Sparks

Sparks were flying from my blow dryer this morning--real, actual sparks that I saw.
They were tealish-blue.
I've had this blow dryer since I stole it from my little brothers. They would get goopy gel all over it when they fired it up to cement their 'dos, and I was the proud rescuer of the thing. Back in, probably, uh, 2007.
Before that, it was my mom's. For who knows how many years.
But getting a new blow dryer is just something you never think about. You take it for granted until one day, sparks are flying and the 'hot' setting is actually icy cold, and makes you feel like a wet dog in Antarctica. I should confess that this has been going on all week. And when the sparks fly I just do a little "AHH!" face to myself in the mirror and then I move on with it. I realized today that this is probably not the best course of action, as those sparks could very quickly be flying into my brain. And I try to make a habit of keeping my brain fire free, I dunno. Just a thought.

Sparks were also flying between me and the gigantic grapefruit I brought to eat (not actual sparks. Fake emotional ones.)
--it is enormous.  So large...that I have to show you. 

Behold, the grapefruit in relation to itself, and in relation to a very normal sized apple. The best part about this grapefruit is that I can tell it has a really thick peel that will send little grapefruit fuzzies into the atmosphere when I peel it. I love thick peels on fruit with a fervor that borders on romantic.

This is my "I'm so sorry you are not as privileged as I, to eat this lovely grapefruit" face.















I would like to thank my blow dryer for not catching my hair on fire and actually doing a very nice job today (see my bangs?), despite my very increased risk of electric shock.

P.S. Do you see my pitiful red eyes? I started wearing my contacts again, doc's recommendation, and they promptly returned to their bloodshot state. I'm thinking this doc probs doesn't know what he's talkin bout no more. He told me if I come in there one more time he's gonna have to put me on the Christmas card. I'm about to be famous.

I hope you have enjoyed this week's edition of extremely random and exaggerated tales from my morning. Heh.

Photography Blog

Alright, troops. Lately I've been up to a whole lot of stuff that's not writing. Mostly photographing. And I want you to see the project I've been working on because it is so supremely FUN!

So you should check out my new photography blog and you should follow it because the pictures are going to continue to be awesome and I want you in on it because I like you and you are great.

The end.

Dear EFY girls.

Lately my days are filled with teenagers clawing at the windows and door of my office, acting as if it doesn’t exist, or waving vigorously at me in hopes of response, like I did when I was five to cars behind ours. Their hairs are perfectly coiffed and their lips are perfectly glossed. It annoys me. I wish to invite every single one of them in and have a heart to heart about all the life lessons they need to learn, and quick! Let the rest of your life get started, for heaven’s sake. For your sake. I am only annoyed with them because I used to be one of them and those threads still run through my blood and guts and I can’t get rid of them.

Teenagerism was such an unfortunate time. I’m so glad I’m past the waking up at unholy hours just to do my hair for boys who didn’t notice me. I’m glad I can say no to kisses I don’t want and parties I could care less about. This chunk of me aches for that chunk of me—she went through so much, and for no real reason. Self-inflicted torture that was absolutely purposeless. In the wee small hours of the morning she was mourning in journal pages about deep stuff and horrifically not-deep stuff, regular old boring teenage thoughts of the most lemming brand.

How, how did we come out unscathed from the pit of poop that was early high school?

And now I can say that, of course, because I’m above it and out of it and can wrap my brain around it. When you’re swimming in that tar, it doesn’t seem toxic and stupid. It’s just your life. No one is around to tell you otherwise.

……………………………………………………

Dear EFY girls,

I hope this week is wonderful for you. Don’t feel obligated to answer when people ask you who your COW is. Please focus on the spiritual nourishment you are receiving and not the boys who are escorting you. You don’t have to be in charge of their salvation. Don’t pick up project boys. They do not change. It is silly and you are far too smart for that; also, don’t worry if boys don’t ask you to slow dance all that often. You’ll never see them again, plus they are sweaty so you don’t even want that so bad, do you?

I lied about the never seeing him again part. He might be in your BYU ward later on, where he is still the heartthrob of the universe. It still doesn’t matter. Just be in charge of your own life and keep your sweat to yourself. Expect others to do the same.

My, how your life would be different if you focused on your gifts instead of how everyone else is digesting your outfit.

Love,

Brooke