"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.
