January 2010 Archives
Ramblings From A Sick Mind
I’m sick and feel like crap. Actually, it’s not all that severe, but I’m blowing my nose every two minutes and I have that all-over feeling of being run down. I kind of feel like I’m stoned, but not in a fun way. Here are the three things that are making me feel a tiny bit better.
I am flipping through the channels because there is NOTHING good on at 10:00 a.m., when lo and behold I stumble upon one of my all-time favorite films, “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.” It stars Robert Downey, Jr. (post-rehab) and Val Kilmer, both of whom can make me feel tingly, in a fun way, any day of the week. The movie came out a couple of years ago and didn’t receive much press. I stumbled upon it at the video store last year and thought it looked interesting. It’s set in modern day L.A. and it’s kind of a dark comedy, but the tone of the film is like one of those old detective novels. It’s SOOOO good. I’ve now watched it at least a dozen times and I notice something new about it with each screening.
I’m also re-reading one of my favorite books from my favorite writer, Arthur Nersesian. It’s called “The Fuck-Up” and it’s like an updated/grittier version “Catcher In The Rye.” All of Nersesian’s books, at least the four I’ve read so far, are set in New York, which is where he’s from. This particular story is about a young man in his twenties struggling to get by and his many crazy adventures along the way. Right now, I’m at the part in the story where he’s posing as a gay man so he can run a gay porno theater. I love coming-of-age stories with a twist and this a great one.
And lastly, I’m sipping on some Meijer’s brand French roast coffee and it’s absolutely delicious! I am a coffee snob and I was very skeptical about trying the generic store brand, but it’s amazing! And cheap!
I’m hoping that the trifecta of these things will combine to make me feel half-way human again by tomorrow. I am not wasting another of my precious days off being sick!
An Open Letter To Taylor Swift
Dear Taylor Swift,
Let’s have a chat. You are one of the few young singers today who doesn’t make my ears explode when I hear one of your songs. You are a genuinely talented singer/songwriter/musician and on top of that, you seem like a really sweet girl. So why, why, why are you starting to hang around one of the biggest pieces of shit walking the earth right now?!
I just saw a picture of you and colossal dick worm, John Mayer, cozying up to one another the other night in Nashville. NOOOOOO! Taylor, do you not read any of his press?! He is a self-absorbed, narcissistic prick. He is TROUBLE with a capital Douche! He will take your good girl virginal ass and tear you up! By all accounts, he likes to come in through the back door and leave you with a golden shower…if you know what I mean.
SPRINT away from this dick worm as fast as you can and do not look back. Your mother should be throwing a chastity belt on your ass ASAP and taking you into the witness protection program for a while until he finds his next victim. I will be holding a candle light vigil in your honor tonight in the hopes you come out of all this still pure and unscathed.
Keep those legs crossed,
Brooke Amanda
Dude, We Gotta Go…I Just Sharded
Every time I want to lose weight, I start exercising hard-core for about a month and count every calorie that passes through my lips. I inevitably loose ten pounds right away and then…nothing. I get so frustrated that I eventually stop working out altogether and start eating a nutritiously balanced diet of Frito Lay Queso Dip and Scoops.
I’m thinking that I may need some help in the dieting department and I’m considering buying those Alli diet pills to help me in my personal fat battle. On the one hand, I feel very confident in it’s ability to block the fat absorption in the body because it is the only diet pill that’s approved by the FDA. On the other hand, one of the side effects of taking Alli is “oily gas.” What the hell is “oily gas?!” Is that when you go to fart and accidentally shard yourself?! Is calling it “oily gas” the classy way of saying, “Look Fatty, you may shit yourself while taking this drug, so wear dark panties for awhile and be prepared to run for dear life to the nearest bathroom at a moments notice. Good luck!”
Am I willing to shard myself in order to lose weight because I have to squeeze myself into a bridesmaid’s dress in four months? Yes, yes I am. Any diet pill that’s good enough for Wynonna Judd is good enough for me. Let the dieting begin!
Riding That Crazy Train
I’m confused. A year ago, Joaquin Phoenix said he was going to retire from acting and become a rapper. He grew out his hair, dressed like a homeless person and started acting batshit crazy. He kept this act up for a few months, then virtually disappeared off the face of the earth. I have not seen one picture of him in months, until today.
All of a sudden, he’s clean shaven and coherent again! The weird thing is, he’s doing a PSA for a suicide prevention organization. The weirder thing is, his co-star in the PSA is MILEY FUCKING CYRUS!!! Um…what?! How in the holy hell did these two end up in the same room, at the same time, doing a video together? It’s like they picked random celebrities’ names out of a hat and put them together. You know, I didn’t really think Joaquin was crazy before, but now that he’s paling around with Miss Cyrus, I’m started to seriously question his sanity.
I Heart Snooki!
Oh sweet Jesus, please help me because I’ve now turned into a “Jersey Shore” watching, Bumpit wanting, Snooki loving freak. I heard a lot about this show in the media before I had even seen an episode, then last weekend MTV ran a marathon of all the episodes and I got hooked.
For those of you living under a rock and have no clue what this show is about, I’ll give you a high-level overview of things. MTV took a bunch of dirt balls from New Jersey, put them up in a house on the boardwalk that looks like it was decorated in 1975 (and looks like it would smell like fish mixed with sweat), then filmed the ensuing chaos that followed.
Here’s how EVERY episode plays out…the gang goes out to bars, gets totally wasted, gets into a fight or two (the girls included), then they all go back to the sweaty fish house to eat and pass out. Then they wake up the next day, go tanning, workout, and get their hair done. And so on and so on. This formula does not change.
I haven’t bothered to learn any of the characters names because they all look the same to me, that is with the exception of Snooki and a man who calls himself “The Situation.” I must have missed the episode were they explained why they have those nicknames, but I heart Snookers so much, I’m considering naming my first born child after her. I feel the name works equally well for a girl or a boy. Snooki’s hair is taller than she is, her skin is so tan it looks purple, and she took a punch in the face by a guy at a bar, yet still continued to go out and party the next night. That’s my kind of girl! Ain’t nothing gonna bring Snooki down!
“The Situation” looks like he’s a hard 40 and spends his nights “creeping” on girls. I do give him some credit, though, because he loves to cook and frequently makes huge meals for all the roommates. Gotta love a man who can cook, although with all that gel in his hair, I’m always scared he’s going to catch on fire when he’s grilling out.
There are also two roommates who met on the show and starting dating. He’s a breakdown of their relationship…make out, say you can’t live with one another, get drunk, start fighting with each other, get super pissed and break something. Yes, Jersey love is beautiful yet turbulent.
There are two more guys on the show, but they blur together for me because because all I see are tans and tattoos and there’s another girl who looks like a stripper in the making who, shockingly, cheated on her boyfriend with one of the roommates. Those Jersey girls just can’t be trusted!
I must say, I have never in my life had the desire to visit the Jersey Shore and now I REALLY never want to go there. I am too pale and too Midwestern to ever fit in and I think they’d all kick my ass as soon as I crossed the border. I’m staying right here in Illinois where everyone is an upstanding and amazing human being…riiiiiight.
We Could Certainly Party With The Haitians
“So like, right now for example. The Haitians need to come to America. But some people are all, “What about the strain on our resources?” Well it’s like when I had this garden party for my father’s birthday, right? I put R.S.V.P. ’cause it was a sit-down dinner. But some people came that like did not R.S.V.P. I was like totally buggin’. I had to haul ass to the kitchen, redistribute the food, and squish in extra place settings. But by the end of the day it was, like, the more the merrier. And so if the government could just get to the kitchen, rearrange some things, we could certainly party with the Haitians. And in conclusion may I please remind you it does not say R.S.V.P. on the Statue of Liberty. Thank you very much. “
Cher from the movie “Clueless”
My sister works for Cars.com and she and her sales team won a trip to the Dominican Republic for being the best sales people ever or something like that ( I wasn’t really paying attention when she told me why she was going). She was very much looking forward to having fun in the sun while the rest of us snowbirds in Illinois suffered through sub-zero temperatures.
They left last week and everything was fine and dandy. That is, until a devastating earthquake hit Haiti causing one of the worst natural disasters to ever hit planet earth. You would think my family would be worried sick because the Dominican Republic is connected to the same island as Haiti, but luckily for us, none of us realized this geographical fact.
Even when she put out a message on her Facebook stating that she was safe and okay, we were all like, “Um, why did she write this?” In fact, my first reply to her status was, “Hope you’re having a blast!” Am I a fucking idiot or what? It wasn’t until my mom called me (she finally figured it out) that I put two and two together. I quickly went back and deleted my comment and added the more thoughtful, “I’m so glad you are safe!”
Am I ashamed that no one in my family knows where the hell any countries are at? Absolutely not, because ignorance is bliss and if I had known the two countries were right next to each other I would have been worried sick. By the way, she and her team were fine and made it home yesterday safe and sound.
Now, if you don’t want to be a total douche, then make a donation to one of the many organizations that are heading up relief efforts in Haiti. A very easy thing to do (I just did it) is to text the word “Haiti” to 90999. This will send a $10 donation to The Red Cross and it shows up on your next phone bill. I Googled it first, just to make sure it was legit, and it is. In fact, The Red Cross had already raised more than 8 million dollars by doing this. A couple of minutes after you send the text, they send a text back and you reply “Yes” to confirm. That’s it!
It’s Only Funny Till Someone Pukes
I’ve realized now that since I’m in my thirties I just can’t drink anymore. Or, more accurately, I can’t drink the way I used to when I was in my twenties and wake up fresh as a daisy the next morning. Case in point, Saturday night I went to dinner with two of my friends, consumed a few Blue Moons, then went back to my friend’s house where I had a few Bud Lights, then came home where I decided it would be a great idea to top all of that off with a glass of white wine. I woke up on Sunday wanting to die.
Not only did I vomit up my entire breakfast of scrambled eggs not once, not twice, but THREE times, I also had the headache from hell ALL day long. I did not feel remotely human until 9:00PM that night. Ugh.
What is even more disturbing is the fact that I had a clear warning sign about a month ago that my drinking days were numbered. I wrote last month about my friends Christmas party in December that they have every year, where vast amounts of wine are consumed till the wee hours of the morning. What I didn’t go into detail about was what happened to me at about 5:00A.M the next morning. I will now share that previously untold story with you as best I can remember.
I awoke in my friend’s living room having passed out on their loveseat. My friend Maria and her boyfriend were asleep on an air mattress and my friend’s boss was passed out, and snoring loudly, on the other couch. I felt my stomach start to churn and knew something was going to come out of at least one end of me very soon.
I ran to the bathroom and I did indeed have to pooh. But this wasn’t any old pooh…this was the kind that makes you hot and sweaty and you think you are going to die. So, naturally, I undressed myself while sitting on the toilet seat and clutched the wall for dear life. I was now only wearing white socks and my nude-colored cami that was pulled down around my waist.
All of a sudden, I felt like I was going to vomit, but I couldn’t get up off the toilet because I still had business to do down there, so I caught my puke in my hands. I am nothing if not multi-talented. Once the “battle of the bowels” was over, I was still so very hot…and they have a cool ceramic tile floor…so I put two and two together and rolled around on it until I felt better. Note, I was still only wearing socks and the cami. I feel that would have been the perfect Kodak moment for someone to have walked in on, but thank God there is no photographic evidence of that moment in time. NOT my finest hour.
So, now I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m getting old and will have to cut back on the alcohol for my own health and, most importantly, what’s left of my dignity. Sigh.
An Open Letter To Kate Gosselin
Kate, Kate, Kate…who the hell talked you into getting this abomination? Your weave looks about as real as my Malibu Barbie’s tits. Why do you need a makeover, anyway? I say, “Embrace you inner bitch!” Buzz that shit off and go hardcore! Maybe juice things up with a few strategically placed piercings. Can we say “post divorce tat?”
Hey, it’s not your fault your ex-husband was a worthless loser. You were the backbone of that marriage! Without you, that fat ass has gone back to smoking, lost his job, had his apartment vandalized and surely caught a slew of STD’s by now.
Kate, you just keep your head up and shout from the rooftops, “I’m a bitch and proud of it!” A REAL man will be able to appreciate you and your former reverse-mullet.. Now do me a favor and get that thing cut out of your hair before it becomes a tangled rat’s nest…oh, too late.
Snip snip,
Brooke Amanda
Read “An Open Letter To Kate Gosselin’s Weave” Over At The Open Letters Blog! Yeah, I felt so passionate about this topic I wrote TWO letters about it.
Worst Double Date. Ever.
I have decided that on the weekends I will republish some of my favorite posts from last year. Since only a handful of my friends and family read my blog back then, these will bring a smile to a whole new group of readers. Enjoy!
I used to date a guy that I refer to as “B.” I wrote in an earlier post how there were six major red flags I chose to ignore, one of them being that he had fucked his secretary. Okay, so technically he hadn’t fucked her. They had gone out for drinks one night after work and she ended up coming back to his basement and he went “downtown” on her. Did I mention that she was married and about 15 years older than B? This little indiscretion happened about a month before I met B and he didn’t tell me about it right away, for obvious reasons. So this sets the stage for what happened when I came face to face with her. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone about this incident because I do and say some very mean things and I may have caused the demise of his secretary’s marriage. You be the judge. Did I go too far?
I had just gotten off work when B gave me a call. He said that he and Sheila [the whore secretary] were at a bar down the street. They had just gotten done with an appointment [Sheila had to drive B around because he'd lost his license due to a DUI] and wanted to have a couple of drinks. Did I want to join them? Sheila’s husband, Jack, was on his way, too. B really wanted to put Jack’s mind at ease that there was nothing going on between them. Apparently, Jack had started to become suspicious of their relationship. Well, even though I was tired and had to be at work early the next day, I was sure as hell not going to leave those two alone together.
I walked into the bar and spotted B and Sheila throwing back shots like they were on Spring Break. I was sooo not impressed by her. I had pictured Sheila as this hot little cougar, but she looked more like a roughed-up stray cat. The term “rode hard and put away wet” came to mind. And she was already sloppy drunk which always makes a woman look so attractive. I actually thought less of B (if that was even possible at this point) for hooking up with her. So he introduced us (awkward!) and I ordered a beer. Then the three of us sat in uncomfortable silence. The tension running between us only got worse when Jack showed up.
First of all, I almost shit myself when he walked in. The bar we were at was a casual pool hall and most of the people in there were dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Jack showed up looking like freaking Grizzly Adams! He was wearing a HUGE 10 gallon cowboy hat [we live in Central IL, not Texas] and sporting one of those tacky suede jackets with fringe hanging down the sleeves. To top it off, he had a dark, John Holme’s porn ’stash and cowboy boots. There may have even been spurs on them. I was too afraid to look.
The four of us must have looked like the world’s oddest double-date. Things went downhill quickly. Sheila and B got more and more drunk, Sheila was blatantly flirting with B IN FRONT OF HER HUSBAND, and I was sitting there PISSED. So that’s when I started getting mean. Real mean. I basically called Sheila a pathetic, washed up, old drunk TO HER FACE! I have never before or since spoken like that to someone. And I didn’t even like B that much! Why was I acting that way?
B and Sheila got up to pick out a song on the juke box and I’m sure to get away from me. So I’m left sitting there with Mountain Man Jack. I started talking to him and asking him if he thought anything was going on between those two. I asked him if he was embarrassed that his wife was acting that way right in front of him. I knew he was already suspicious so it wasn’t hard to push him over the edge. And man, did that fucker SNAP! Without a word, he got up from the table and started walking in B and Sheila’s direction. I started to think to myself that perhaps I had gone a tad too far and now thanks to me, B was going to get his ass kicked. Jack started SCREAMING at both of them and everyone in the bar was looking at the commotion. Sheila was trying franticly to calm Jack down and I was freaking out. Actually, I was trying to pretend like I didn’t know any of them. After a couple of VERY long/tense minutes, Sheila and Jack went off into a corner to talk and B and I got the hell out of there.
In the car on the way home all B kept asking was, “I wonder what made Jack act like that?” Hmmm, I wonder. B and I broke up shortly after that. This all happened three years ago. I don’t know if Sheila and Jack are still married and I don’t know if Sheila still works for B. Here’s my karmic payback for being a bitch. This past fall, B had his face plastered on billboards all around town as an advertisement for his company. I had to drive past them all the time and relive all the crappy memories of our short-lived relationship.
Le’ Bubble
Okay boys and girls, gather ‘round close while I tell you a very scary story. It’s about an insane bitch I used to work with called “Crazy P.” Crazy P had around twenty kids that she’d either pushed out her vadge or adopted from Korea. On the surface, Crazy P looked like a very attentive and loving mother. But, as we all know, looks can be VERY deceiving.
For you see, boys and girls, Crazy P loved to breastfeed. And when I say she loved to breastfeed, I mean she would NOT wean her kids. Her youngest son at the time, Joey, was in KINDERGARTEN and still latching on to her titties. In fact, he could even ask for it by the cute little nickname he’d given it, The Bubble. Crazy P would go so far as to sleep in the same be with him at night and wake him up for regular feedings. Creepy, right? Isn’t that how Norman Bates turned into a psycho?
Now, let me state for the record, I am 100% in favor of breastfeeding. I think it’s the healthiest thing you can do for your child. However, I am also making this statement having never breastfed and I’ve heard it’s like sticking hot needles into one’s titties, so I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. What I am NOT in favor of is breastfeeding your child till the point they can actually ask for it, unhook your bra, and latch their happy-ass on your nip.
At what point does breastfeeding cross the line into a form of child abuse? Little Joey is now a teen and, shockingly, has all sorts of behavioral problems. One time he even hit Crazy P across the face with a baseball bat and he’s also been kicked out of several schools. Yeah, this kid’s not going to have issues with women AT ALL. Way to go “Mother of the Year!” I’m glad Crazy P took what should have been a great bonding experience between a mother and a child and twisted it until it was something perverted and sadistic.
All I know is, as soon as my kid starts looking at me funny, we’re done with the boob. DONE. I don’t want to be responsible for any future serial killers/pedophiles. The world already has it’s fill of sick bastards.
