Say hello to my little friend

Well boys and girls, I did it. I've met the man of my dreams. He's smart, handsome, loving, and loyal. And he sits on command! He's perfect! So what if he's a sloppy kisser and only seven months old - he's the one I've been waiting for. We met this past weekend at a festival on the bay and it was love at first sight. He was working the kissing booth - also known as the table for the Humane Society - and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. All the other girls there wanted him too, but HA!!!! I won! I always did go for the pretty boys. I went to visit him today, and he was so happy to see me he almost wet himself! Actually he did wet himself, but that was a one time thing. It was clear we were meant to be. I so wanted him to come home with me today, but apparently he needs to have a little "procedure" done before he leaves his temporary digs. Ahem.

I'm thinking of calling him Riley. But I will take all suggestions until he moves his cute little tail in on Thursday.

I am...

a homeowner.

Tuesday Ten #6

Ten Reasons I am Doing the Happy Dance

1. I got a job!


2. Teaching first grade!


3. Which is the grade I've been teaching for the last two years!


4. So it's what I really wanted!


5. And it's in a really good school district!


6. Where there will actually be parental involvement!


7. And the dads aren't in prison!
   


8. And I may finally be able to get room moms!
   


9. And I'll be making more money than I did before!


10. Yay!
    
    

Cause down the shore everything's all right

I'm moving. I'm not sure if I've made that clear to everyone in the blog world. Saturday morning I leave the sunshine state once and for all to head home to the motherland - the Jersey Shore.

Florida has been good to me, much as I hate to admit it. I've made wonderful friends. I've been able to spend a lot of time with my family members who all seemed to migrate down here around the same time that I did. I went back to school and finally attained the college degree that has eluded me all these years. I found my calling as a teacher and have never been happier with my career. Florida has served its purpose for me, and for that I am grateful. But now it's time to move on.

I'm a Jersey girl and proud of it. It's home, where I belong. I've missed the salt in the air, the change of the seasons, and the community of a small town. I look forward to reconnecting with old friends, spending time with mom, and starting life afresh.

Wish me luck.

Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change.
- Chinese fortune cookie

Coffee and Cigarettes - Not Just for Breakfast Anymore

Yesterday a friend was telling me how she spent her entire morning on the phone with her internet company because her service had been going down constantly. Hehehe, I said "going down constantly". The customer service representative she was speaking to had her crawling all over the floor following wires, pushing her desk around the room to check for who knows what, and tearing into her computer - all in the name of trying to keep the repairmen from making a wasted trip. After a few hours of sweating, torture, and listening to horrifying muzak while on hold - the rep came back to tell her that there was a line problem on the street. My friend, in the most polite way she could manage, told the girl to do something that I believe is not only physically impossible - but may be illegal in most southern states. Yet another example of the crappy customer service this country is now subjected to on a daily basis. I used to cringe when faced with the prospect of dialing the dreaded 800 number. However, I have found the way to get what you want from these disembodied voices on the phone - these spawns of Satan whose primary job is to shred our spirit and trample on our dreams! I know the way! It works! Oh yes it does. Read on.

Several years ago I had a major issue with MCI - oh how I celebrated when they went bankrupt. It's a long story - it always is - and I don't really want to share all the gory details with you all - which I'm sure you're grateful for - but the upshot is they were sending me bills and I was no longer using their service. For months they kept sending me bills, and for months I would call and try to explain that the service had been canceled. Management would never get on the phone. The reps were less than articulate. I clearly remember listening to one girl cracking her gum while I talked. I fantasized about reaching through the line and ripping her throat out. Nobody would straighten this matter out - they just kept telling me to pay. Now I don't remember how much it was - probably not much - but I'll be fucked if I'm going to pay some billion dollar corporation money that it hasn't earned.

After a few months of this playful game of cat and mouse, I got a fairly threatening letter from MCI regarding this matter. I serenely picked up the phone and called the 800 number. I asked for a manager. No manager. I hung up. I called again. And again. And again. And again. Each time I explained the situation and asked for a manager. Each time they said there was none available. Then I would hang up and do it again. Finally one of the reps said to me. "I'm noticing on the computer that you have called several times today, maybe I should get a manager." Gee, ya think?

After putting me on hold for half of All My Children, I finally got a manager on the line. The first thing she said to me was, "I've read your file. I'm not really sure what you expect here."

I was calm. I was cool. I was collected. And in my sweetest and most condescending voice, I responded with the magic words that I am now going to share with all of you -

"Listen love - here is what I expect. I'm not going to pay this bill. I know you think I am going to, but I'm not. Do you know why? Because you are going to wipe it out. And you are going to wipe it out now. Do you know why you're going to wipe it out? Because if you don't, I am going to call again. And again. And again. And again. I will call you every five minutes if I have to - and you have no choice but to take my calls because A. - I now know your name and B. - that is your job. And in case you think I'm exaggerating, understand this - I have a pot of coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and nothing else to do today. I can do this all day. And I can do it again tomorrow too. In fact, I'm off all week. So let's say you get rid of this bill and spare yourself a world of pain."

My bill was wiped out. I never heard from MCI again. And everyone lived happily ever after.

The End.

Someday you'll all thank me for this post.

Hey Ya!!! It's Time for a Happy Dance!!!!

My Rose Tattoo

I think this is the only picture I have of my tattoo. Since I bare my soul on this blog, thought I'd bare my big ass too.

Courtesy of Tattoo Molly, Hanky Panky Tattoo Shop, Amsterdam

Subject: Drunk Email

brandon wrote:

well, i'm technically not 'drunk'. i'm probably .19 at the most. although legally, i suppose that IS drunk. but emotionally, i'm as sober as i've been in ages. and i love you. i know that you expect a drunk guy to say something like that to an internet acquaintance whom he's never seen or can verify is actually a woman. but i love you. no, not like THAT, silly! no, i mean i love you in a filthy, emotionally, likable way. and i'm kind of dizzy. i thought you should know that, too, since we're being honest with each other (honesty rules!).

oh, and i'm happy about ANWR. but i'm a total wuss when it comes to entering comment food fights. and i've gotten beaten up a lot this past week in other peoples' comment boxes so i'm afraid of being hurt again. i just want you to hold me.

this drunken email was brought to you by Miller.

brandon

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Brandon,

I am both thrilled and honored to be getting a drunken email spouting your love for me. Being loved in a filthy way is very hot. Despite the fact that I have no doubt you have written this sort of email to at least half the women on your blogroll - I will still hold you close and press you against my boobies. Believe it or not, you aren't the first drunken married internet blogger to profess his undying love for me.

I only wish you had put this on my blog. It's so good! Dammit. But I'll respect your right to privacy and simply torment you endlessly on both of our blogs from here on in.

Happy hangover. Brooke

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brandon wrote:

privacy? pfft. by all means, post it on your blog. it's the best thing i've written all week.

for the record, only 2 other women received drunken emails from me. if i don't have my chivalry, i don't have anything.

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Thanks Brando! You are so very chivalrous. As long as you don't love those other two women in the filthy way that you love me we are all good. Not only do I feel like a pretty pretty (blog ho) princess, but you supplied me with a fabulous post as well. You rock baby. Come here and let Brookie hold you close.

Brooke Needs

I wish I could remember which blog I saw this meme on so I could give the blogger credit and a link, but alas, I don't. God I hate being 40, at least I remember the meme.

First, go to Google. Then type in "(your name) needs" - don't forget to use the quotes. Go through the results and find 5 things you need and would like to share with the rest of us.

I have to add that I am so lucky that my name is the same as a major soap opera character!

So here are 5 (of the many) things that I need - according to my Google search.

1. Calling All Hunks Brooke Needs You!!!

2. To cut back on stress and find emotional satisfaction, Brooke needs a variety of intellectual pursuits.

3. Brooke needs to have a story line and a decent guy again!

4. To make at least part of life right, Brooke needs an arena for excellence.

5. Brooke needs a house, a car, some money, (and with $20 million dollars, she can hire her own damn housekeepers.)

I think these are all right on the money - literally. I now tag everyone reading this.

***Added note regarding previous post: My brothers have been calling and are offering more help. My classroom looks fantastic - I have three teachers begging me to do their rooms too. My cold has cleared up. My potty-mouthed student was the star student of the day today.

It's still hot and humid as hell and I'm still single. This too shall pass.

Packers won. But against New Orleans. Does that really count?

Thanks for being my complaint department. It won't happen again. Love you all.

A Cinderella Story

I named her Kashmir. I was in my all-things-Zeppelin phase. Her coat was soft and grey with flecks of red and looked like a sweater, and so the name was cool on several levels. She was a tiny thing, hiding behind her other litter mates when I found her at the Humane Society. She trembled all the way home, but she quickly adjusted to life with mom and me in our tiny apartment.

She was a typical kitten; she loved shoes and sinks and playing with string. She was shy around new people, but once she got to know them she was was very loving. As she grew older, her personality came into its own. She was loyal and protective. She was playful and silly - running through my room at all hours of the night, trampling across me in an effort to get me up and out of bed, knowing full well she was going to get squirted with the water gun I kept at my bedside for these late night romps. She loved the beach - we would often find her sitting on an open window ledge looking down at the beachfront some four stories down - creating a "porch" for herself that our apartment was sadly lacking. She took no crap from anyone, and was as happy to be alone as she was to have company.

When the summer came, my brothers started showing up to hang out on the beach. Kashmir hissed at them - they terrified her - these big noisy monsters who stomped through the apartment with no respect for the quiet ways she had become accustomed to with just mom and me. The boys responded by chasing her around the apartment with the aforementioned watergun - keep in mind "the boys" were in their 20's - old enough to know better. Being squirted by me was fun; being squirted by my brothers was not. From then on, it was the same routine every time. The boys came over, she hissed, and then hid under my bed until they left. The boys called her crazy, mental, a man-hater.

But she didn't hate men. Only the men that treated her badly. She loved my new pretty blonde surfer boyfriend. The moment he came in and sat on the couch she was on him, purring and rubbing. He couldn't understand what my brothers had been saying. He thought she was wonderful.

I wasn't technically allowed to have cats in my building, and eventually my landlord forced me to give her away. I took her back to the Humane Society. I brought food and toys and money. I made them promise to call me if they couldn't keep her for any reason. I cried. They assured me they would find her a good home, she was after all, beautiful.

Many months later I went back with a friend to get her dog a license. I asked if someone could tell me about my cat. They didn't seem interested in telling me anything, but finally they asked what her name was and said they would see what had happened to her. I told them her name was Kashmir. The whole place stopped. Kashmir was your cat?

They led me to a back room. The walls were covered with pictures of the thousands of animals that had come through. By the desk was a group of pictures arranged like a little kitty shrine. They were all of Kashmir. Kashmir with a hat on. Kashmir sleeping on a dog. Kashmir playing with a litter of kittens. It seems that after a rocky start in her new digs, Kashmir had taken over the place. She became the leader of the unwanted, the favorite of the volunteers. She had little interest in the potential new owners that came to visit. She only had eyes for her new brood.

I was so excited! Where is she? Let me see her! Oh no, the story continues. One night just before Christmas, a gorgeous man in a red Porsche pulled into the parking lot. He had just moved into town, he told the swooning volunteers, and he was looking for a kitten. He didn't know anybody, and he didn't want to spend the holidays alone. He was playing with some of the kittens when Kashmir, who was perched atop a file cabinet watching this scene intently, jumped down and landed on his lap. She purred and licked his face. He dropped the kittens and took Kashmir home. Two weeks later he came back and asked for one of Kashmir's friends so she wouldn't be lonely.

I wouldn't have believed any of this had the volunteers not shown me the picture that her Prince Charming had sent in. It was Kashmir and her friend, laying out in the sun on the porch of their brand new luxury beachfront penthouse. She looked completely at home, with no more fears of big scary monsters to treat her badly. As the volunteers at the Humane Society said, she was a true Cinderella story. Kashmir, it seemed, was living happily ever after.

As I write this, I realize I should take a cue from Kashmir; she was a woman who possessed numerous admirable qualities. She always stayed true to herself. She never took any crap. She made the best of every situation. She avoided the men who called her names and treated her badly. She adored and appreciated the ones who treated her well. She recognized when the right one came along and when he did - she took that giant leap of faith - and held on with everything she had. She found the life - and the porch - she had always wanted and lived out her days in luxury and love. She has become my inspiration. And she should be an inspiration to every woman who settles for anything less than everything.

There Goes My Hero

Many years ago I lived in Sydney Australia. Manly Beach to be exact. I moved there after working as a nanny in the Northern Suburbs, so suddenly living in a surfing community with three new flatmates, three cats and a dog was quite a change from what I had been experiencing in Australia so far. Manly was definitely more my speed. I loved being on the beach again - I grew up on the beach at the Jersey shore - and the surfers were just like the guys back home, but with cute accents. I can honestly say that living there was the happiest time of my life.

Two weeks after I moved in, my flatmates excitedly announced that Ralph and Jason were coming to stay. Jason was a former flatmate/surfer of the house, and Ralph was his dog. Now, I love dogs. I really do. But I have never heard people talk about a dog like this. They just went on and on and on. Clearly they were more excited about Ralph the wonder dog coming than their friend Jason. Ok I get it, he's the dog of all dogs. Could he really be all that cool? I mean come on - but nobody could tell them any different.

A few days later, I walked into my house and heard a very loud and unfamiliar bark. In the living room, among my many flatmates and neighbors, were two new faces. Jason - the surfer, and Ralph - the biggest German Shepherd I had ever seen.

He didn't seem to like me the first couple of days. He would bark at me when I came in the house and continue as he would follow me into my room. I knew he wouldn't bite, so I wasn't afraid. I was more annoyed by it. Hey! I live here now bub! It's hard enough being the only Yank in the house, give me a break!

Within one week he was sleeping at the foot of my bed every night. He would not allow anyone but my flatmates in my room. Every morning he would stand at my bedside, pressing his cold wet nose to mine in a silent plea to come out and play. When I would come home from work he would jump around like a puppy. Everyone noticed how he had taken to me. I often thought that maybe he was looking out for me because he sensed I was new, the outsider in the house, and needed a champion. When my flatmates would walk him to the pub, and then forget about him sitting outside in their drunken stupor, he would walk over to the cafe where I worked and park himself at the entrance. He would follow me from table to table, offering a friendly lick or nuzzle to my customers. My boss, who at first freaked out that Ralph was scaring off customers, soon changed his tune when he would hear the little voices crying to their mummies to eat at the place with the big cool dog. Ralph was great for business.

He never needed a leash. He would walk right beside you, even in crowds. He protected our house from strangers but was gentle as a lamb to people when we were out on the town. He let children pet him and pat him, sometimes to the point of pain, and he never snapped or walked away. It was never necessary to yell at him, a simple "Ralph" was all you needed to say to get his attention. He would play catch for hours and hours, and he never went after other dogs. It didnt take me long to realize that he was everything my flatmates had said, and more.

He and I would often go out for late night walks together. It was a ritual we had, a way for me to unwind after work. One night, as we walked back from the Corso, Ralph went off ahead of me to do his business, and I stood on the beachfront giving him some privacy. There were several bars across the street, and as I stood there, a few drunken boys spilled out of one of the bars and approached me. At first they were just flirting, asking me where I was from, what my name was...the usual slurred nonsense. Nothing I wasn't used to, especially since Aussie boys always gave American girls a little extra attention. But slowly I started to get an uneasy feeling. They were too close, too familiar, and had somehow surrounded me. Behind me was a 10-foot drop to the beach. I suddenly had a vision...being pushed...falling...nobody knowing...nobody hearing....as they jumped down to the beach to follow my fall.....

I started to edge away, but they kept asking me questions, trying to keep me where I was. I tried to laugh them off, move slowly away, but they cut me off..and then suddenly...a flash of fur...and Ralph was standing between us. His hackles were raised, his teeth were bared, and the low-throated growl coming from him was something I had only heard in horror movies. His entire body was poised and ready to strike. He looked like a wild coyote about to shred a deer apart. The boys raised their hands as if they were under arrest.

"Woah," one of them said, "is that your dog?"
Upon hearing his voice, Ralph started barking at him ferociously. He sounded like Cujo.
"Yes, he's mine," I replied.
They backed away, just as I had been trying to do only moments before. "See ya," they said. And they ran off.

That was it. Over. Just like that. Ralph turned to me, leaned against my leg, and would not allow us to lose physical contact the entire walk home.

My flatmates were stunned when I told them the story. Ralph had never, ever, behaved like that in public. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that those boys were planning....I don't even like to think about it. I sometimes wonder about that vision. Was it what would have happened if Ralph hadn't been there? How different would my life be now if he hadn't scared them away? Would I even be here to tell this story?

Ralph was my hero that night. And he will always be my hero. Nobody in my life has ever stood up for me like that. Nobody has ever put his life at risk for me. Stood his ground, ready to attack, four against one, only thinking of my protection and well-being. To me, Ralph will forever be my champion. The dog of all dogs. And nobody can ever tell me any different.