sometimes // YOGA

- - - - - -

sometimes i feel like yoga class is just one hour long 

struggle to hold in a toot. 

(while doing fart-inducing poses)

namaste.

Sometimes...

Sometimes...

I forget to wash the deep conditioning oil treatment out of my hair before shooting an engagement/proposal session. HA! It was horrendous looking.

I'm an hour and a half late to work + try to use wit and charm to make the situation better. Unsuccessfully. Also, a word to the wise : when you are running late to work, don't come in with a fresh fountain drink. It doesn't help the whole I was driving as fast as I could! argument.

I bump into people I know + love at Target (HI JESS!) + interrupt their shopping for 45 minutes by making them tell me everything I am good at + what I should do with my life...because WHAT SHOULD I DO?!

I browse homes online in all the places Jeff says he might want to live and work for hours at a time.

I plan to go on a run all day + then trip down my stairs as I am walking outside + say "SCA-REW THIS!" + walk back inside. Woops.

I play therapist to a herd of seventh graders. Guys, I am not kidding. I was running + a bunch of kids started running alongside me as a joke/dare. It was funny for the first ten minutes and then THREE MILES later I was like, wow. Commitment.

I just want to talk about The Bachelor + nail polish + Miley Cyrus + that's it. But I have to pretend to be a person of depth. Hrmph.

I decide I want a dog! A DOG! and send my landlord a five page letter about how grateful I am that he is letting us live here and what a great experience it has been and how a dog would really be a stepping stone into parenting for me + my husband and how is your mom? and yadda yadda yadda only to get a reply ONE MINUTE LATER that says, I kid you not, "No dogs." + that's it.
Oh.
Okay.

I drive through my soda dealer + they ask if I'd like my usual.

I crack my phone to the point of no return + don't realize it till eight hours later. WAIT! MY PHONE! CRACKED ALL DAY!

T H E E N D .

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.

a letter to myself in the 7th grade pt. I || DRY SHAMPOO + SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE

Dear 7th Grade Brooke,

You will go through a time where you think dry shampoo equates to the end of showering forever. This is not true. Though Seventeen Magazine boasts that washing your hair everyday will leave your hair dull and lifeless, you have a unique type of hair texture that greases up like a Kentucky Fried Chicken at the very thought of skipping a wash. Puberty. Hormones. Buzz words. To put it in mathematical terms : the more showers you skip, the more dull and lifeless your social life will be. Which is like, super important in 7th grade. And yes, those were not mathematical terms. Clearly, Brooke of the Future hasn't improved at math or metaphors. Also your metabolism slows substantially. You are welcome. The future is bright.
On that note, stop reading Seventeen Magazine. Most of their boy advice is junk and everything else you can learn in the Bible for Pre-Teens a.k.a. The Care and Keeping of You by American Girl. Also, yes, you will eventually recover from the scarring images of the cartoon girl putting in a tampon.
Lastly and most importantly, you are doing great and you are going to be fine. 
Keep on keeping on, soul sister.
Lovingly,
Brooke of the Future.

p.s. Wear those cotton trainer bras as long as possible. They totally rule + real bras aren't that comfy.

p.p.s. Yes, you are wearing the same shirt as Emma Roberts in Unfabulous and yes, that is something to brag about.

that one time i wanted to know what i looked like while having an animated conversation.

- - - - - -
as a child, one of my favorite toys was a voice recorder. my parents were unconventional, i suppose. no barbie jeeps or teddy bears over here, just rejected office supplies ( but also i thought i was a dog with my derek-neighbor + i played with barbies until i was like...thirteen. that's besides the point.). i thought it was so jarring to hear the sound of my own voice + got an absolute kick out of replaying it over + over again + making myself sound like a chipmunk with the fast forward button. self entertainment at it's finest! ...also the start of my narcissism, but aren't all bloggers?

today i reached a new level of low. or narcissism. toe-may-toes, toe-mah-toes. but actually it's toe-may-toes.
i texted my mom in an attempt to walk down memory lane about my love affair with the voice recorder. i wanted to sort out the details + figure out how old i was + when my parents decided it had gone on too long and took it away from me + also could they mail it to me because i really wanted to hear the sound of my own voice today.

i know, i know. it's bizarre.

anyways, i spent a good fifteen minutes talking to myself today on my macbook. i couldn't stop! i wanted to see what it looked like when i was talking from the side + how my face looked when i was surprised + how loud i chewed cereal. the important things, you know.

i actually think i may be going insane. who's going to give me a diagnosis?
here's the last of the videos. it is sort of a conclusion to all my findings. it's also where i realize how insane i was being. all good things to share to the blogging world.

onwards. i call this brooke in real life or the tipping point of my sanity or how i like my face from afar or why did i keep touching my hair?! or, quite possibly, the diary of amanda bynes 2.0. enjoy with popcorn.

happy friday, folks! 

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.

in which i admit that i love myself...

i have a confession to make. you ready to roll your eyes and call me a narcissist? okay. my confession: i love myself. 

told you you would roll your eyes! but let me start with a disclaimer: there are definite parts of myself i don't love; i don't love particular parts of my body or how i get grouchy after eating too much refined sugar (baking is basically banned over here; snacking on the dough is inevitable...and so is a meltdown) or my smile in pictures (like...what are you doing brooke?! and why is a cup always my prop of choice?!) or how everything i do is LOUD (wait, actually i don't mind that...it's kind of endearing?). 

but for the most part, i'm a big fan of myself. is this such a crime?!

(this picture is evidence that 1. i have a picture-face that's like...what? and 2. i reward myself. the target run was a reward for staying almost-the-whole-time at work...)

yesterday as i was walking out of the testing center, a girl was on the phone with her mom in utter hysterics about her score on her test. she was going on and on about how her bad score (a 73 percent!) was unacceptable and how she was never going to get in her major or have a career or get hit on while crying (just kidding, she didn't say that...but she probably won't. she wasn't the most attractive crier -- i feel you, sister!). meanwhile, i was doing a mini-celebration over FINISHING my statistics test and answering most all of the questions! i sat still for over an hour! double fist-pump!

as i walked home, i thought about the differences between me and that girl. when i got home, i admitted to jeff that i realized my unwavering love for myself has really gotten in the way of my academic success. actually, it has gotten in the way of success in general.

rarely, rarely do i push myself. 99.9% of the time i am perfectly content. and i rarely get mad or down on myself...i mean, i do. but mostly about really silly stuff like gaining weight or legitimately considering buying a pair of jeans with bedazzled pockets. and then i get over it and move on. are you feeling me? 

and now, proof:

• i rewarded myself for going to class everyday last week by skipping two classes this week? 
• because i have done tony horton's (I LOVE HIM!)(mini-brag...) p90x program for three weeks straight, i took a whole week off. and digressed. 
• the 8-week challenge has gone down the tube because 'i like myself too much.' 
• ...however, i did reward myself with frozen yogurt for actually sticking to it for two weeks.
• every time i sleep in past my alarm, i justify it to jeff with "my body just really needed it."
• ...i've cried over a test score maybe once? and that was probably because i got a paper-cut while turning it in.
• if it pertains to math, science, arm workouts, crafting, or sprinting...i'm happy with 'just finishing.'
• most all of the time i don't look at my test scores in fear of getting mad at myself for not getting mad at myself. did i make sense?
• i always set new years resolutions that i know i can complete so that i'll feel good about myself. 'don't kill anyone' and 'no tattoos' were apart of last years.
• ...i do the same thing with 'to-do' lists. i just write a bunch of stuff down that i've already done! the thrill of crossing stuff off instantly! 

oh heavens. i know, i know-- if i truly loved myself i would push myself, tony horton. i get it. but it's like...oops?

maybe i'll turn a new leaf this week and set some goals that really push myself. but probably not. 

in the mean time i'll just eat one big sandwich of mediocrity while happily staring at myself in the mirror.

dad humor.

my dad sent me this e-card today and i just had to share it and his note:

 Just because I believe making fun of a family whose only discernible talent is an ample backside is required.

–Dad

…my family has never been one to send gushy ‘i love you and miss you so much’ emails. yet somehow this conveys the same sort of message, right?

also, for the record, the best kardashian sister is a toss-up between khloe, lamar, and kourtney.

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.

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.

hi, i'm alive!

…with the power of love!

(or is it glory?)(or is that even a song?)(…irrelevant)

 

But seriously. I am alive. I didn’t get raptured or anything (thank heavens).

Speaking of getting raptured, was I the only one that was seriously nervous? Followed by the feeling of disappointment that it didn’t happen? Followed by the feeling of shock that it was ‘raptured’ not ‘raptor-d’?

Also, fun fact: did you know that some people made like, millions of bucks off of this? They offered pet-sitting services for people post-rapture and charged a steep down payment. Genius.

As far as what I have been up to, (I know you guys are interested)(why did I just say you guys?)(because we are just one big happy blogging family and I  can call you friendly name like that…that’s why), I think the picture sums it up perfectly.

…and the Bachelorette is on.

The end.

(this post should have been named: hi, i’m alive…with nothing to say…but I wasn’t raptured)

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.

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, GizModo.com raves it’s a ‘war machine’; a beautifully architected slab of a phone that is the fastest, smartest, and strongest of its time.

UberGizmo.com 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.