living in solitude(ish).

dear crazy cat ladies and hermits of the world: i get you.

i get it! the whole ‘living on your own’ thing. it’s the caterpillar’s spats (thanks you google search: ‘synonyms for “the bees knees’ …i think?). there is a certain kind of beautiful that can only be found in a clean, organized fridge. carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, and other various veggie tales protagonists all squeezed nicely into the bottom shelf; strawberries, grapes, apples, and cherries in the right drawer. lactose-free almond milk…bottles of diet pepsi (it’s a new phase, sorry mom!)…leftovers, my leftovers…bliss, bliss, bliss!

i can stay in my rutty, white robe all day and just…lounge. at any decibel at any hour. FREEDOM! if the place is messy, it is my mess; my hair in the drain, my laundry on the floor, my cheese-encrusted dishes. i love my messes so much i could lick them up.

the best part: the naked barrier? gone. fart barrier? thing of the past. anxiety over having to sneakily steal condiments…and cereal…and fancy dryer’s ice cream (my jana-roommate always bought the expensive stuff! s’mores ice cream, are you kidding me?!)…no more!

now, how wonderful is that?

here’s to one more week of living in solitude! then it’s off to idaho…home, sweet home.

p.s. ummm…hello? my name is brooke and i am apparently the world’s easiest target? ha. whatever, if someone tries to snatch me, they will have to cross the barrier of the non-fart-barrier barrier…you know?


let’s just cut to the point, here: on saturday i played a little game of self-exploration and tested how my body would react to a heavy dose of too much fiber.

it died. like, sitting on the bathroom floor of rubio’s trying to heed to sydney’s advice of ‘just relax! let ’em fly!’ type dying.

i don’t really know how it started? perhaps it was just out of pure laziness and unwillingness to make real food? or perhaps it was just out of boredom-eating and accessibility? no matter. in any case, on saturday i ate three fiber one bars and a large bowl of raisin bran (…and dip n’ dots…and 5 oz. of FREE yogurtland!) you do the math.right?

in any case, while i was sitting on the ground of rubio’s, i had a good and heavy think. good and heavy thinks are beneficial to the body, especially when paired with large dosages of fiber. but anyways, as i was sitting there i got all metaphorical and thought about how this situation was like a metaphor. or a simile, rather.

like, maybe fiber was like all things good and happy in the world, like little kitty cats and long sunday naps, and if you had to much of those all the time, it would eventually kill me? or maybe fiber was like christmas? like, one of them is fine but if christmas was every day, you would all end up on the floor rolling around with stomach aches from too much shopping and too much christmas candy and too much christmas music?

or maybe it’s a metaphor about life. that if you just cram everything that’s important into one part of your life then you are going to be paying later? or something?

or maybe you just should never eat that much fiber. ever.

the end.

dirty mouth.

(forewarning: this post could get highly spiritual and deep and also pitiful, too. it talks about the power of prayer (unfortunately…), my dirty mouth, and my lugaubrious (thank YOU dating life. and also it’s long-winded.)

once upon a ninth grade, i was a vision of highlighted hair, liquid eyeliner, and social awkwardness. i also had perfectly spotless language and cringed at the sound of a curse word. then, once upon a crisp, cold soccer game i let out my first (well…probably fifth) curse word as i lost the ball to a nearby defender. it felt so…nice (cussing, that is). like a burp that had been buried down deep inside my stomach and was just waiting to be released into the air.

as the season forged on, i began to be more bold and creative with my cursing (i lost the ball A LOT); strands of poetic combinations and variations of naughty explicitives. i was getting good.

i knew it was wrong, but i justified it with the four white lines around me. and, after all, i was getting good.

then one day we had a lesson in church (…or something, this part is kind of a blur) about clean language and how it’s so feminine and pretty and respectable and polite.

“…effballs!” i thought to myself as i sunk in my chair.

but i decided to make a change. my mouth was getting dirtier by the day and i wanted to be feminine and pretty and respectable and polite. my mother (or father…this part is a blur!!) told me to get down on my knees and pray that i would be able to resist the temptation to curse those wonderfully creative strands of curse words. that i would rise above. so i went home and i prayed and prayed that i wouldn’t be tempted to curse anymore.

the next day at my soccer game, as i was savoring my few minutes on the field and taking a shot on goal, a defender from the other team came in from the side, knocked me on my hiney, and blew out my knee. i was out for the season…and coincidentally my dirty mouth was, too! my cursing took a seat on the bench right next to me…i was cured! hallelujah (or something?)!

…obvsauce my dirty mouth caught back up to me again (eff!) and i got right back into my habit of cursing when i played sports…and when i dropped things…and when i realized how many calories were in that large spoonful of nutella i was eating four times a day.

last monday, my friends wanted to set up a fantastically fun ‘group date’ to a haunted forest (group dating, it’s all the rage here!). i complied and asked a boy who i thought would be fun and nonthreatening and was fairly hygienic, i’m mostly sure. he agreed!

wednesday, in my book of mormon class, the teacher gave a lesson on clean language (does this lesson just follow me around?!). he gave us a challenge (which he prefaced “now i’m sure none of you have a language problem…” sink in chair) to try to clean up our mouths and pray that we would be able to resist temptation to curse.

once again: i went home and i prayed and prayed that i wouldn’t be tempted to curse anymore.

that friday, i was getting all dolled up and ready to go. i combed my hair and put on thirteen layers of mascara and even flossed! thirty minutes before we left, i thought i should probably give my manly date a little jingle and see if he was still up for the adventure.

me: “HIIIIII! we are going to leave in thirty minutes-ish! hope you concealed all of your weapons and have your party pants on!” (funny, right?)(disclaimer: i may twist this conversation around to make me seem like the wizard of wit and conversation)

man-boy: “oh! hey! brooke! hey! okay…yeah…so, there’s A LOT of traffic right now and i bet we would have to sit in the car for like, two hours. should we still go? doesn’t that seem like a long time?”

me: “yes! yes it does. but we have it all figured out, don’t you worry.”

man-boy: (…awkward pause)”…oh, yeah! that’s cool! okay, well…”

me: “yes! yes?”

man-boy: “it’s like, super late. and i don’t know, like it’s late and i don’t know if i want to drive in a car and walk through a forest and…(this continues for another three minutes)…and yeah, so probably this is a no-go.”

me: “oh, radical! totes! totes-ma-goats (…i get weird when faced with disappointment). that’s totally fine. kseeyabye!”

and click.

after i had gotten all of my woes and sorrows out with the aid of bottomless bowls of cereal, i began to gain some perspective on the issue and decided to blame it all on the big man upstairs and that darned book of mormon challenge.

you see, i had prayed to not be tempted to cuss anymore, not to be able to resist temptation. that big dude knows me too well. he knew that if i was let into a haunted forest (with acres and acres of spook), i would begin shouting my favorite four letter word like it was going out of style (i really, really wanted to find a better idiom…that will just have to do; eff…). he knew that i would shout away the potential of any upright suitor at byu and shout away the potential of any dates…period.

yesterday in class i went up to my book of mormon teacher and told him the whole, long story. he sort of looked at me in bewilderment and told me that he heard the haunted forest wasn’t that great, that i should try again with the challenge, and that i should extract the phrase ‘totes-ma-goats’ from my vocabulary prontosap.


so the moral of that story is…that prayer is real! and it works! unfortunately well, sometimes! and that my pitiful dating life is really not my fault. nor is it the fault of my new desire to wear clothes that make me look like i am box-shaped or the super cheap and addictive chocolate covered almonds at the creamery. rather it is…prayer’s fault?

the end.

*disclaimer: i may have exaggerated a lot bit. also i am still a stalwart believer in prayer and how great it can be and the positive influence it brings. also, although i am trying to have a cleaner mouth, if you’d like to hear one of my creative combinations of explicitives, just ask and i may or may not whisper them to you over a soft drink of choice and giggles…

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.