Blog

stranger than friction

Brooke Takhar — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 05:41:50 +0000

Tomorrow it will have been a week since I lost a body part. I may have previously joked about flushing my gall bladder down the toilet after lighting it on fire but some (likely) drug-induced reflection has made me realize just like Radiohead predicted, "You do it to yourself, you do. And that's why it really hurts."

hearts & poop

Brooke Takhar — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 23:52:58 +0000

(I originally had an additional entry here all about how much I hated today. Looking at it with my head cocked I realized the highlight of the paragraph was the realization that I had been using my fancy white-out upside down. So, I saved the Internet from that moany banality and we're just gonna jump right into some good ole fashioned sh-t talk.)

resolve

Brooke Takhar — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 04:45:42 +0000

After ringing in the New Year with a few great friends and enough butter chicken to drown a small town, here came 2012, all smug and stupidly cold. Daring me to make something of it already. Go on, make some promises to me baby. Make 'em big. Then ignore me like the food under the table in a restaurant. Too scary. It's fine. Your stomach should stick out that far when you’re totally not pregnant at all.

obsessed

Brooke Takhar — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 06:43:55 +0000

I cannot stop watching this. I love this remix so much. And wondering, what does this guy do for a living? How did he figure out his body was so much better than ours? How long to choreograph this sh-t? Did he pass out when he realized doing it backwards was so much genius? Questions!

schmolidays

Brooke Takhar — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 05:47:41 +0000

On December 28^th, I stabbed this note into my phone:

“At least when you write, when something horrifyingly disappointing happens it holds some value in life currency - the chance to share and see if anybody else out there has f-cked up so royally.”

I KNOW my kid still sh-ts herself. I UNDERSTAND she doesn't comprehend the historical and magical time of year that is Christmas. I realized, despite everybody's kind advice, that I DON'T CARE.

You're going to love Christmas even if I have to hold you down.

Brooke Takhar — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 05:41:52 +0000

She hated Santa, hated her new Christmas pj's, hated the Night Before Christmas 3D app on the iPad, hated the cookies we left out for Santa and has been more stoked on holding my phone rather than all the gifts received so far. Merry Christmas my girl. Here's to you not being such a turd next year.

to be or not to be

Brooke Takhar — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 06:49:35 +0000

On our way down to the States last week ("Sea –Hawwwwwks! Sea-Hawwwwwwwks!"), we were joking about a friend’s new baby and how he would probably pose this new bub in teeny tiny fitness poses for the next year (Hi Baker!), because when you’re a new parent and the kid is effectively a Gumby toy, you do this as you please, take pictures and laugh hard. And then they shit mustard out their diaper onto your shirt, ooze snot onto your shoulder and wake up every 4 hours in the night for eight months. Game, set, match turdmonger. YOU WIN.

a clean slate

Brooke Takhar — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 06:21:13 +0000

What's harder? Staying still or plugging your nose and doing that crazy flailing run and jump off a cliff into the great unknown? I can't swim so I have been, in some aspects of my life, treading in warm tepid water. It's not challenging, it's not uplifting and it starts to stink after a while. All to say my amazing and brave sister-in-law has just taken a leap and I have to tell you about it.

honk

Brooke Takhar — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 06:51:42 +0000

Being a Mom has it's privileges. Like being allowed to honk three extra times per witnessed traffic atrocity. It's in the rule book you get as your vagina is being stitched back into place - if some heathen dares not accelerate at the first millisecond of a left hand arrow, I get to lean on the horn like it makes money fall from the sky with each exaggerated fisted punch "HAWWWWWNK." "HAWNNNKYHOOOOOONK." "HONKHONKHONK." If you hear that pent up aggression you know the person behind you in that sick Honda Civic, blasting L7 to stay awake at 7pm, is a Mom. And she wants you to give a f-ck about what you're doing and move your ass.

I also get to grocery shop real late styles, with half my hair matted and styled to the side like a shih tzu's ponytail, and get super sad when the in-store music is some ballad from 1994 that I had no idea I was so invested in emotionally. Why isn't there Christmas music playing? I'll take Alvin and the Chipmunks scrotal crooning over Sophie B. Hawkins every f-cking day.

As a Mom you also get to start making those amazing missteps that you needle your Mom about. Like me paying for all my food and special edition Glade bathroom deodorizer (poop smell won't even know what hit it when candy cane vanilla smell punches it in the face!), then parking my cart to the side so I can pee before the long ride home. As I come whipping out of the bathroom, mind racing with thoughts of what else I can possibly cram into this day, I grab my cart and in slo-mo swing it around to start marching to the carpark and... what the f-ck is that? I didn't buy Raisin Bran.

Look up into the surprised eyes of the actual owner of the groceries in the cart and realize I am attempting to take this man's food. I apologized profusely and move towards my cart which was about 3 steps further away. He tells me he didn't do anything in reaction because I looked "so determined." Yup, determined to be a super loser.

You'll be pleased to know I got home without further incident AND the bathroom smells great.

font party

Brooke Takhar — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 06:26:51 +0000

Squarespace is too too much right now. Too many fonts to choose from. I can feel the ghostly hot breath of my Langara classmates looking over my shoulder and pooh-poohing my choices.

I have never had a good eye for that shit. I am more of an idea person. Like, right before I crash at night I'll think of a revolutionary way to do/fix/write/decorate (blank), and despite my fairly impressive collection of amazing notepads and notebooks, these revelations get forgotten, whispy cotton candy ideas that softly drift away and get caught up in the dust bunnies that run this apartment. Like a small government of them, making decisions like, no heat for the weekend! It's the end of November and we're all riding the roller coaster of the worst cold - that teases with a day or two of mild health, then boom, green mucus sink party everybody!

Okay, hot Saturday night party making fun of RapCity. I'm ashamed to be Canadian a whole lot of the time. Other than Beachcombers, we ae mostly dreadful as far as entertainment output.