False Advertising and (Hopefully) a New Friend


I have successfully made many recipes found on Pinterest over the past little while, so why not try the hair/beauty section?  This is why:

The title of this Pinterest article was: "How to: Victoria's Secret curls".  I would like to suggest an alternative title: "How to: look like you just woke up in the gutter after fighting crime all night with aerosol hairspray".  I really don't think I'm going to end up on a runway anytime soon.

I've been crazy-busy working on projects lately.  Graduate school kicks my butt, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  My most important and time-consuming project currently is trying to convince my parents to buy a cat.  Every morning, as soon as I wake up, I google (I'm keeping that lowercase because I think google is kind of full of themselves marking it red and insisting that I capitalize it) pictures of cute cats and send them to my parents.  Here are some of my recent submissions:

I don't actually live at home, but I would still like to be welcomed by a cute kitten when I come visit.  My dad is the most resistant.  His replies have included, "Obviously photoshopped" and "That cat looks ready to pounce.  SCARY!"  I really think we're making progress though since rumor has it he recently asked the dog (Jake) if he needs a kitten. I am considering making a powerpoint presentation about kittens.

In other news, I need to start working out more.  Since school started again in the fall I have completely slacked on the rock climbing and everything else (by everything else I mean walking briskly from my car to my destination--I just kind of saunter now).  I could ignore how weak I was getting until I tried a workout game for the Xbox Kinect.  After the first round of squats, my legs seized and I couldn't stand up.  I was falling down (and maybe screaming a little (a lot)) every time I tried to stand up and flopping all over the room as my brother and sister laughed hysterically.  It's not awesome that every time they get bored now, they ask me to go workout so they can have a good laugh.

I think that will be it for now.  Beware of the Pinterest hair/beauty section my friends, and if you know my dad, send him some pictures of cute kittens.

The Burn Heard 'Round The House


I was sitting at my kitchen table fighting over a pot of boiling cheese dip when it happened.  My little brother got overzealous with his cheese.  As he lifted the burning cheese above me, dangling dangerously on his chip, it suddenly gave into gravity and fell onto my arm.  We all silently stared at the contrast of the yellow cheese against my stark white skin.  Then a cry rang out.  "CHEESE!!!"

Instead of doing something to help myself, I looked frantically at each of my family members and repeated that single word over and over.  "Cheese!  Cheese!  Cheese!"  My younger sister, being a ginger, started laughing at me and then ate another chip.  My younger brother, the cheese offender, just stared at me in shock.  I can't recall what my parents were doing.  I don't think they cared about anything except the fact that my shouts were disturbing the dog.

Eventually, my little brother grabbed me a paper towel and I wiped the burning hot mess (I've always wanted to be referred to as such) away.  (And yes, I was still tempted to eat the cheese that had just been wiped from my arm.  Our cheese dip is that good.)  My mom got me an ice pack to put on my arm and life went on as usual.

A few days later, I came to a sudden realization as I was complaining about something in my life.  Instead of facing my problems and trying to fix them, I often just stare at them and shout "Cheese!" (Metaphorically speaking of course; I don't literally shout "cheese" at my problems.)  Rather than facing things head on, I have a tendency to look around at other people for the answers to my problems, and if I don't get one, instead of wiping up the cheese myself, I wait for it to cool on my arm.  If people could physically see all the cheese (I hope everyone has caught on at this point that "cheese" and "problems" are interchangeable) that I have ignored in my life, I would look like the swamp thing emerging from a vat of cheese dip.

So with the new year and all, my goal is to start facing the cheese head on.  (You should all know and appreciate that I am working really hard to resist jokes about "cutting the cheese" and such.)  When problems arise this year, I'm going to stop passing the buck and start being proactive.  As they say, you can't decide whether or not you get burned by the cheese, you can only decide how you react to it.  (I'm not sure who "they" are, but I'm pretty sure someone said something like that.)

Happy New Year!

I'm Probably The Best Thing Ever


Yeah, I found that word with a synonym finder (also known as a thesaurus--which, contrary to popular belief, is NOT a type of dinosaur).  To "gasconade" is basically to boast; which is what I'm here to talk to you about ladies and gentlemen.

I've been gasconading (who cares if that's a word) my butt off lately.  I'm in the middle of applying to graduate school and all any school wants to hear about is why I'm so much better than everyone else.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy talking about my accomplishments as much as the next person, (feel free to ask me about the time I drove all the way to Canada without a bathroom break) but it just feels awkward to list them all in a row while attempting to sell myself like a product.

Furthermore, I just can't quite decide what information is helpful and relevant to their decision-making process. Should I tell them that I recently discovered (just today, in fact) that wearing a Snuggie backwards is a very fashion-forward decision?  Fleece cape anyone?  Should I tell them that I have never been sexually harassed during my college career (yeah guys... I'm still insulted by that.)?  Should I tell them that I have been told (by myself) that I could be the next Kelly Clarkson if only I could sing like Kelly Clarkson?

 Here's the problem.  I don't know what kinds of people are on the selection committee.  A die-hard liberal might read my application and think my disregard of the normal Snuggie standards is admirable.  On the other hand, a crazy conservative might fear a Snuggie revolution on campus.  I just don't know who I'm addressing.

I don't really have a point here and this is my shortest post yet, but I'm thinking of erasing everything I have written in the personal statement section of my application thus far and just writing:


Amen.  (I would only put "Amen" on my application to BYU)

If You Were Me, I Would Love You


As some of you may know, I recently moved into a new place in Orem. This Sunday I was trying to figure out which ward I should be attending and I decided to do a Google search. I searched “Which YSA ward should I attend?” (I always like to ask Google formal questions so that when it becomes self-aware it will know how much I respect it and spare me.) My first search result led me to an “LDS” man’s blog about YSA (Young Single Adult) ward hopping. I was intrigued and ended up staying up late reading his essay and considering what he had posted. After confirming in my mind that the man was an idiot of the grossest kind, I decided to write a response.

For those that are interested, the website mentioned is: singleswardhopper.com (please check gag reflex and consider stomach contents before entering site) I recommend reading his entry before my response. Otherwise, I just sound like a lunatic.

Here is my response:

Dear Ward Hopper,

I can’t tell you how refreshing it was to read your observations about Mormon Singles Wards. You said a lot of the things that people think, but have far too much tact and common decency to actually say. After reading through your essay several times, I still cannot begin to imagine why you remain single. A man such as yourself with a great job, multiple cars, a share in a plane and a narcissistic/chauvinistic personality is such a rare find. What a delight you must be.

I also attend a singles ward and must admit to hating it. However, if you would be so kind as to give me the location and meeting time of the ward that did a reenactment of “Music of the Night” from Phantom of the Opera, I think my opinion of singles wards would be greatly improved.

Regarding the section, “What’s Wrong with Girls in Singles Wards?” I think your observations should most absolutely be printed in the Young Women’s Manual. Forget about the fact that 75 percent of women already suffer from disordered eating. We need to make it clear that the only way those girls can be valuable is if they fit the mold. You know what? We also need to forget about the fact that 46.8% of the American workforce is comprised of women. So what if the economy collapses because all of the women have quit their jobs in order to lose weight? Economic stability is a small price to pay for a smaller dress size.

I am so sorry about the topics of discussion on your dates. How dare these women be so presumptuous as to bother you with their “thoughts” and “feelings”? I also can’t believe these women are buying into ridiculous things like horoscopes and astrology. In fact, if it were up to me, fortune cookies would be banned. They are full of evil lies and mysticism.

You mentioned that men are okay being overweight as well as “generally losers” as long as they are trying to change. I completely agree. I can also see that you are trying to change since you are admittedly sitting around drinking Coke and watching FOX News. You know, it’s my opinion that nothing is better for building character and bettering yourself than watching Glenn Beck.

I’m sorry to say that LDS members only make up 14 million of the approximately 6.5 billion people worldwide. Among them, about half are men and 63.1% are considered obese. I would do the math to figure out the percentage of available women left for you, but I’m just a girl and I just breathed in a large gust of air and should probably get on a treadmill to burn it off.

Thank you so much for ward hopping. We need to make sure that you don’t spend too much time in one place. Your gifts and piercing eyes ought to be shared with everyone.

Best wishes,


I hope he speaks sarcasm…

Well, I haven’t actually sent this to him yet, but I am considering it. My only worry is that this man may be incredibly emotionally unstable (Okay, no one can read that and honestly think he doesn’t have a few loose screws.) So, I’m going to ask for something that I never have before...Sound off!

Let me know what you think. After reading his essay, do you think I should send the above response? Am I being too harsh? Are you considering writing him now too? Let me know!

“Withhold admiration from a narcissist and be disliked. Give it and be treated with indifference.”

A Secondhand Emotion


I have always considered myself a romantic. I believe in soulmates. I believe in love at first sight. I believe in true love overcoming all odds and obstacles. Etc, etc....more mushy crap.

Let's get to the point.

We don't live in the movies. When I lock eyes with a guy from across the room, time doesn't stand still while we gaze deeply into each other's souls. It's just dang awkward. When a handsome stranger knocks into me in the hallway or supermarket and I drop my stuff, he doesn't help me pick it up and then get my number. I just mutter, "I meant to do that" under my breath as he avoids eye contact and walks away (I then usually stand up and kick at the air in his general direction). I have never suddenly discovered that I'm in love with my best friend (she will be relieved to read that considering she's a female) nor realized that there truly is a fine line between love and hate and fallen for someone I have never seen eye-to-eye with (Otherwise I may be courting Glenn Beck).

That wasn't actually to the point; let's try again...

Can I really consider myself a romantic? We are talking about the girl that shook hands at the door on her first date and responded with "thanks" the first time a guy used the "L" word. Is it even possible to be romantic in Provo? Provo, a mystical land where girls are asked on dates via Oreos on cars and secret balloon messages in doorways (Yes, I watched the "The Singles Ward" last night.) Provo, the place where girls come to get their MRS instead of their BA or BS (I just have to say how wonderful I think it is that I have a BS in BS...very classy.) Provo, the home of ward menus, shameless, non-discriminatory flirting and a general lack of self-respect (I know it's harsh, but let's be realistic).

I guess it all depends on how you define romance.

Is it romantic to receive flowers? For some, maybe. Personally, I always have a strange sense of foreboding about the relationship when I look at those flowers lying dead in the vase a week later (or two days later if your roommate pours Windex into the vase). Is it romantic to receive chocolate? It's delicious, but not necessarily romantic. I am not saying these are bad things! Flowers and chocolates are fantastic (and recommended if you slip and call me "woman" at some point). However, they do not register as "romantic" on my scale.

So what is romance?

Thanks for asking. Romance is when you get a little note or text reminding you that you are being thought of. Romance is an acknowledgment of your pain, even when you thought you were hiding it so well. Romance is remembering the little things. Romance is a hug from behind while you're doing the dishes. Romance is not a lone, grand gesture; it's a multitude of little reminders that you are loved, remembered and wanted.

So am I a romantic? You decide.

"Jump and the net will appear” -Jason Mraz

I Must Have Killed a Dude


As I stood in the shower with conditioner in my hair and soap lathered all over my body, the shower started to choke and then completely died. I tried to turn the shower off and then back on to no avail. I then stood there, with soap drying on my body and conditioner sitting in my hair, staring at the shower in disbelief. My first thought when I realized the water had been completely shut off was, "I must have killed a dude." That may seem like a random thought, but you have to understand my reasoning here. I have been a good person and lived a reasonably good life so far, so I figure I must have killed someone in another life in order to deserve all of these little things that keep screwing up. I mean, seriously, this is the type of thing that only happens in the movies right? Right. Unless your name is Brooke Jones.

Well, the only people I have met in my new apartment complex so far are guys and I didn't think it would help my reputation in the ward to show up sopping wet and ask if I could use their shower... So I ended up on my sister Kim's porch in Springville with dried soap on my body and 3 Minute Miracle Conditioner in my hair (which had actually been in my hair for 45 minutes at this point). Kim graciously let me use her shower and then I took off back to my apartment where the water turned back on 5 minutes later, just in time for my roommate to take a relaxing shower.

I realize I am sounding over dramatic about this whole situation, but I have a lot of little experiences like this that have built up into an angry wall that I am breaking down by complaining about them.

Two days ago my roommate/sister Taylor and I were unpacking at our new apartment. I was working on something at the other end of the room (which is about two feet wide) when I heard a crack. I looked over and Taylor was kneeling across my "bed" with a look of shock on her face. As she lifted herself up, she realized she was not actually kneeling on my bed, she was kneeling on my favorite picture. The decorative glass was broken out of the picture and it no longer held the same visual appeal. I was pretty upset about this, but I decided to make the best out of a bad situation. We took the picture out to the dumpster where I wrapped my hand in a blanket and punched the remaining glass out of the frame (I have always wanted to do that). Oddly enough, the hand that I did not use for the punching ended up getting sliced open by glass and bleeding...as did my foot. I guess I kind of brought that one on myself... However, it should be noted that this never would have happened if Taylor had not broken the glass in the first place.

A day before the glass incident, I graduated from UVU. This was an overall happy occasion that was marred by one stupid little incident. As I was waiting with the other graduates in the tunnel before walking out into the main area, I somehow managed to step on gum. Not just gum; the wrapper was also stuck to my shoe. Come on people! We are graduating from college and someone spit their gum on the ground!? Are you serious!? So as all of the graduates walked gracefully out of the tunnel, I hobbled along while scraping my foot on every spot of carpet I could find. Classy.

A few days before graduation my contract ended at my apartment and I was moving out. I woke up that morning to pouring rain, in direct contrast to the sunny days that had surrounded this one. All of my stuff was getting wet while I was moving it out, but I was managing. However, as I took my bedding out to my car, my pillow dropped. I had a tight grip on it, so I'm pretty convinced that some unholy force knocked it out of my arms. Not only did I drop the pillow on the ground, I heard a loud "SPLASH" as it hit. I had dropped my pillow into a puddle. I picked it up while inwardly cursing and continued to my car. As I attempted to open my trunk, I dropped my other pillow. With both pillows now thoroughly soaked and covered in dirt I repeated my new mantra "I must have killed a dude."

Again, I am completely aware that these are relatively tame incidents as far as these things go, but why so many? There are even more than this, but I am already feeling a bit like a whiner and I don't like to make my posts too long. Since I believe we are "punished for our own sins", these things must be on me...

My bad.

People Say I'm Paranoid... At Least I'm Pretty Sure They Do.


The movie, "The Truman Show" is where it all began. I don't want to give away too much if you haven't seen it, (I highly recommend seeing it), but the idea is that Truman, without realizing it, is the star of a major television show. He has grown up inside an enormous bubble and everyone in his life is an actor. After seeing this show, I was completely convinced that I was the star of my own series, "The Brooke Show".

When I first discovered my life was a hit TV show I became excited about the possibilities. Now that I knew what was going on, and the show's producers didn't know that I knew, I could have a little fun with them. I lived my day to day life normally (as normally as possible when you are aware you are being followed by cameras) but when I was alone, I would mess with them. I figured they kept cameras inside the mirror in my room so I would casually walk by and then suddenly turn around and point or wink slyly at. I would then turn back around and continue casually on my way. I believe this kept them sufficiently off balance.

The knowledge that I was on a TV show was actually good for me in a lot of ways. I stopped biting my nails because I didn't want America to know that I had such a bad habit. I quit fighting so much with my siblings because I wanted America to know how mature I was. I played harder in sports and worked harder at school... the list goes on and on.

I have yet to decide whether it was a blessing or a curse as far as family life goes. On the one hand, when bad things happened, I chalked it up to the writers of the show trying to throw in a twist around season finale time or something. When we were disowned, my first thought was, "Touché writers, touché." At the same time, I felt responsible for everything that went wrong because it was obviously all happening because of me. "If I hadn't made such a rude gesture to the camera in the mirror, maybe they wouldn't have written this in..."

As time went on, I began to lose this idea that I was on a TV show. It was a little disheartening to realize one day that the world did not actually revolve around me (although, because I was a teenager, I still acted like it did). I am going to give myself a little credit here and say it wasn't so much paranoia as it was an overactive imagination.

Now I have a confession...

I never grew completely out of this. That's right, I'm 21-years old now and I still wink at the mirror or give it all-knowing smiles at random times. Sometimes when I sing alone in my car, I get embarrassed so I quickly glance into the rear view mirror and wink at it; so if anyone happens to be watching, they know I was only singing for their benefit (I'm totally not, I just love singing in the car).

Perhaps I will never grow completely out of this, but I don't really see it as a bad thing. This imagined audience to my life story helps keep me in check and motivates me to be better when no one is really looking.

I don't really know how to end this post... Oh well, I guess I don't really need to, I'm sure you'll be watching.

End transmission.