in which brooke gets accepted into college.

There are not many things I am sure of regarding the future. Questions are perpetually being churned about in my mind: is my more-than occasional trip to the tanning salon going to result in me looking like a leather bag? Is my incessant snacking on all things chocolate and salty going to limit my wardrobe options in the future to moo-moos? Am I going to eventually start sweating Diet cherry Coke? When will Justin Bieber mature?!?

But right now, there is one thing I am sure of regarding the future: I am going to BYU!

Hooray.

At 4:00 on Wednesday my mom texted me telling me that the acceptance/denial letters were being sent out that day. I broke into a fit of ‘I-should-have’s’ (‘I should have been nicer in seminary’, ‘I should have been less frequent with flipping the bird’, ‘I should have revealed my always-enticing knees less!’). I felt like I was going to die!

My mom summoned the bearded one to distracting me. The whole evening was spent trying to ease my nerves by drinking mass amounts of chocolate shakes at The Hong Kong Cafe (you wouldn’t think they had such delicious chocolate shakes, but they do) and making unnecessary purchases at Hastings and Ross (isn’t everything at Ross sort of unnecessary?)(also, if you’re wondering, the purchase was a moo-moo…just in case). I felt like I was a pregnant lady just waiting for my water to break (sick). Except I could be having an actual human-child or an alien.

Finally, at 9:30, my water broke (sick). My sister charged into my room and announced that I had been accepted. My family quickly followed and offered various enthusiastic shouts and squeals.

Oddly, I wasn’t as excited as I thought I would be. I mean, I was. But I was so exhausted from being nervous and roaming the mall that I couldn’t express it properly. I was Christmas-day excited as well as Christmas-day exhausted.

But I’m accepted! And I’m going!

(Is it bad that every time I think about it I happily and creatively curse in my brain?)

P.S. I wonder if I prance around in my moo-moo real fancy-like Jimmer will stay another year?

I think so.

Only in Utah.

dead-end loves.

Unfortunately, all flights were booked to San Diego so I couldn’t visit Kylie. I was super bummed out. Thankfully my adventurous little mother helped me make the best of the weekend.

I love her. That lady is up for anything. At 1:00 a.m. on Thursday night I sent her a text: hello mother, i know you aren’t awake but tomorrow can we do something funnn?

At 9, she called me and told me to get ready. We were going for a girl’s day in Spokane!

It was so fun. We went to the M.A.C. counter and bought some new makeup, ate seafood curry, mahi wraps, and carrot cake at my new favorite restaurant, Mizuna, and relieved our anxieties over the pending question (BYU or no BYU?!) with some retail therapy.

Delicious day.

On Friday, I willingly went to the Justin Bieber movie Never Say Never with my mother and sisters.

Folks, it was magic.  I had to keep suppressing my girlish squeals by shoveling popcorn into my face.

I fell in love.

After that, we went to La Casa (where my sister ordered a burger, typical) and I fell in love, again. This time it was with the waiter (he had an accent, dimples, and a faux-hawk…that is all I’ve ever wanted in a man!, plus some beard-age).

Of course I didn’t say anything to him. Besides a very mispronounced ‘torta.’

But he knew what I really meant by ‘torta.’ He knew I meant ‘Hey baby, I know I’m a very obvious 18 years of age and am still in a haze from seeing the Justin Bieber movie, but I am in love with you, I think.’

(Truth: he had no idea what I meant by ‘torta.’ He just told me it was some form of a sandwich and stared at my Justin Bieber drawing on my napkin)

 

When I left the restaurant, I felt so defeated. I really missed my opportunity at love.  I texted my friend Nikki: i fell in love with a waiter tonight. and justin bieber. i so badly want his(the waiter’s) number and am craving an excuse to go back.

(never say never!, Thank you Justin)

(Truth: I didn’t actually want his number)

Nikki arrived at my door 20 minutes later declaring her and her friends were going to La Casa. Of course I joined them.

…he was engaged.

And not to me.

And Justin Bieber is 16(17? 15?) and famous.

Dead-end loves suck.

surprisingly pleasant v-day.

 

Yesterday I had a surprisingly decent Valentine’s day that began with slow-cooked oatmeal from McDonald’s(with extra brown sugar) and ended with a giant Hawaiian plate dinner from Loco Grinz(complete with mushy-gushy couples of all sorts).

Above are the Valentine’s I gave three of my Valentine-less friends. The first one is an unsentimental cookie, it tastes just as delicious as a sentimental one, I assure you.After that are pictures of the homemade fortune cookies I made featuring less-than uplifting fortunes(i.e. ‘Someday, someone will look past your bad looks, piss-poor personality, and perpetual body odor and love you. Maybe.’)

Also, I got this.

Mister-Saint-Valentine-man must’ve known I am both a snoop and a sap. How fitting.

what would mrs. brady do?

 

The following is a true story. In fact, it’s probably the most-true story I’ve told yet:

I’ve never been a fan of the Lord of the Rings trilogy(or ‘Outsourced’, or Nicholas Cage, or pizza pockets…but that’s besides the point). Gun to my head: I don’t think I have ever finished an entire movie. Usually I fall asleep, change the channel to something “with a little less elven romance” or temporarily die of boredom, temporarily

But not tonight. Tonight I bonded with Gollum…err was it Frodo? I don’t remember the names.

I experienced the overwhelming and overpowering evils of ‘the ring.’

Well, not necessarily ‘the ring’. This ring was different. There were no elven inscriptions warning that the ring was ‘a closer look at evil.’ There was no skinny little creepy midget men(now THAT’S Gollum, right? Or is it Frodo?) warning me to steer clear and save myself.

Nay, this ring was terrifically haughty and seemingly harmless.

You see, today I decided that supporting my school’s basketball team in their district play would be a good idea. I arrived promptly during the third quarter(I could’ve sworn it start at 7:30!) and spotted my short little blonde friend, Taylor.

We began to talk about life and love(or, in my case, the absolute lack of love), at extent, and then her hand caught my eye. Specifically, her finger, Specifically, her left pointer finger.

Wrapped around that finger was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. Like I said before, it was terrifically haughty; a big white crystal in the center with other little crystals surrounding(…that was a terrible description, but, you know), it even glistened in the flurouscent lights of the gym.

Instantly, I grabbed her hand, stole the ring, and shimmied it down the forbidden fourth finger on the left hand.

At first, I was fine. I was so consumed in ooh-ing and aww-ing over my faux-wedding ring that I had no idea what was going on around me or, better yet, inside of me.

After a few far-too long minutes of adoring my hand, I began to feel different.

And not just because I had violently inhaled two tacos and half of an Oreo blizzard two hours prior.

Nay, it was something far, far more serious.

It was ‘the force.’

Wait, wrong movie.

…well, it was something serious.

I began to break out in a slight cold sweat and my ovaries began to ache.

(baby fever? could it be?!)

I started feeling uncomfortable in my jeggings and tunic top and instantly wanted to don a pair of high-waisted ‘mom’ jeans(…or pajama jeans, for that matter) and a festive sweater with a brooch(or maybe a pin declaring that I was ‘world’s best mom’).

I began worrying about things like laundry and the effectiveness of off-brand baking powder.

And I had the sudden urge to start cycling.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my coat, power-walked out the door, and searched for my Camry-gone-mini-van.

When I arrived at my house-gone-home, ring-less, the evils of the ring were very much still in effect.

Within fifteen minutes, I was Mrs. Brady short of a crappy haircut and incestual(not a word, that’s okay) relationships manifesting between my imaginary six children.

Compelled by the powers of the ring, I decided that baking a nice bedtime snack for my brother-gone-son(gross!) would be of my best interest.

So, naturally, I logged on to allrecipes.com and researched a fun, new, inventive cookie recipe.

(banana chocolate chip cookies)

And, naturally, I made them.

They kinda completely sucked.

Mrs. Brady dream = crushed.

Being a mom= indefinitely post-poned(duh).

Oh, and I still hate LOTR.

a day at the park with kenz and chad.

Today the sun was especially shining, McKenzie was looking especially cute, and Chad was especially bored.

jesse jackson on a monday.

Post-devouring three oatmeal chocolate chip cookies(with grated Hershey Kisses sprinkled on top), a glass of milk, a bowl of Life cereal, and a slice of cheese,  I decided it was time to hit the gym.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I misplaced my key to the gym. Which leaves me here.

Yesterday I waited in line in the snow for a whole 45 minutes to hear Jesse Jackson speak at the U of I.

(Blurred picture below)

Let me reitterate: 45 minutes. In the snow. In line. Alone.

Why you ask?

Well, partially because Jesse Jackson is a well-known civil rights activist who was standing next to(near?) MLK Jr. when he was shot…I think. Partially because, once upon a time, he ran for president. Partially because he is a Baptist minister and I may or may not have been seriously hoping we would all clap and swing and sway and sing. But primarily because he has his own South Park. And all people who have their own South Park are worth standing in line for(for 45 minutes…in the snow…alone).

As I was waiting in line(for 45 minutes…in the snow…alone), three large, important-looking men were talking. Since they looked important(two of them had beards, the other was wearing a jacket with fur), I strained my ear through my too-tight parka to hear.

They were talking about MySpace.

“It’s being sold, you know?” bearded man #1 said to the others.

“The government should just integrate FaceBook and MySpace together. Making MyBook…or FaceSpace!” furry coat man retorted (I said they looked wise, not witty).

“…is it just me, or is that girl in the parka staring at us?” bearded man #2 whispered.

…and that is when I stopped listening and, apparently, staring and was sent back into a fit of nostalgia.

Do you remember when you would spend hours upon hours on your profile? Finding the perfect background(I remember I liked a boy in the 7th grade and his MySpace background was a scantily clad girl in a scantily clad bikini…hormones…!), adding songs, rearranging top friends(I was in a few people’s ‘Top 4′, n.b.d.)?!

I miss those days.

But actually, not really.

Curse you Tom!

Oh, and Jesse Jackson was good. I forget almost everything he said because I was focused on keeping a safe distant between me and the frat boys who unwillingly sat right behind me(if I leaned too far back, frat boy #4 would be straddling me; if I leaned too far forward, crack might kill frat boys #1, 2, 3, and 4) and simultaneously looking over the quirky Asian girl’s shoulder and reading her surprisingly juicy texts about ‘laundry day’ and ‘Super Walmart’ (code? I submit yes).

And yes, I did refrain from asking him if he enjoyed his South Park.

In other news, San Diego in T-Minus 2 weeks and a hair cut tomorrow.

Happy Tuesday!

happy birthday, zig!

Today is my littlest sister’s 9th(almost at the double digits…gasp)birthday!

Which warrants a birthday post and 9 reasons why I love her(..because she is 9)!

To McKenzie:

1. Because you’re a free-spirited little girl that would rather stay up and watch Wizards of Waverly place than bathe.
2. Because you compliment others through complimenting yourself(“You look really cute today–everybody says I look like you.”).
3. Because you’re such a sweet little sensitive friend.
4. Because you somehow inherited a ghetto booty.
5. Because you’re surprisingly funny and quick.
6. Because you still shrink into your seat when we talk about boys and other such things.
7. Because you’re the ultimate fan to all of your siblings.
8. Because you leave really great pictures and videos on the computer (for example: ‘McKenzie’s Big Show’).
9. Because you’re you, McKenzie Claire Mosman, and you’re my little sister.

…and you’re 9 years old!

Happy birthday to you, Zig!

“Oh, darling, don’t you ever grow up,
Just stay this little.
Oh, darling, don’t you ever grow up,
It could stay this simple.”