if obligated, I ‘ooh-d’ and ‘awww-d’ over the ‘powerful processor’ and large assortment of applications(an air horn app., really?) for the rest of the ride home.

And then I came across my doom: the mirror front camera.

If you don’t know what that is, it’s a handy little feature that enables you to look at the adorable pouty face you are making(my personal favorite next to the tongue out of the side of the mouth or the MySpace face) while you are taking a picture of yourself.

Brilliant, right?

(Also, if you have a sharp eye for detail, notice that 2 out of the 3 pictures above have the same tiled bathroom. Yes, those were taken in my high school’s restroom while I was sitting on the throne. Yes, I forgot to turn off the shutter sound while taking my first self-portrait. And yes, there were people in the bathroom who giggled as I pulled my feet up on to the toilet, hoping they didn’t recognize my unmistakable shoes.)

Oh! I like one more feature about the Evo!

It has this game called WordFeud which is comparable to Scrabble or ‘Words with Friends’ for all you iPhone folk. I play online against a man named ‘whitehulk'(is my mind the only one that is wandering…).

We’re buds.

Resolutions or something

During winter break, I religiously took baths.

(I’m sure this arouses(wrong word to use when speaking of baths?) thoughts of pure relaxation and luxury. Of baths salts with names like ‘Lavender Grove’ and ‘Sensual Amber.’ Or, on the completely opposite side of the spectrum, of that horrible scene from The Shining(if you don’t know what I am talking about, click on the aforementioned:

But that is besides the point.

The point: As I was taking my less-than luxurious bath and was almost-enjoying myself amongst the defective bubbles(darn you, Ross bubble bath), I looked down.

Is this getting too graphic?

But anyways, I looked down. Only to find that all of the mozzarella sticks, bean dip, and over-salted fries I called my diet over the past couple years had caught up with me and was beginning to form a pooch that was then emerging from the water.

I shrank into the water for a mere second then began to assess the rest of my body only to discover that I was now squishy. That’s right, squishy.

But that is besides the point.

The point: After sulking until my fingers and toes had become raisin’d, I had an epiphany(or something).

Right there amongst the defective bubbles I decided that, in 2011, I was not going to gauge my happiness on external factors.

I was going to be happy, despite my ever-growing pooch and ever-dropping grades. I was going to be happy, despite my frizz-happy hair and awkward dance moves. I was finally going to give myself the break I deserve– after all, being squishy is endearing, right?

Which brings me to my resolutions:

1. Be happy (despite the previously mentioned) and don’t depend on others to make that happen.

2. …maybe lose some squishiness. It’s really not that endearing when you’re trying to wear white pants and a silk blouse.

3. Survive. And maybe work on my domestic skills along the way. And maybe my dance moves too. Oh, and stop compulsively lying on job interviews.

Oh, and maybe improve my music taste.

But probably not.


Story time:
This summer me and my friend Kylie drove our little selves on down to San Diego, California (yes, it was the longest trip ever and yes, Bubba Sparxx began to sound good after 27 hours in the car) to move her in for college. Our friend Morgan met us there (she was conveniently sick the day of our driving departure and flew down 27 hours later), and we had a gay ol’ time eating Pinkberry, watching girl-movies, and going to the beach despite our obvious pooches.
But I missed my sig-o!
So I called him.
Oh, we had a great chat. We began to chat about politics (Sarah Palin seriously looks like his aunt!), the Kardashian family, and other controversial topics.
Then! Then nature called, and it called hard. It was as if my body had a really annoying ring tone that I had to answer to, in fear that everyone else in Nordstrom’s would hear my Katy Perry ringtone…again.
I could feel that I was about to drop a deuce, and needed to IMMEDIATELY! So, I played pickle in my mind about whether I should a. Stop the convo, b. Ignore my body or c. take action AND talk. I wondered if I could pull it off.
My mind answered: YES!
So, I began shmooing. And talking. Simultaneously. At first it was fine, I even scoffed to myself about my multitasking abilities–looking at myself in my white top and white velour sweatpants, ponytail awry thinking about the humor of the whole situation. It’s like I was playing a trick on him. Ha!
Then it got loud. Very loud. Very out of hand.
So he asked: ‘Brooke, are you going to the bathroom? I honestly don’t care but…you should tell me.’
And I answered: ‘No! Ohmigawd, I HATTEEE when people do stuff like that. It’s disgusting…like you are on the phone with the person and they have the audacity to POOP! Gross! I would NEVER do that to you.’
…and I ranted like that for a solid 3 minutes.
Then, I mindlessly flushed the toilet.
Thus confirming I had been pooping, loudly, and talking.
He laughed for a solid…ever.
I died for a solid..ever.
We concluded that it was a good thing that I was so relaxed talking to him that I could let ‘er fly.
…we’ve commonly been compared to the Kennedy’s (because we’re so classy).
Or something?


I’m weak.

I am so, incredibly weak when it comes to self-control.
Well, rephrase: I am so, incredibly, embarrassingly weak when it comes to self-control WITH food. And television series. And beardy men. And Marshall Mathers.
But back to food: More than a billion times I tell myself that I am going to ‘begin a-new’ and begin to eat healthy. I brainstorm all the steps that are going to help me become ‘healthy’ including: refusing the bread basket, no more Nutella…well at least less of it, water instead of Diet Pepsi, and eat less bacon.
And I begin!
I go for two, three, four hours of giving the hand(or finger) to all bread baskets that come my way, NOT cracking open at D.Pepsi at 7 in the A.M., and bettering my bread:Nutella ratio.
But it’s at those very moments, that I am TRYING to be healthy, that my mother will make something ridiculous. Like Butterfinger cookies, homemade donuts, or bacon-wrapped Butterfinger flavored homemade donuts. Served by a beardy man.
It’s as if the world doesn’t WANT me to eat healthy.
Today, I told myself that I was turning a new leaf and leaving behind my plate-licking ways.
As I reached for a yogurt(sick!) in the fridge, I saw that there was a huge, welcoming bowl of cookie dough with just enough chocolate chips.

Needless to say: cookie dough for breakfast. And some Hershey kisses. And a banana dipped in Nutella. And a Diet Pepsi.