Baby B.

I feel I need to offset the previous post with something less cynical...

Brennon turns six tomorrow-I absolutely cannot believe that child is six already!! I feel so...old.

I remember every detail about the day he was born like it was yesterday. Seventh grade. White sweater. Emperor's New Groove in the lobby. Balloons. Mom's smile. How little and adorable he was (even though he looked like an alien-face it, all newborns look like aliens.) Anyway.

When I came out to the car from work he said, "Oh there she is! I'm so happy to see you, Brooke!" He's proper enough to be British. Later in the night Cam and Eric were goofing off in the back seat and he goes, "Now, what is the trouble?" That kid. Apparently his kindergarten teacher thought he was OCD, even. Whaaaat??? haha.

Garrett sent him a dinosaur from Japan that was actually made in China and has a screw in the back of its head. Brennon decided to use it as a piggy bank since it's permanently decapitated.

After shoving everyone into a six-year-old-sized bench for a "Chuck E. Sketch" family portrait and Macey's-sized ice cream cones, everyone begged me to stay the night. I love them. I wish the little moments described the...things...between all of us. I guess it's just called love.

Happy birthday, baby B. I'll never stop kissing you too much or tucking you too tight in bed, even if you've decided you're a big kid who speaks well.

Reality Check Mate.

I'm 19 years old, and I'm just now learning about the things you're supposed to keep to yourself.

I'm constantly sharing dumb things that no one cares about-things that are hilarious in my little brain but sound ridiculous when said aloud; spoutings not grounded in fact (gasp!); feelings I don't have the stamina to explain; whims I don't intend to follow through with...and then, they just float out there-no one knows what to do with useless tidbits that don't serve them. Some people are really good at validating me and catching those little floating buggers-mostly my dear mother-saint-but I guess if I wouldn't put them out there in the first place they wouldn't have to worry about being caught or left by anybody.

My stupid mouth has got me in trouble, too. I'm 19 years old, and I've just recently realized that I'm slightly tactless. I never thought I was too blunt, but I'm just now starting to realize that I don't need to say everything I think.

So lately I've been really excellent at keeping my opinions to myself, and that keeps everyone happy and stapled down-no free floating-right? I stifle silly desires as soon as they arise. I don't entertain my wishful thinking of the future. My head is out of the clouds; I'm getting grounded in reality.
Finally.
Reality includes grocery shopping, bank accounts, homework, grease, tripping on sidewalk and turning legs into hamburger (ha), and all things un-glamorous. Life is not a movie, it's not a fairytale, and it's not ever peaches and cream.

I suppose the point is that my newly subdued opinions might just leak out into my musings here. In that possibility, please shove my amateur thoughts back down my throat and remind me of my promise to never speak up again, starting now.

Snap, Sniffle, Plop!

I love to make disgusting noises.
I love it.
Some people text when they're bored. Some twiddle their thumbs, snap their gum, twirl their hair-whatever.
I make gross noises.
Slurps, sniffles, plops, snaps, snuffles, snoggles-I love them all!
Why this passtime is so entertaining to me, I might never know-however, I do know that I find some sort of sick satisfaction in coming up with new and horrifically revolting sounds.
Maybe it's impressive to me that my very own mouth can actually create these sounds, or perhaps it's intriguing that I can find such joy in something so immature and, well, stupid. It's also possible that this is a side effect of having four brothers-burps, farts, loogie hocks, and nose-blows were never in short supply. Of course, I find these sounds positively repulsive-but...secretly...I find solace in a quality nose-blow; it doesn't do the job unless it sounds like an elephant. I get a kick out of a hearty belch, I feel oddly content when I work up a good loogie, and I'll leave the fart subject as is...

Oh, the confessions of a closet zoobie.

New Soul--Or Just New Hair...

Greaseball.
I slept in today, and called upon a trusty ponytail to get me through the first two classes of the day-feeling alright for five hours of sleep but a bit...homelier than usual.

After a dose of cuanto cuesta and que pagaste fried the brain beside my slimy ponytail, I was walking home down University Avenue when a sudden, overwhelming, positively uncontrollable urge to cut my hair hit me like a ton of bricks. I physically could not wait another minute! The fates aligned, and the Metropolitan Salon appeared before my ecstatic eyes.
A mere 40 minutes and 30 bucks later, I'm a new woman.
How does chopping off some dead protein hold the power to make me feel so freaking good? I'll do things I never thought possible before, say things I would have kept to myself. I'll do whatever I want with my newfound freedom! Freshly A-lined bob swinging, I can single-handedly solve world hunger-or possibly just my Spanish homework.

Out Of The Closet

In the morning when I pull a shirt over my head, it’s ironic to me-
I think of the last time I wore this shirt, and how everything has changed.
How I know different things now, but mostly how the people have changed. If you had told me last time I was wearing this black and white print what I would be thinking as I pulled it on today, I probably would have laughed, although if I could be certain and see the future I might have cried.
Ironic, isn’t it, that the next time I wear it I might be crying over something else, or laughing at yet another ridiculous possibility of the extent of my emotional out-there-ness. Who woulda thought, huh?

Hey, hey, heya

Here I am!
Hey, cyberspace world...
I'm back.