Home SWEET SoDak

Gas up the car, pack some clean undies and stow your favorite mix tape (now commonly referred to as your ipod playlist) for the 4.5 hour road trip through the heartland. I know... It's some serious windshield time. If you pack enough, "seeds," to coat the walls of your mouth with canker sores and make a pit stop here for a, "gut-bomb," burger (dog treats given out at the drive thru)(don't kid yourself we stopped on both legs of the trek) (thanks NJ) it seems tolerable. Stiff legs and a sore bum are a small price to pay for walking in the garage to see this. If your name were Bonnie, Karen, Christian, *Little Brooke or Kelly you would know this is the chalkboard used to play school (or plot out military attacks-stupid boys) in my parent's garage. The current inscription has been there since the day (Fall, 1996) I left for college. Just a quick little sketch of the U-Haul my parents drug 450 miles to move their only kid into twin towers, 12 floors each, full of freshman sneeking beer inside their backpacks. Twelve years later it is STILL there! Of course the house is dec'd out in Halloween style, per usual, and this crazy little witch (handcrafted by yours truly in 3rd grade) is still front and center on the back door. Question? Are parents really required to hang on to stuff like this for 22 years? If we are talking years, it was 17 years ago that I got my first job HERE! I worked for $4.25/hour, yes, less than the minimum wage. Well come on, I was 14 and loved coming home with sweet ice cream smelling hair, a stripe of over sprayed malt on my navy blue oxford and red cherry slush stained Keds. Ahhhh, 1991... Life was simpler then. School passed out free games/rounds/matches/whatever at the local bowling alley, MOM gave you cash & dropped you off at the front door of the theatre, nothing in your closet required you to stop on the corner of Main Street and 6th Avenue and the worst thing that could happen was a burnt tongue from a molten hot, cream-style corn nugget from Scotty's. Don't get me wrong I wouldn't trade spots now for all the Pinot Noir in Oregon. I mean nothin' is like sharing a bottle with your God Mother (The Ginge) and your MOM. Or seeing with your own two eyes your 92 year old gramma looks JUST like she did when she was 82.
So like I said, no matter where you live, pack up the rig and head where ever home is.

I almost forgot. You want to know about *Little Brooke vs Big Brooke, right? Let me explain it with pictures. You see we had two Brooke's on Willow Drive. One Brooke was little, petite, as cute as a bugs ear. The other Brooke was tall, average Midwestern stock, with big feet. Yes, Big Brooke = 34B cup. If that won't scar a kid for life I don't know what will...