They said it couldn't be done

Ok, maybe no one said out loud: "You cannot build a desk out of cardboard."
But to everyone who seemed doubtful:

dear readers

I need your opinion. Ever since I first started growing hair in 1987, there's been a serious problem. The problem is that I look like this.



Short hair always seems like a good idea, because there's so much less of it. I can move my head freely, it takes less than a day to try, I can fit through doorways without turning sideways - endless benefits. But I always end up complaining that I want it to grow back.

And when it finally does, well it looks like the above photo.

It's time something was done again, and here are the options.
1) I could embrace the yak hair. These girls are rocking it. They don't have hair quite as thick as mine, but I can dream.


2) I could get a shorter haircut. Just short enough!


3) Or I could get a Really Awesome Haircut.


...but what if it goes terribly wrong and this happens?


What's a girl to do? Start wearing puff vests to balance things out? Shave it? Move to a yak farm? This haircut could be cooler than the last one! I won't complain as much, I promise! Please help me find the answer to life's persistent questions.

tell me your favorite box pun in the comments

If you thought no "apartment tour" could be more depressing than my last one, I hope you're sitting down. Because you're going to be proven wrong, and because I don't have any furniture for you to sit down on when that happens. Scoot you chair this way for a tour of Brooke's LA room.



TA-DAA the bed. I planned on buying a mattress this week but LA has been an exercise in lowered expectations. The higher the cost of a mattress, the more camping mattresses become surprisingly comfortable. Cardboard boxes work surprisingly well as nightstands.

And what do you know, they also work surprisingly well as desks.



If you love janky things as much as I do, you're probably thinking "What on earth is that nasty thing hanging from the ceiling in these pictures?" Actually everyone's probably thinking that.

The other day I got CRAF-TY (singing voice) and decided to try and make a chandelier out of a plastic bowl and a hawaiian lei, both from the dollar store. I failed, and instead came up with something that looks like a prop from a horror movie about a children's birthday party. Luckily that fits in seamlessly with the theme of the entire room.



More vanity photos. Fish lamp:



The only semi-age-appropriate wall:



And my mug that says "Emily's Bat Mitzvah" on the back:



That's my room in LA. Thanks for stopping by. And please leave you chair here on your way out.

the most important thing

As most of you know, I've always said the last thing I want this blog to become is a list of my favorite breakfast foods.

Well, apparently that's what it's come to. I realized today breakfast is not only the best meal of the day, but the best meal of the century. At the risk of not building this up enough, let's just dive right in:

Delicious breakfast foods (even ones I can't eat):
pancakes
bacon
eggs (all kinds but scrambled)
those little potatoes
omelets (eggs that deserve their own category)
french toast
yogurt
granola
fruit (except bananas)
cinnamon rolls
muffins
sausages
bisquits
English muffins
bagels
hash browns
cereal

Why don't people go out for breakfast more often? You go out for dinner you're just going to get pasta or a salad or some other garbage. That's the saddest thing I ever heard. After several revisions of this list I'm going to change the title of this blog to "Breakfast Foods" and most of my posts will be "It's the most important meal of the day!"



Stay tuned.

the most complicated exercise routine in the world

I realized this morning that I've moved 13 times in the last six years. And each time I've transported my belongings using only two oversized suitcases and a vintage carry-on. On my last move, I had packing down to such a science that each of my checked bags weighed exactly 50 pounds, even though I didn't have a scale at home.

Here are some unsolicited packing tips from someone who moves more than twice a year:

Light things (aquarium lamp, running shoes) go in the largest suitcase. For some reason this suitcase is so big that unless you fill it with feathers it is going to be over 50 pounds.

Heavy things (haiku books, sweaters) go in the large suitcase. This suitcase is always packed so full that every little zipper prong is holding on for dear life.

VERY heavy things and valuables go in the non-rolling carry-on suitcase. The carry-on is the only bag without a weight limit, so I try to make it as heavy as possible. This makes for an exhausting trip through the airport, and a miserable time with security as they try to figure out why my carry-on contains hand weights, dried fruit, wet laundry, and an expensive camera. "Is this trip for business or pleasure?" they ask.

"I don't know." I was tired and flustered and barefoot, and I started rambling. "But I put the weights in the carry-on because they were too heavy for my checked bag. Same with the wet laundry. And the weights also help keep my camera dry."

"Too heavy?" He sprayed the weights with something that either tells him if they're explosive or just makes him look busy. "They're only ten pounds each."

"Five-pounds each." I clarified for some reason.

"Well, you'd better be doing a lot of reps."

I thanked him for the advice, took my 70-pound carry-on, and bench-pressed it all the way to my gate.

TM

Here's an idea:
What if when you put on two pairs of glasses at once, you could see through walls? What if while you were wearing two pairs of glasses you could only speak Danish? What if, in this alternate reality, there were a tv show about a detective team, one guy with glasses who's really perceptive, one guy with glasses who's really good at solving crimes, and a really sassy Danish translator? Any name ideas for this series are welcome.

Another idea:
You know when you get fries at the drive-through, and they come in a paper bag? What if instead of there being a little container of fries in the bag, the WHOLE BAG were full of fries?

Los Angeles, I'm yours

I guess now is as good a time as any to tell the world that tomorrow morning I'm packing up my striped shirts and my stolen airplane blanket I use as a towel and my lamp that looks like an aquarium and when you flip a little switch the fish swim around, and I'm moving to a new warm sunny city.

Why not shock my system by going from a lazy year in Provence straight to a high-stress advertising agency? Because it's insane at best. But I'm doing it anyway.



When I was 12 I studied piano with a pretty eccentric concert pianist, who after six months of lessons told me to inform my mother that she wouldn't be able to teach me anymore because she was moving to Disneyland that weekend. (There was a language barrier.) On the drive home, as I stretched my sore fingers, I wondered out loud "Why would anyone move to California? Isn't it supposed to fall into the ocean by next year?"

These are the sorts of things cold little girls in Minnesota tell themselves to make it through the day. And these are the sorts of things I want to be telling myself for the rest of my life. But the world's coolest advertising program is in California, and these are sacrifices I have to make.

happily ever after

"Don't touch him!" I yell at a group of friendly strangers. Every time I take my tiny poodle for a walk, well-meaning people come over and reach their fingers toward him and say "What a sweet little - OH GOODNESS SORRY!" Do not reach your fingers toward my dog.

My dog barks at everyone. This morning when a little old man teetered past our front lawn, my dog barked so loudly I glanced out to make sure his cane wasn't a machine gun.

But, for all that barking at sweet old men, my dog never bites. Or when he does, he has what my family calls "a soft bite." The best definition of a this is that one time he picked up our pet parakeet in his mouth. He just held her there as though his teeth were arms and he was rocking her, and when he set her down she flew back up to her cage, completely unharmed, while the entire family screamed in terror.

And last night while we were walking my dog picked up a huge gray frog in his mouth, and before I could do whatever a responsible pet owner would do at that point, he spit it back out on the ground, gave it a respectful nod, and turned to walk home.

Two conclusions:

The more time I spend with animals, the less I understand about animals.

If my dog ever licks my face I will either throw up or turn into a princess. I think that's how that works.

two of us

When I'm home in Minnesota (I am right now!) my favorite thing to do is walk my dog. I walk him at least five times a day. For the first leg of the trip he secures our surroundings, smelling every square inch of the park and the neighbors' yards, on both sides of the street.

But on the way home, after every blade of grass has been under his scrutiny and he's sure I'm safe from roadside garbage and sewer grates, he likes to walk right, right, right next to me. So close that his fur brushes up against my leg. And when he does he looks up at me like "Oh excuse me Beautiful - do you come here often?"

Then he runs over and pees on a turtle carcass.

estimated number of people in the audience: three

Eighteen years from now, my former french kids are going to sound as crazy singing "Five Little Monkeys" as I sound singing this:



Thank you kindy. And you're welcome, France.

go fourth and save

If you thought the lower quantity of recent posts would lead to higher quality, prepare to be disappointed.

One of my favorite sayings is "lay off the sauce." Specifically, the word sauce in that saying. I love the idea that instead of alcohol, people are drinking sauces.

If I had to drink a sauce it would probably be thai peanut sauce, because I think it would go down pretty smooth. If I were limited to American sauces I would go with barbecue. No reasoning behind that one, in fact - I'm already thinking it was a bad choice. Fish sauce tastes good but, did you know it's actually made of fish? It's not FOR fish, it IS fish. By that logic barbecue sauce would be made by putting a grill into that magic "Will it blend?" blender. It's a scary world we live in, even without people drinking sauces.



If you had to drink a sauce which would you choose and, what is your favorite "Will it blend?" video? Happy late Canada Day and happy early Fourth of July - I hope you bought fireworks.