Spring Break 2008! Sophomore year!
We decided to go to Florida--me, my friend Lynn, and my friend Lizzie. Well, we didn't have a lot of money and Lizzie's friend Tom went to The U (University of Miami). I had met Tom a few months prior, and we hit it off pretty well. So it was set--we were going to stay with Tom for an entire week in the gorgeous city of Miami.
To say it was tight quarters could mean anything. But seriously, it was rooms the size of closets with 2 boys living in it....and then us 3 overstaying our welcome.
Skipping to the good stuff. Anyone who knows me knows that I can't go 5 hours without pooping. Yes, I said it, pooping. Poop Poop poop. Get over it. Girls poop! And I was blessed with the ability to poop multiple times during a day. Not only that, but I pride myself on being a quick pooper. Sometimes I can shoot those puppies out in a minute flat. Just one of my many talents.
So I was really into Tom and while I am very outgoing and loud and gross, I wasn't yet comfortable enough to poop in their one toilet. The first two days Lynn, Lizzie and I ran across the street to CVS to take care of our business. The third day, I was on my own. Neither of the girls had to go and refused to walk with me. I just couldn't hold it any longer.
I should mention here that Tom's dad owns half of the Chick-fila's in the US. Thus, we got it for free and ate it every day of our trip there.
I couldn't hold it. So, I went. It was a day they had other people over. I am notorious for blaming other people for my bodily mishaps. So I figured, if things went wrong, I'd blame the dumb blond who was there.
I put toilet paper on the seat. I turned the shower on to try to block out the stink. I sat on the seat and released stress from my toosh. It was quick, as normal. I finished, I wiped, I flushed.
I flushed.
I flushed.
I freak out.
"Lynn, Lizzie, come here NOW!"
"So...I just went number 2 and I'm pretty sure the toilet is clogged...what do I do?"
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
"You guys, its not funny, I'm freakin out. There's no plunger. I'm just gonna tell Tom it was there before me."
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
"Tom, I really need to pee but I can't because I'm too grossed out. Someone left a massive doodie in the toilet and it won't flush"
"Just keep trying, that toilet NEVER clogs, and trust me, these guys take some massive ones."
"I did and nothing! I'm going to pee my pants"
"Alright, let a real man handle this"...5 minutes later
"Holy f**ing shit! That is the biggest crap I've ever seen. Wow!"
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA
"Seriously its some major terd nuggets floating in their!"
"I know! and Tom I really need to go. I saw that blond chick go in their before me. I'm like positive it was her!"
"No. This was no girl's doing. This had to have come from a big man. No definitely not a girl. Sick!"
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Tom leaves the room and returns with yellow caution tape. He posts the tape around the bathroom and warns everyone to not enter! He grabs a spatula from the kitchen and heads into the bathroom.
Returns 2 minutes later.
"Guys, we got a serious prob. I need to run across campus real fast and grab a plunger. It's mad annoying that whatever dude did this isn't steppin' up and fixing it. Be a mann"
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA
"Ok guys, seriously shut up! What am I gonna do? Should I just tell him? OMG he's going to think I'm a freak!"
NOOO never ever tell him...EVER!until now :)
"I REALLY WANT YOU TO COME TO OUR PLACE AND HANG OUT BUT I'M DEALING WITH SOMETHING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW... OH NO NOTHING LIKE THAT. WELL, THE DEVIL TOOK MY TOENAIL"
Rewind.
Spring Break 2010. My senior year. The first Spring Break I was legally allowed to drink. What better place than South Beach?
First night. We get a cab.We go out. We have a few drinks. We get a cab. We go to bed.
Second night. We get a cab. We go out. We have a few drinks. We get a cab. We go to bed.
Third night. We get a cab. We go out. We have a few drinks. We get a cab. We go to bed.
Fourth night. We decide to walk. We (I) decide to pre-party at my friends. We (I) decide to leave me there and go to a bar. I stay behind.
Somewhere between saying goodbye to my friends and walking out on the back deck, I seemed to have misplaced my toenail. My left foot felt wet and I thought it was raining. To my surprise, I look down and my entire shoe and foot were covered in blood. At first, I was grossed out because I didn't know whose blood this was on my foot. Then, I got nervous. What if the person whose blood this is has some sort of blood disease. Gross!
"Brooke, your toenail!"
20 sheets of toilet paper later, I hobble to the bar my friends are at.
"Guys we go. Its offf! It @#$^%*^*& came off! Hurt pain now! Go!!!"
"I'm sorry? Try that again in English"
"MY TOE NAIL CAME OFF!"
"Brooke, you're such a drama queen! Besides, we just got our drinks."
"YOU GUYS LOOK!"
"Check Please..." And so the adventure began. "What in the? Why me? Ow ow ow ow! I need...ahh I don't even know what I need. Ahh my toe. Oh no. Oh dios mios, tambien mi amor la piscina. I don't even know Espana. Ahh noo oh my god oh my god. WAHHHHHHHHH"
.....
"You guys, what happened to my freakin toe!"
....
"The only way for your toenail to grow back normally, is to cut as much of it off that you can. Then, eventually, the rest will fall off on its own."
After going through college and entering the real-world, I now realize that some things from my past were anything but normal. I attribute some of my peculiar ways to two of my friends, Gwen and Regina. I had known Regina since elementary school because we went to the same Hebrew school. Gwen had moved to Maryland from North Carolina in 7th grade and turned Columbia upside down.
One day, during the summer going into eight grade (2001), Gwen introduced me to one of the greatest trends I have ever followed in my life. A trend so magnificent that anyone who didn't jump on the band wagon was deemed a loser.
Peeing your pants was not just a trend but an initiation. You pee'd your pants from laughing so uncontrollably that you couldn't hold it in anymore. I remember my first time like it was yesterday. Gwen was so proud of me. I later learned that it was the greatest accomplishment to be able to make someone else pee there pants--That was the proof needed to classify someone as a funny person.
Peeing your pants was also a sign that you enjoyed life and all it had to offer. The more people I was around that pee'd their pants, the closer I felt to those people. It was a special bond that we, alone, shared.
One time in particular I remember was when Gwen, Regina, and I were at our other friend Suzy's house. Regina and I were being hyper-active, as we usually were. I'm not really sure how it happened, but Regina and I wanted to see if we could both fit into Suzy's pants.
Great success! We both fit into the pants with room to spare. The amusement of this fact had us in tears we were laughing so hard. And as we fell to the ground in a fit of hysterics, we were greeted by a splash.
If you were one of us, you would call this splash the splash of holy water. The amount of pee accumulated from the two of us was enough to flood the house. Though we were pleased with our puddle, we were saddened when Suzy's mom came home.
Suzy's mom, Bert, was so upset she had to leave the house. We didn't care, we were high from our happiness. When Bert returned, she had 3 pairs of adult depends. She had called all of our parents and explained to them what happened.
We had to wear those "depends" for 2 hours. It was truly the greatest 2 hours of my life. We were able to laugh as much as we wanted, pee as much as we wanted, and not worry about making a mess.
Life lesson: if you truly want to have a good time, buy adult depends.
"Do you, Brooke take this dog as your husband and your closest friend, and do you agree to be fully committed to the sanctity of this marriage for as long as you both shall live?"
Ever since I was little, this was my dream. If I could just marry my dog I knew all my troubles would end. Of course, I was 5 and my troubles extended to going to bed at 7pm. But, nevertheless, I knew what I wanted out of my future. In fact, it was just last week I was sitting in my cubicle thinking, "Wow, I should probably stop planning my dream wedding with my dog and start looking for someone with only 2 legs."
Why did I love this furry creature so much? Maybe it was because he was the only who listened to me? Maybe it was because he was the only one who I could torture and still love me? Or maybe, it was because my mom was more obsessed with him then she was with me and I am my mothers daughter.
To clarify, this was my dog Sylvester. The dog I had after Chloe, who was with me throughout my parents divorce. We moved from Annapolis to Columbia in what seemed like a hot minute. Everything was happening so fast but there was Sylvester to reassure me that everything was alright. I actually felt bad for Sylvester because my sister and I got to see our dad every other weekend but Sylvester just stayed home. They decided not to share custody of him. I think it was because my sister and I were gone so much that my mom became obsessed with the dog.
When I sleep, I spread out all over the bed, kicking anyone whose in the bed with me. For this reason, my mom never let me sleep in her bed. No matter how many nightmares I had or how scared I was because I thought someone was in the house, she wouldn't budge. Yet, every morning before school I'd walk into my mom's room and there was Sylvester sprawled out on her bed, leaving a little corner for my mom! I would get angry with my mom but never at Sylvester . It was so hard to be upset with his cute little face looking at me and his body scrunched together like a little stuffed animal. Did I mention I wanted to marry him?
So as Sylvester aged, he developed arthritis. At this point in my life, I was a freshman in high school, Rachel a freshman in college, and my mother worked in Fallston and wouldn't get home until late. It was just Sylvester and me. We never had food in our house. Ever. But that was probably my fault since my mom would give me money to go to the store and I would spend it on clothes. But, I'd always manage to scrummage something together. When Sylvester got sick he started throwing up his dog food and couldn't move. Most pet-owner would be upset but know that it is time to put the dog down...but not my mom.
Another note, as much as I write about how goofy my mom was/is, she has the biggest heart of anyone I know. She didn't put Sylvester down to rest at first because she knew it wasn't his time yet--and she was right.
Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh right, so I can remember maybe 3 times my mom cooked dinner for me (which is okay because my Dad made dinner every night). But when Sylvester got sick, she was home every night at 6pm making him stir fried chicken and rice....and still me, nothing. Most kids would be resentful and hate the dog or their mother for this kind of treatment. But I had more important concerns to worry about. I had to figure out what to do about the wedding once Sylvester died. Who was going to be my dog-groom?
We eventually put Sylvester down in January 2004. Don't think I didn't wonder if it was more weird to marry a dead dog than a live one. But in the end, I accepted that he was gone and looked forward to the challenge of being alone for a while.
That is, until the next week when my mom got Malcolm.
My life has been guided by an abnormal amount of dogs, each adding traits to the person I am today.
It began with Chloe, an orange Golden Retriever. We got her from a rescue farm when I was 3. I was so excited to get a dog and that she was a girl. I always knew we would be best friends but I never knew I was going to have to force her into the friendship.
Our blooming friendship began one morning when I went into my mom's room to hang out. Upon entering the room, I saw Chloe on the bed. The second I stepped foot into the room, the damn dog growled at me, displaying all her teeth. If I took a step, she would growl even louder. Expecting sympathy from my mom, I looked at her with my adorable 3-year-old face and she smiled and said, "Aw, isn't Chloe just the cutest?"
Fine. No big deal. As the days went on I decided to give Chloe another chance. This was about 1992, way before the Vampire phenomena took over. Yet, Chloe knew one day "vamping" would be cool and I guess started the trend early by biting me. It's important to note right here that I was an absolutely perfect child. I always did as I was told and I made sure to misbehave only when no one was watching. Chloe and I developed this fun game where I would try to ride her. We ended that game, however, and began this new vampire game when she bit me on the cheek.
I loved this game! She would bite me, I would bite her back in the very same spot on her face! I really felt a connection with Chloe, like we were the "biting sisters." I felt silly for misjudging her that first time I walked into my moms room. I was devastated the day my mom said we were getting ride of Chloe. My mom said the dog was unsafe around me. Didn't I have a say in this?
So we got rid of Chloe. Luckily, I still had my sister so I wasn't completely lonely. Rachel wasn't as excited to play Chloe's and my game as I was. The first time I bit her she took her right fist and punched it into my face.
I guess some experiences were only meant to be shared by one other being.
It was the summer I went into 7th grade that changed my life. I hate admitting this to people, but I peaked in middle school. In middle school I was the "it" girl. I had a boyfriend every other day and I had tons of friends. However, with my family, I was simply the "klutz" girl.
My Dad, Beth, Louis, Mike, Rachel and I shared a Winnebago for a month and went across the country the summer of 2000. It was the opportunity of a life time and I remember feeling angry that I had to be involved. I didn't want to go on the trip, I wanted to be with my friends that summer, they were all together working at the "J" (the Jewish Community Center). I was also angry cause at the time because I believed no one in my family liked me. I hadn't yet grasped the concept that people can be angry with you but still love you. I simply thought anger was the end of the road.
Looking back, I'm more than grateful for having the chance to go across the country--and not just because it left me with more than 1 embarrassing "Brooke-story."
Anyway, the Winnebago was pretty big. You walk in it and to the left was a master bedroom, the bathroom, and kitchen. To the right, the "family" room, and a bed above the driver seat. At times, we were in that Winnebago for 5 days in a row, driving through the dessert and underpopulated areas.
I was always hungry. Always. And hot. And I always complained about being both hungry and hot! Needless to say, I was a joy to have on the trip.
My dad only stopped the RV to sleep. Otherwise, we had a bathroom and a kitchen. I was going through my usual complaints when my dad finally said, "Brooke, get a damn drink from the fridge, sit down, and shut up! You're such a kvetch (Yiddish for a person who complains a lot)!"
And so I did.... Well, I had intended to do just that but, as I opened the fridge to get a drink, the Winnebago came to an abrupt stop. Before I could fully understand what was going on, I was treading fluids for my life. I know my family was talking to me but I couldn't make out the words. My dad pulled to the side of the road, opened the door to the living area of the Winnebago, and was greeted by gallons and gallons of miscellaneous fluids.
I'll spare the boring details. In a nut shell, I was kicked out of the Winnebago for 30 minutes while my dad and Beth attempted to clean the flood. I tried to help but they had locked me out of the RV.
When I was finally let back into the RV, no one would talk to me. It was a fun next 6 hours to San Fransisco.
So, we went on this trip across country for a month. We went to many memorable places but the place I remember most is Last Vegas. Which is kind of ironic since most people go to Vegas and "forget" their time there. But, you need to keep in mind that I was 11, and though I was a wild kid, I was never that wild.
I don't remember Vegas for it's vivacious aura--though it was magical. I also don't remember Vegas for its humidity in July--though it was 120 degrees and I hate the heat. No, I remember Vegas because it is where one of my top 10 most embarrassing stories took place.
Setting the scene:
It was 120 degrees in Las Vegas. We were staying at Bailey's Hotel but there wasn't a great pool there. My family and I went over to The Paris Hotel, next door, for their better amenities.
We got to the pool and it was packed! We had to set up our pool area on the bare cement because every lounge chair was taken. On top of that, the pool was over crowded with people and I was sure there was no room for me.
When I saw my sister Rachel enter the pool, I immediately followed. When we were in the water, I was greeted by the delightful scent that I later learned was called, "Body Odor." I was so grossed out by this scent that I didn't notice my sister pull my bathing suit bottom to my feet, leaving me standing there, bottomless.
By the time I realized I had no bikini bottom on, Rachel had already set off swimming. I was pissed! I have never really been embarrassed about my body, so that wasn't the issue. I was annoyed that Rachel had pulled one over the Brooke-ster. The dire need for payback was overwhelming.
I set off swimming in hopes to find her, but the pool was so crowded, and polluted with lotion that the task was incredibly difficult. My only advantage was that I remembered she was wearing a purple bathing suite with flowers on it.
I must have swam the entire length of the pool before finally finding her. This was going to be good! I had it all planned out--I was going to pull her bathing suite bottom down from underwater, pinch her toosh, and pop out of the water and go "HAH!" I was so excited for this plan that I was laughing to myself underwater.
As I proceeded to act out my masterful plan, perhaps as I was pinching her toosh, I realized that this lady was not my sister....
Well, I couldn't hide in the water all day. Slowly, I poked my little head, with a bright red face of shame, out of the water. I was frozen in place, my eyes locked on this lady, her eyes locked on mine, until the silence was broken by Rachel's cackle. She had seen the whole thing and could not contain herself from uncontrollable laughter. As I did often when I was in trouble, I broke into laughter as well.
I don't know if it was my laughter, or that we were in Vegas, or that this lady was just very nice (or drunk), but she opened her mouth and politely said," No worries, happens all the time" and swam away.
"Don't stick your finger up your nose. 'Cause your nose knows it's not the place to go. You can sniffle, you can sneeze, but I'm asking you please, don't stick your finger up your nose."
When I was little, I was such a booger-picker. Truly, it was for territorial purposes. I would mark things as "mine" by strategically placing a booger there. For example, the wall above my bed where I slept was covered in boogers. Every article of clothing I wore was covered in boogers. People would tell me to stop but like most habits in my life, I couldn't.
I'm not really sure when The Booger Seat began but I do know how it began. We used to have a 1988 green Buick. My sister and I always fought over the back right seat so I branded it with a booger. I guess I have an addictive and inattentive personality (we'll get to this later) and before I knew it, the entire back seat was covered in "Brooke-boogies."
No matter how much we fought, my sister always put me before herself. I remember the day she said, "Brooke, you sit in that seat! It has your boogers all over it!" I had expected her to complain about giving me the seat but leave it to my sister to be the better woman!
I loved my seat with the boogers on it. To this day I don't know why no one else wanted to sit there. It was by far the comfiest seat and, since the boogers covered the window, the sun was never in my eyes.
