WHAT IF! : A love story. Also bumper stickers.

Today I was driving home from the library (okay, the mall) + 

thought of this hypothetical love riddle. 

Indulge me. 

WHAT IF!
What if you met someone + were starting to get mildly serious.
You loved most everything you knew about them + felt like this. was. it.
You live in...the city. Or love walking? And public transportation?

The point is : you rarely see his car.

You think nothing of it. You aren't judgemental.
He could be driving a brick for all you care.

THEN!
One day he suggests a drive into the country. A break from the busy life.
Isn't he dreamy?
He picks you up in his car + you laugh to yourself because you didn't think
there was such thing as a perfect car, but it's the perfect car.
Modest, clean, practical. Plus XL cup holders. CHECK, CHECK, CHECK.

You get to the picnic spot + start settling in then realize you forgot your jacket.
You insist on getting it yourself (he's such a gentlemen!) and you zip back to the car...
and...

DUN DUN DUN!

BUMPER STICKERS.
Like, the worst kinds ever.
Saying the worst things. Ever.
Covering the entire backside of the car.
HOW HAD YOU MISSED THIS?!

Lift your truck. Fat chicks can't jump. 
I don't suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.
Democrats pave the road to hell. 
Caution. I brake for hookers.
...and so on.
(just so you know, two of those were actually on actual cars in my high school's parking lot.
Cars, plural.)

And you're like...
Wait. I think I actually hate this guy.
WHAT! IS! LIFE!
Left is right, right is left, up is down, down is up.

And you look back at him, smiling coyly on the picnic blanket.
So suave, so perfect.

WHAT A LOVE RIDDLE, right?
Or not really.
Deal-breaker.

I also thought like, what if your husband started putting them on his car? Does he do it
one-by-one or all at once? Do you just wake up one day + discover that you're married to
the offensive bumper sticker guy. WHAT WOULD YOU DO?!

And those are my thoughts on a Monday.

Face-palm. STORY TIME : The time I was hit on. Sort of. K, not really.

SO! Story time :

A few days ago, I was walking out of Wells Fargo in Trolley Square to go find my car. To set the scene : I was wearing a baseball hat, no makeup, my giant coat, no bra, sweatpants (and not the cute kind), and running shoes. Also I was probably wearing a scowl because the wait was so long at the bank. But anyways, (positive thoughts 2015) onwards!

As I was walking, a car pulls up next to me and a guy about my age rolls down the window.
Let me back up, I was blessed and cursed with inflated self-confidence + also inflated confidence in my ability to read people + situations.

SO! Right as he pulled up next to me, I was already thinking that he was about to hit on me. Or something ridiculous. GUYS WHO AM I?! Why do I do these things?

He rolls down his window and kindly asks,
"Hey! Are you parked around here?"

...to which I jump to the idiotic conclusion that he is wanting to give me a ride to my car...and ask me out...

I reply, practically screaming and giddy with myself because I am such a good person and I am SO cute! and I am going to make this totally not-awkward for this kind guy! :

"OH! Yes! Well, sort of! I am like, 100 yards away but (here's where it gets presumptuous) I can just walk there myself! I need the exercise! Thank you so much for the offer, though! You are like, the sweetest!"

WHAT!
No!
Even now as I type this, I am so embarrassed.
Also I was like, placing my hands on my heart and being so over-the-top + acting like I was truly, truly touched by the offer THAT HE DID NOT MAKE.

He looked bemused, then amused, then embarrassed for me, and replied,

"Well. Ummm. I could give you...okay, actually I was just wondering if I could have your parking space? The lot is kind of full..."

NO. NO. NO. NO.
I just nodded and was like,

"Yep. Totally. Cool. K. Bye."

And then power-walked to my car while he followed behind me in his car.
NO. NO. NO.

Also, it gets worse.

I then call Jeff + my mom to tell them about the interaction and am crying of laughter but also so embarrassed. I then go to Trader Joe's and return back to my car, still replaying the conversation.

I look at my windshield + see a note with a phone number on it and NO JOKE, touch my heart again. As if to signify, I was right. I am cute. He was hitting on me. I am such a good person for turning that situation on its head and embarrassing myself instead of him. I am cute...

After thirty minutes of driving, I unfold the note to read that someone had bumped into my car while I was in the Trader Joe's parking lot. Mmmm. Yep.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!

P.S. Dear Armen, you are nice.

Boys in Elsa Wigs + because you all wanted to know how I look during a photoshoot...

The day after Halloween, a still drunk frat boy/man wearing an Elsa wig came up to my sister and started relentlessly hitting on her while I stood there dumbfounded. He gawked at how beautiful she was (she is!) and asked her to run away to Canada with him and continued even after learning that she is only 16. Then he turned to me and said, "And you?! I don't know about you. I mean, ehhhh..."

I was offended then doubly offended that I was offended by a still-drunk frat boy wearing an Elsa wig. Then triply offended because he probably pulled the Elsa wig off better than I could. I MEAN.

You win some, you lose some. And yes, if he would have offered, I would have considered running away to Canada with him but only if Jeff could come and also poutine. Gravy and fries. Hi.

They don't call me the Pack Mule for nothin'. Actually no one calls me that. This is not an invitation. Don't call me the Pack Mule, please. Thank you, kindly.

Also remember how parents used to say that if you crossed your eyes for too long, your eyes would get stuck like that? I am going to tell my kids the same thing about the duck face because that train needs to stop. 

the end of an era : farewell to my license picture!

- - - - 

today i spent an obscene amount of time at the driver's license division in orem. what is the driver's license division? is it different than the d.m.v.? honestly, i don't know. no clue. i've googled it + it just keeps bringing up the d.m.v. of alaska. alaska, i tell you! i once half-dated a boy who worked in alaska over the summer + he came back sunburnt. so there's that.

i went in slightly optimistic -- the d.m.v. and/or driver's license division and/or alaska is sunny in the summer gets such a bad wrap. it's like monday. why does everyone hate monday so much? i really don't. it's just so easy to complain about. though, while we are here, i really do hate january which is sort of like the monday of the year. y'know?

but alas, the d.m.v. (driver's license division) failed me. the result of my optimism : two hours of sitting, fifteen minutes of contemplating handing the sniffly + over-anxious teenager next to me a tissue, a pounding headache, and no driver's license. see you tomorrow, window three!


or will i? i'm struggling.
you see, i'm not a photogenic person. at all. don't even try to talk me out of this one.
i've completely accepted this fact + am fine with it + will continue living my life ducking out of pictures + blaming the horrified look on my face that just happens on 'bad lighting.' it's fine. but the best picture of me ever taken, my pride + my joy, is my license picture. i love it. at airports, i love handing it to the security people + basically beg them to compliment me on how amazing it is ...for some odd reason, until now it never seemed narcissistic or at all concerning that i seek validation from t.s.a. employees?
ho hum.

i s'pose this is good? i'm trying to find the light. after all, i really don't recognize that girl wearing a button up + giant pearl earrings in my picture. it was kind of a strange outfit choice, even at the time. i remember watching a youtube video that day about looking good in license photos (bless the people who youtube that crap, also bless the people who make all the one direction tributes -- liam! be still my soul!) + having to dull down my excitement over passing the test because my friend (...nikki, cough, cough) didn't pass. hahahah.

it was awkward. i was bronzed. and fifteen.

fifteen was a weird year; i was dating a boy who eventually grew dreadlocks  (reference #2 to a boy i dated ... these things just happen?) + who told me our 'song' was 'all my life' by kc + jojo. yes, that happened. we watched a lot of movies where i felt like i probably wasn't the target audience (undercover brother + most anything with tyler perry...shockingly decent movies!) + he had an unnecessary 'y' in his name that just made my heart pitter patter. it all seems like a different life! i was head over heels + completely naive... then i was quickly crushed + listening to a lot of take a bow by rihanna + should've said no by taylor swift. this literally makes me cringe to type. it was a dark time with ill-applied liquid eyeliner.
oh, fifteen...
i'd gladly erase you but also those tyler perry movies weren't half bad?


...and now it's over! tomorrow i have to go turn in my license (...i think? please tell me you can keep 'em. i'm getting this sucker framed) + say goodbye to fifteen year old, bright-faced brooke who was so, so naive. i mean, kc + jojo people!

wish me luck + pray i don't get too chandler bing with the camera.

a story about when i went to court.

this was taken at a wedding in december. in a bathroom. how much do i look like i want to make-out with my reflection? like, uncomfortably lots. but hi! look at my shoes.

- - - - - 

on friday, i went to court. 

well, actually, on thursday i went to court because the receptionist told me the wrong time. "pregnancy brain," she shrugged as i noted to my future self that pregnancy brain is a socially accepted excuse for just about anything, even wrong court dates + a threat that there was a warrant out for my arrest. FOR MY ARREST! ...but actually it was just a 'bench warrant,' my hearing is just dramatic. 

anyhoots! 

court!

is this something that people blog about? it was really nothing, just failure to show insurance + following too closely. and cooking that blue ice in a fleetwood bounder. my lawyerly father is most probably rolling his eyes at me now and/or crafting an email to politely say that court is not something you blog about. same with periods. 

i walked in right on time + was instructed to sit on a bench with a bunch of other people. criminals, i tell you! we were all squished together + the man next to me assured me that this was a 'nice judge.' he knew because 'he used to do a lot of drugs.' we made fast friends. everyone around me was sweating + also flirting with one another? nervous flirts...drastically better than nervous farts.

after sitting on the bench for twenty or so minutes, i was called into a private room with a different bench + so. many. handcuffs. my dirty mind ran wild + i was instantly disappointed when i was greeted by a portly, sweaty lawyer man instead of a beared jeff stapleton in flannel + a cowboy hat (it's a sexy thought! all sexy thoughts involve odd headwear!). we chatted briefly + i avoided eye contact. it was all very anticlimactic.

then! i was left to sit s'more + listen to other people plead their case. it was all so very peculiar. the judge called the others up individually as portly, sweaty lawyer man (P.S.L.M., for short) chatted loudly with the judge + explained your case,

"this man trespassed + missed his court date due to this + that + what have you..."

...meanwhile the judge stared straight at you. 

it was all very sweaty.

when it was my turn, i walked up nervously + could not contain my laughter. was this happening? this was so elle woods. or maybe brooke windham? (if you are following these legally blonde references, consider yourself smooched!) the portly, sweaty lawyer man (P.S.L.M., for short) ran my papers up to the judge + explained my case. the judge asked me if i was pleading guilty or not guilty + i couldn't decide if people actually said guilty or if it was something they only did on made-for-television dramas. i felt like i did when my dad told me that if i ordered a burger at la casa lopez they would come out yelling at me + singing a song about hamburgers. so much anxiety + so much confusion.

after holding eye contact for a shockingly long time, i mumbled, "guilty...?" + the judge gave me a fine. 

then i was whisked off to a table where a lady in a pantsuit had me sign some papers + off i went! my friends! my people! P.S.L.M! 

- - - - - - -

i'm already crushing 2014. i really am. ;)

who is john kerry, anyways? || confessions of a lowly journalism major.

( this is my sister paige. who, yes, is perfect. the reason for this picture? mostly i don't have any crummy iphone pictures to throw up here but also, go follow her on twitter. she's so funny. i feel like i need to share this with the world as one does in the wee hours of the morning... )

it's 1:39 a.m. and my alarm is set for 5:15 a.m.
maybe i should start hitting my palm to my face now? *face-palm*

but i can't sleep.
so here's a story:

i'm in the journalism program for reasons including : it's a fast major, i love to write, it involves no math, refer back to reason number one.
i mean, do i want to be a hard-hitting journalist for the wall street journal? meeeeeh. hard pass.
on the first day of class, we had to write our end-goals as a journalist. mine involved having my own little space of creativity + wit in a magazine about food or fitness or...cosmopolitan? i would happily give out unfounded relationship advice + list the top trends in hair + decide whether an outfit is sexy or skanky for the rest of my career as a journalist...and also maybe having my own talk show once i learn how to keep my facial expressions under control?

they are far-fetched and undoubtedly warranted a load of eye rolls from the communications department. but they are mine!

...also, related : we are required to read the new york times and are given a quiz about the top stories. oh, if you were to hear some of my answers. like,
why is dennis rodman in the news? ... he's wearing a wedding dress again?
answer : north korea...something or other.

who is john kerry + why is he relevant?
(this is embarrassing! it hurts!) ... he ran for president in 2004? and he is going to try again?
answer : he is the secretary of state. you nerd.

(... and my favorite answer that wasn't mine but was my sydney-friend's* ... )
who is nancy pelosi?
a very popular news anchor.
answer : the former speaker of the house.

bah!
i caved under pressure!
what happened to me?!

...in other news, a nyc gym shames miley cyrus + should i go more brunette?
awww, yes. this is home.



 *names have been changed because of privacy + such. or maybe they haven't? hrmph.

californi-yeah! (i've used this title before, oops.)

i said i was done with the michigan posts, but did i say i was done with the vacation posts? loophole! here's a few of my favorites from my whirlwind stay in southern california. i was up there to shoot a wedding, kiss my family hello at their dana point rental, + welcome my brother-in-law, kevin, back into the life after the mission. badda bing, badda bam. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

before jeff + i got married, a had this stigma about california. southern california, in particular. to me, it was the yankees of the united states. the l.a. lakers, if you will. i don't really know where i am going with this but i am sporty. 

my point: it is too easy to love and to obvious. of course you love southern california. of course you love the perfect weather + the ocean. of course you love it. you see what i am getting at?

but now i am throwing my towel in. i love southern california.

and now, a story:

i had never met kevin before friday. like, ever. which is sort of incredibly awkward because hi my name is brooke and i am your sister...in law. let's hug? also i wrote him emails while he was on his mission with jeff so...

i was nervous. so nervous! like, what if he doesn't like me?! what if he doesn't accept me as his sister in law?! what if he is shorter than me + when we hug his head goes straight into my chesticles?! these are the things that keep me up at night.

i spent the day with my grandma + mom in dana at their little beach house rental. it was a daaaah-ream! i was nervous about being late to the airport so i left super early. california traffic, y'know? somehow i arrived way ahead of schedule + had time to kill.

a wheelchair! i spotted a wheelchair! i plopped myself down on an abandoned wheelchair + started wheeling myself around the vacant airport. also i realize i am changing tenses here...past-tense? present-tense? pffft. i didn't think much of it until a few people came up to me and asked, "are you here all alone? do you need help?!"
i had already committed to being a cripple, braving the airport alone so i went with it : "no, no. i've got it. don't worry about me."

brooke, why?!

after this is not an exaggeration two hours of sitting in the airport, jeff called me to ask where the heck i was? he was right by the meeting place + at the teensy long beach airport ... and still no brooke?

i asked the lady next to me where the jet blue bag pickup was + she looked at me, puzzled. "...jet blue doesn't even fly into this airport."

SHIZ!

i realized then that i had waited two whole hours, wheeling around the wrong airport. frustrated, i got up to walk to my car. walk. there was an audible gasp from all the people waiting for their bags that had looked at me like i was so brave. i was a fake! or was it a christmas miracle? the people of the john wayne aiport will never know. ;)

what a strange first impression. hi i am your sister in law and i somehow mixed up airports, somehow? oops.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

also : do we think juan pablo is going to be the next bachelor? crossing mah fingers!! 

vickie and her pyrex plate.

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vickie vick is a lady on my meals on wheels route who just might probably be one of the most delightfully manipulative people i have ever met. with a few compliments and subtle hints, she will have you taking out her garbage, fetching her mail, and rubbing her feet. actually no, i haven't rubbed her feet...yet.

yesterday when i visited vickie (but also myrna? isn't that confusing?), she began to tell me all about her son jeffrey and showed me a few pictures. and then she told me how she wanted to meet my jeffrey (and even said "well hot damn!" when i told her he truly was tall, dark, and handsome). and then she told me how she liked my dress and how i was just the sweetest and also could you set up that garden set over there? 

oh, vickie. the things you do to me. pretty soon i had promised i would be back at eight, with my jeffrey in tow, and do you really like my dress? oh staaaaahp.

that's vickie and that's her easy glider bench that we (read : jeff) set up. and also that's her muumuu, cause like...duh.

while we were there, vickie told me a handful of stories about her life and her family and her bizarre history with health. obviously, these aren't my stories to share but she did tell me something that stuck with me. 

the reader's digest version of the story (da da da daaaa!) : 

after she had gotten out of a strange and sticky marriage, she packed her bags and hopped on a bus to anywhere. she wound up in st. louis, missiouri with five dollars to her name. after buying a few essentials at the grocery store, she went into the secondhand shop to get a plate and fork to eat with. the cheapest plate she could find was actually a lid to a pyrex pie dish so she bought it and soldiered on! she went on to say that quite obviously, her life has changed and she's no longer in that same dark place where she was at that st. louis bus stop but she won't ever, ever forget it. it was a defining moment, y'know? and how do we know what real joy is if we have never had some major trials? 

vickie said that, to this day, a few decades later, she still eats one meal a day off that pyrex lid because she likes to remember where she came from and how far she has made it.

da da da daaaaa!

- - - - - - - - - - - -

dude! vickie is the coolest! 

all i wanted to do was give her chopped up meat loaf! (also: ikea!)

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i went to ikea alone today...

never again.

yep, it was still soul-sucking. perhaps even worse? maybe it was due to the fact that my mom requested that i pick-up the world's most awkwardly shaped furniture + home goods for her. i was smackin' aisles of succulents + bumpin' into people left and right. also it was twenty minutes before closing and none of the employees really cared to help me find 'fyrkantig' and 'grundtal' (dang swedes.)

- - - - -

in other news, i don't know quite what to make of this yet; i kind of want to crawl under my covers and laugh until i gasp for air over it but also it's sort of sad but mostly it just makes me think huh? why do these things seem to follow me? 

a few weeks ago i was emailed and told that i had earned my very own meals-on-wheels route. fist pump! it was a small feat for me; especially in the volunteer-dense happy valley i live in. dang utahans. anyways, today i delivered the route for the first time on my very own. oh, happy praises! i was wearing a tunic that hid the actual shape of my body and leggings that are actually running pants, or at least i'm mostly sure? oh! and let it be known! i ran a comb through my hair! 

sue was the first person on my list -- sue! sweet, sweet sue! who can't have dairy and needs her meat pre-cut! i bet she'll greet me with fruitcakes and antique lampshades and old-lady smell! 

but then i got there. dudes, there is no way to properly tell this story. let me just cut to it. 

SHE WAS DEAD. or dying? i pulled up to her house with meals in hand and awkwardly navigated my way around the emt's. 

hey, is sue here? i'm with meals-on-wheels! i volunteer! i am relevant! this makes up for all my wrong-doings and sips that i steal at fountain drink machines! or all those times i accidentally take the bags from ikea! 

the emt stared at me. in retrospect, i think he thought i was being sarcastic? like, how could i not pick up on the fact that the lady was being wheeled into the ambulance at the very moment.

i barged into the house anyways and set the meal in the fridge, just like i was trained to do. like a robot, guys! what is wrong with me?! oh, sue. 

life! death! chopped up meatloaf bits! life! sue! 

...and that's my slightly morbid story. 

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a little jeff + brooke pre-stapleton video.

it's 1:36 a.m. which is far past my strict 10:30 bedtime. naturally, i am googling myself. 

stumbled upon this gem of a video. it played during our reception on a television near the presents + sign-in and, unfortunately, quite the crowd gathered to watch it. behold: brooke on camera. lots of strange facial expressions, misunderstood sarcasm, and is that an ohio accent i hear?

side note: i didn't totally get cut from my basketball team senior year. it was more like a...please take your attitude + antics home type of plea. almost? hahaha. almost. and who actually knows why it says wondershare at the top nor why it gets suddenly super loud every time i speak (oh wait, that's just probably my voice?).

goodnight + good morning, folks. happy monday to you all. i'm probably still googling myself as you read this...

a story about our television.

disclaimer: this is just an exhausting declaration about my highs and lows with our giant television. i don't even end it gracefully. you've been warned. 

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right before jeff + i were married, we made our last purchases as a bachelor + bachelorette. i know, it seems silly but if you know me, i'll find any reason in the book for a celebration (celebratory meals are to blame for weight gain...let's go out to eat 'cause it's thursday! almost friday! let's go out to eat because i showered! let's go out to eat because it's almost my half birthday ...you get the point) and to go shopping.

i can't even remember what i bought; i think it was something fairly practical like a swimsuit or a tub of ice cream. but jeff, oh jeff, he bought a television.

when people walk into our apartment, generally the first comment they make it about our overwhelmingly large television. or about how i somehow ooze sexual appeal in a muumuu, how do you do that brooke? but nine out of ten times, it's about the tv. the thing is massive in comparison to our apartment and kind of just screams at you.

let it be noted: i never wanted the tv. as an attention starved bride-to-be i would dream up the uninterrupted conversations me and jeff would have over a candlelit dinner -- him staring at me, me staring at him. oh! the fun we'd have without a television! we could camp indoors and play twenty questions and braid each other's hair...

but a trip to costco later, and we had it. this giant, giant television. i remember walking into costco and rushing to the samples -- chocolate covered almonds! zipfizz! trail mix! oh my! but where was jeff? after wandering around for a few minutes, i saw him: he was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

he had found it: his last purchase as a bachelor. 

we had driven my small camry and awkwardly carried the television across the parking lot as he justified his purchase. mostly it involved you can watch the bachelor on it with all your girls! (though he didn't say girls, jeff stapleton would never say girls)

we tried shoving the television in sideways and backwards and upside down and maybe i'll just hold it out the window while you drive? but we realized the television was just too big for my junky car. which was ironic in like, ten billion ways.

after making a few calls and asking anybody and everybody with a truck if we could hitch a ride, it was secured. the giant television was ours and it was in our soon-to-be apartment and we were now one of those  people; the ones with giant appliances.

but you know what? now i'm okay with it. i kind of like that television, actually. jeff + i have created our own language entirely that is a mash of quotes and remember when?'s from how i met your mother, 30 rock, the office, arrested development, and freaks and geeks because of it.

and now i am at a loss as of how to end this? did i actually just write a whole page about a television? if you are still reading, bless you for scrolling.

...and that's it, i guess?

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children are our future...and thanks to me, they will never know what time it is.

as i mentioned before, i got a new job as a teacher's aide at a nearby elementary school and oh, how i love it. i love the kids and, quite plainly, they love me. at least i hope? the girls are class A suck-ups which my self-esteem loves and the boys are the cutest and craziest and, often times, the smelliest. also some of them are going through puberty extra early which is hilarious -- the other day a boy who has a big fat crush on anyone of the opposite sex whisper-yelled to his friend loud enough for everyone to hear, "ouch, dude. my facial hair is hurting me."

you too?

today was the first day back since spring break. the teacher briefly prepped me on the lesson today and handed me a giant clock and some worksheets. 

"just review with them how to read time. they are really struggling with it."

them too? 

i may appear infallible, i know, but  reading a clock is my kryptonite (speaking of! thanks to 90's radio on pandora, i listened to that song this morning -- thank you, three doors down). i've never been good at it. i'm convinced i was coincidentally on vacation or at home faking sick every time they would teach it at school. 

but i can do this! i'm better now? right? 

i stood up in front of the class and...why are they miraculously giving me their utmost attention now?! of all times?!...started to give a long-winded speech about the importance of telling time. i wound the clock around a few times and had them repeat after me five o'clock! six o'clock! six thirty! ...what was i even saying? why were they feeding into this jazz?

i taught them some backwards way about how to figure out elapsed time. you just...think of it like money? and count backwards? then divide...and you'll eventually get there... and kept spinning that blasted clock. 

...i ended the lesson with a shrug and advised them all to get digital clocks, like now. if children are our future, i just really screwed 'em up. and this is my public apology. 

(and plus, to cure cancer, you really don't need to know the difference from 6 o'clock and 12:30, right?)

to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die (the meet-cute of jeff + brooke)

i've said it once and i'll say it again: the courtship of brooke mosman + jeff stapleton was fast. but it really didn't feel all that speedy. i never felt rushed or panicked or out-of-control. rather i felt excited and invigorated and alive! exclamation point and more synonyms for the word excited!

that said, exactly one year ago from today, i met jeff stapleton. it was a frigid january day, much like this one, and i was skipping class to grab a diet coke (school is hard, you know?) and ran into my avery-friend. she begged me to walk her to class and we sat outside on a bench, freezing and chatting, when jeff + his friend walked up to chat with avery. they were family friends from california and cafeteria-buddies.

all i can remember is that we shook hands and he went on and on and on about how he had spray-painted the design on his baseball tee-shirt he was wearing. i was freezing and diet coke-less and was mildly interested...mostly because i though the was cute and partly because i found it interesting how interesting he found himself (self-indulgence will be a trait our kids will surely inherit). also how did avery have a friend i didn't know about?! i cute one, at that? the dreaded possessive friend, ready go!

intrigued and bored, i told avery about how i thought he was cute. and tan. and was he always like that? we facebook stalked him to insure that he was single (he was! very!) and normal (he was! sort of!). i remember scrolling through his statuses and one of them was: to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.

...a sensitive type? or aren't those smith's lyrics? ...is he stable?

nonetheless, avery + i composed a hilariously forward message laced with wit and delight and movie quotes. in the light of the day, we composed one hell of a creepy message.

...and one week later, he called me and we went out (i think he needed some time to stew over the message)
and the rest is history. or something like that.

happy friday, friends! feel free to celebrate the meet-cute of jeff + i with some cryptic facebook statuses and a diet coke or three...i'm making up for old time's sake because, thinking back about it, i don't think i ever had one that day.

edited to add: jeff peeked over my shoulder and said that i am such a liar! apparently he mumbled three words about his shirt and claims that our whole encounter lasted less than thirty seconds. pffft.

cheers to the girl with the hamburger, cheers!

here's the thing, i rarely have bad days. basically almost never! like, i'll have a spout of bad hours one day but then someone will compliment my hair and i'm like what bad test score? you know? but when i do...oh boy, i really do. i feel like the bad-day brigade just sit back for weeks at a time, letting me go about my life happy-go-lucky, and then blam! all at once they lay it on me! it's like me eating donut holes. you've already had three, what's another dozen?

you know? (i've never been one for metaphors)(similes?)

and i'm really good at bad days. i've perfected the deep sigh and slouched walk and disheveled hair. because if you're having a bad day your hair is obviously disheveled, obviously.

today i woke up early to go running and four miles into it desperately had to go. like, go-go (wake me up!). i found a patch of trees and went and...didn't have toilet paper? and really need it? i waddled back the rest of the way to my car and gave myself a few thousand face-palms for eating such a high fiber breakfast. oh, by the way, did i tell you i went running this morning? (hush, it's my blog so i can brag!)

then i went to my test review and when exactly did we learn this? were they having some secret classes without me? oh! i also forgot my notebook and decided i positively hate my major. i know, right? face palm! (if you saw my tweet, yes, i did in fact google the top five easiest college majors...finals week is killer, guys) also, while i'm here, i had a chronic stomach ache the whole day.

but stay with me here? i'll stop complaining soon?

i decided to try my hardest to put a stop to my bad day. i took a shower and got re-ready for the day (...it was 7:30 p.m. but heck, it was my way of saying 'dear universe, i haven't given up. i'm just starting over! like my new shampoo?'), making sure to put on extra bronzer and three swipes of mascara like any dignified women would do, and headed to the place i knew someone was bound to be having a worse day than me: walmart.

why does walmart get such a bad wrap? i like walmart! but that's besides the point...

i wandered around aimlessly and picked up a beanie, spray paint, and a few thousand shirts. when i'm having a bad day, i get really shoppy. and snacky. and i'm not picky either! a tweetie bird shirt on sale? sure! new bowls? why not. ...it's really quite dangerous.

i wound up dumping most of it and opted for a diet coke instead (my second large helping of the day...no judgement here!). i sat in my car for a while and cranked up the heat...just riding this bad day out and really letting it soak. i thought about all the bad haircuts i ever had in my life and stubbed toes. why not, right?

then! then i noticed a girl sitting in her car directly in front of me. she looked...sullen (but so cute! how do people do that? my long face really prohibits me from making a cute sad-face...). we made eye contact and she slowly brought a hamburger to her lips and took a bite. our eyes remained locked as i fumbled for my diet coke and took a swig.

cheers to a better tomorrow, hamburger girl! cheers.

the proposal + video!

a little background (other wise known as: the entire story): i had just gotten off work and he asked me if i wanted to go to a concert. i suspected NOTHING. once we got there, i started noticing that i knew 99.3% of the people who were there–so popular! i started chatting away and completely lost track of where he had wandered off to (in fact, i told one friend that i was purposely avoiding him because we both were wearing blazers and there should only be ONE blazer per group!). all of a sudden, i look up on stage and there he is! he asked me to come up and i took my sweet time (all the while giving him the death glare and trying to telepathically say DO NOT SING JEFF! YOU ARE NOT A SINGER JEFF!). once on stage (still suspecting nothing!), he told me all these really sweet things (why are you telling me this NOW?! can’t you tell me this in the car, jeff?!) AND THEN GOT DOWN ON ONE KNEE. what?! i was NOT expecting it at all! i had told my mom that i was sure he was going to propose in the next few months but figured it would be when we were at his home in california or after winter semester had ended. but nope! he got down on one knee right THEN on march 10th (he told me that he heeded to beyonce’s advice: he liked it, so he put a ring on it–a simple man, that one!). i was really, REALLY excited but really, REALLY confused? had he talked to my dad? through gritted teeth i  whisper-yelled “…oh my gosh? have you talked to my dad?” to which he responded “yes, of course!” to which i responded “yes! of course i’ll marry you!”

…and then we ran off stage because i was getting antsy.

the end!

my crazy talented friend andrew storer was fortunately there (…as was about 353 other people who i knew! it was SO cool!) and filmed the entire thing! this is a short little video that he made of the night.

*also, the song playing in the back is by the band that was playing there, robert & the carrols. it was SUCH a special night! did mention that jeff planned an entire concert just to propose?! and had a fancy little sign made and invited all of my friends?! and that i am engaged to be married to him?! winning!

the 5 second rule is real, right?

 

germs are something i embrace. go ahead, you! cough on me. sneeze on me. drop my food on the ground before you give it to me. i welcome germs like i welcome…something you’d want to welcome, like discounts or new reality television shows or something?

anyways. that said. today i grossed out an entire assembly hall of 250 or so people with my germophilic ways (do you like what i just did there? made up a new word!).

this morning i really enjoyed my morning. mostly because i had a really, really strange dream in which i was rooming with a person at soccer camp who kept poking me in the chesticles? but anyways. i was really enjoying my morning and my oatmeal and my outfit picking and lost all track of time and was in a rush to get to my science class.

i may or may not have skipped brushing my teeth? i was in a rush, okay!

because i was in a rush (i am really overusing words: rush, enjoying, really…) i grabbed some gum and power-sprinted up to the engineering building. the engineering building. brooke is in the building for ENGINEERS (i am already sounding smarter, no?).

when i got to my classroom i peeped in through the window and noticed that the class had already started. perfect. no, but really…perfect! my outfit was cute and my hair was falling nicely and all eyes would be on me! (…oh my…vocalizing this is making me want to kick myself!)

i entered the classroom and scouted a seat but made eye contact with a few of my friends instead. i was super excited to see them? or super excited to do my super cute open-mouthed excited face or something? anyways, i waved at them furiously with my open-mouthed-excited face while walking right by the professor in the front of the classroom and, in doing so, dropped my gum right out of my mouth.

great.

i don’t do well in situations like this due to my inability to keep calm and not get flustered. if conversations are going awry on the phone, i just hang up. if i have to think on my feet and swoon a guy, i get creepy. if i have to shoot the penalty kick to win the district championship, i miss (crap. i thought i might be over this by now?).

so. in my moment of flusteration (do you like what i just did there?), i did what any classy lady would do: kept a smile on my face, did a silly little giggle, and…put the gum back in my mouth?

why did i do that?

for a brief second i thought that maybe, maaaaybe the class would not have seen this but that thought was dispelled by varying sounds of “yeeeelk!” and “nasty!”  from the class (with maybe one sound of “doesn’t she look cute? isn’t her hair falling nicely? i bet she brushed her teeth this morning!” …wait just kidding).

…needless to say, my friends that i was waving at didn’t want me to sit by them?

but the five second rule is real, right?

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.

the real college experience?

In Provotown, I live in my own little bubble of happy-go-luckiness where the shorts are to the knees and the Diet Cokes are caffeine free (I realize I’m exhausting this subject). In my little bubble, handfuls of pregnant people roam the aisles of Macy’s frozen food section at midnight and restaurants are closed on Sundays. In my little bubble, eyes are trained to look at the left ring finger and coming from a family of eight is no longer a gut-buster.

With all that said, during my power-vacation back to Moscow, I thought a little Provo-detox was in order; I was losing my edge and beginning to coo over precious things like kittens and babies and cringe at the sound of curse words that used to make me giggle. I felt like my life was turning into a mini-Disneyland(without lines and inevitable family freakouts, even!).

Thus(!), the Real College Experience. Thus, Stubblefield’s Summer Fun Foam Party. A Thursday night filled with smutty outfits, provocative dancing, and…foam. College, Real college.

At 9:00, I began searching for my perfect clubbing outfit that would highlight my best features: my personality and intellect. I decided on khaki shorts that hit just above the knee and a black shirt with some gladiators achieving the ‘risque-tourist’ look that I wasn’t aiming for. I then contemplated brushing my hair, applied 4 layers of mascara, and swiped on deodorant, for good measure. Watch out, Stubblefields!

10:00 rolled around and I was truly ready to get down. Granted I had been for the last hour; my naivety to The Real College Experience became apparent–when did all fun things commence after 11?

Finally, 11. As I drove over there with my burly crew in tow, I began brainstorming ways of incorporating the foam into my sexy dance moves. When we arrived at 11:20, I was highly intimidated. So many legs, so many midriffs, so much…foam. I knew I had to act cool and quickly headed toward the dance floor where I rotated through my only known salacious dance moves that included a lot of popping, locking, jazz hands and The Overbite.

From 11:20-1:45 I stared at lots at couples on the dance floor, in the cages, and on the couches. I also choked on the foam(incorporating foam into my dance moves: fail.) repeatedly. I averaged around seven panicked bathroom trips where I covered the toilet in three layers of toilet paper and checked my favorite mommy blogs.

In other words, my early bedtime habits, fear of tight spaces, and knack for being The Anti-Sexy are clearly not suitable to The Real College Experience. I’m just too lame.

In other words, I am headed back to my Provotown tonight. And I will be sipping caffeine-free Diet Coke(lie) and singing Disney show tunes the whole way back(serious lie).

 

Disclaimer: this post was a little exaggerated. Provotown really isn’t that Disney. And I’m not really that un-sexy; well, maybe.

elementary school talent show.

For my entire high school career, final’s week always warranted for minimum sleep, thousands of note cards, unkempt hair, and zits. I am always cramming in as much information as I can and trying to make up for sleeping and texting all day during classes. I remember in 10th grade, I was so stressed that my mother gave me some aroma-therapy lilac smelling deliciousness to relieve some of my franticness. She also gave me a flask full of whiskey, engraved with the phrase ‘Good luck, favorite child!’, but that is besides the point.

This year, however, has been different. Finals week has been a breeze. Last night I opted out of studying and instead made cookies (well, I watched the Real Housewives Finale as the bearded one made cookies–they were chocolate chip with Oreo cookies inside of them; inventive, no?) and this morning I went for a seven mile run (irrelevant and a lie; but it impressed you, right?).

To further prove my point, I am currently typing this during a finals session. Point proven.

Moving on. For the Advanced Placement Spanish class (yes, Advanced Placement) final today we walked up to the elementary school to watch our teacher’s daughter’s performance. Right when we walked in I spotted an open seat right in the middle of the parent’s section and quickly took advantage of it (I fit right in, I was wearing my mom short’s). A few parent’s eyed me, trying to figure out who my child was, but quickly turned back to watch the girl singing a wonderfully terrible ‘Firework’ by Katy Perry. I snickered to myself at these parents, thinking that I was a mom, and snickered some more at the rest of my class, forced to stand in the back.
I began to get really into the show. I yelled for the two boys with faux hawks (why?!) who shot hoops for a minute as their talent (they were 7/20…they really need to start making cuts at these deals), giggled furiously at the skinny girl who mumbled through ‘Purple People Eater’ and gawked openly at the surprising number of DILFS at this elementary school (a SURPRISING amount!).
Then, it began. The chubby boy who sported a bowl-cut and yellow cut-off shirt sauntered on up to the microphone and announced that he would be singing a rendition of ‘Eye of the Tiger.’ He started off quietly and gradually worked into a stand up performance complete with yelling, panting, dancing, and overhead clapping (MY FAVORITE!). Naturally, I joined in on the overhead clap and exchanged glances with the kid’s parents (how did I know? the dad was ALSO sporting a cutoff)(…not a dilf).
I began to wonder where my Advanced Placement Spanish class was at the end of JV Survivor’s rockstar performance (standing ovations aren’t contagious? whatttt?!) and turned to give the room a quick scan.
Long story shorter: THEY  HAD LEFT ME! Apparently my Spanish teacher’s daughter had already performed so they had left five minutes after arriving. I had been sitting, swaying, giggling and overhead clapping completely alone while my Advanced Placement Spanish class was back in the room, studying for the final like most normal high schoolers. I snuck out of the small auditorium, making sure to congratulate yellow cutoff boy, and walk-sprinted down to the high school. As I tore through the doors of my Advanced Placement Spanish class, they merely laughed and continued on studying. Anticlimactic.
Oh well, I would trade all the precious study minutes in the world to see that chubby little man singing his heart out again.

brotherly love?

 

I am trying to erase yesterday’s happenings from my mind but can’t seem to do so. I feel like if maybe I type it out for the world(world= the few people who ever read this) then it will no longer fester inside of me like an ulcer or a scratch(…?) or something else that festers due to resentment. Yeah, something like that.

Yesterday as I was experimenting with large barrel curling irons and the effects of sunless tanner(effective!) and how long I could stand watching the 40th birthday episode of ‘Bethenny Ever After’, my brother rushed into my room in a hot panic asking for my help(…my mother was in Spokane; I’m not usually the first-choice when someone is in need of help) with his tuxedo.

Right then and there, I should’ve known that things were not right. Everything about the scene was off: my brother asking for my help, my brother wearing a tuxedo, me lathering sunless tanner all over my legs, and Bethenny being annoying(I usually like her!).

When I asked him what exactly he needed help with(and why was he wearing a tux? and do my legs look orange? and does he think Bethenny looks fourty?), he looked downward…

His zipper wouldn’t zip.

I started debating all the plans of attack to fixing his pants; correction: I started debating all the plans of attack to fixing his pants that would also minimize the undesired family closeness.

The end result: me sewing up his fly while pretending that what was happening wasn’t actually happening while talking about the weather, and doubling numbers, and Bethenny’s husband Jason and other neutral conversation fillers while cursing inside my head because the only way I could sew it shut was to leave the pants on because they were small and tight and I was dying being that close to the Mosman Multiplier of Chad.

Did that come out fast? Because as I typed that, I didn’t breathe.

Let’s just pretend that never happened?

Also, does Bethenny look 40 to you? She doesn’t, right?

In the meantime, here’s some precious picture I took of Chad-man at his Frosh last weekend. My ma and pa were gone so I got to play the role of annoying-parent-with-a-camera.

 

Note his overenthusiastic, almost pained smile. It’s like he was foreseeing what was going to transpire the next weekend…

P.S. I have a serious girl-crush on the girl in the coral heels and bright lip stick. I do not remember being that stylish my freshman year.