Exactly one year ago today, T and I spoke for the first time. Actually, it was a tweet. This conversation happened after Marek tweeted her excitement that her two friends were meeting IRL. Read as: In real life.
If you remember, I stood them up. Why on earth would I meet some random dude at trivia night? I wouldn’t. So, I didn’t. Man, I almost messed this up.
A year later, I’m packing boxes to move halfway across the country. There’s no turning back now… you should see what I wrote on Canvasing Chickasaw Country.
It’s true. I’m moving. Charlotte, I hope you can handle all this jelly.
Does this mean I have a job? Yep. and, it’s awesome.
Does this mean T will be driving the U-Haul? Absolutely.
Does this mean I had a slight panic attack last weekend? No, of course not.
When am I moving? 3 weeks.
After 2.5 weeks of road trips, Christmas adventures, NYE midnight kisses and a few Charlotte Bobcats games Travis left Charlotte for a work trip in Nashville leaving me to my own devices for a few days. You see, my flight leaves first thing in the morning. I suppose this is what my someday will look like.
Happy Twenty13 from Asheville, NC.
(Also – can I get a little amen for my lovely job that allows me to work from home every now and then.)
So what’s a girl to do while she’s left alone?
She absolutely does not clean the kitchen while dancing to the Josh Abbott Band. Nope, that wouldn’t make sense. Cleaning? Nah.
She doesn’t unpack those boxes her fiancé still hasn’t unpacked from his April move. That would be weird.
She for sure doesn’t do laundry. Washing everything in your suitcase before you return home would be too on top of things.
And, I’m 99.99 percent sure she doesn’t make a secret wedding board on Pinterest, drink a few glasses of wine and alternate between The Vow and The Notebook.
Or does she?
Uhg. I made this weird. She is me. Why do I always flirt with that delicate line between witty and awkward?
T’s tv (and all of its million movie channels) is really ready for me to get on my way back to the 405. It needs ESPN to grace its screen again.
Oklahoma, I’m coming back to you. You’re still my home… until you’re not. But, we’ll cross that road when we come to it.
I’ve rewritten this post more times than I care to admit. How do I explain the most amazing day of my life and stay true to my non-mushy policy? Decisions, decisions. I met Travis in NYC for the most amazing week of my life and a week later I type this post with a shiny ring on my left hand. It’s quite beautiful, to be honest.
Our week was filled with a trip to Letterman, drinks at Irish Pubs, afternoon plays, Italian dinners, late night movies, a visit to Dave and Busters (yes, really), a Band of Horses concert, Times Square and much, much more. We were there for a week after all.
After this week I’m certain my name is listed in Webster’s after “spoiled.” With the loveliest of trips coming to an end, the most important day went as follows:
After a rainy week in New York, the sun finally broke through the clouds on my birthday. I took extra time getting ready while texting my friends as I applied extra coats of mascara. A girl must look good on her 26th birthday, obviously.
We left the Essex House and our room overlooking Central Park South and began our day with a trip to the Empire State Building, Starbucks Caramel Apple Spice in hand. Tremendously afraid of heights, I held my breath as we made our way to the top. The view was spectacular. Had the weather cooperated, we would have made a trip earlier in the week.
We made our way to the subway. My metro card failed miserably and Travis showed signs of frustration (looking back, this makes sense … time sensitive the day was). It was all meant to be because we were then able to see the library, which happens to be where one of my favorite scenes of Breakfast at Tiffany’s was filmed.
This may come as a shock to some; however, it must be said that I’m not a huge fan of shopping. As we made our way down Fifth Avenue I did find joy in the window displays. The holiday season in one of the most amazing cities in the world does not lack in creativity.
Tiffany’s. We made our way through Tiffany’s heading straight to the third floor where there would be something I could covet, for sure. After meandering through a few floors, Travis suggested we ask someone for recommendations for dinner reservations. Annoyed (I mean, c’mon – there is food everywhere in NYC, must we ask for recommendations?), I followed him to customer service and smiled as he skipped the dining inquisition and instead stated, “Pick up for Haney.”
Uhm, excuse me? Pick up?
“Happy birthday,” he said.
Yes, ladies. He’d been on my Pinterest board. Happy birthday, indeed. If you’ve ever seen “David after Denist,” then you will understand exactly how I felt throughout our entire trip to NYC. “Is this real life?”
We left Tiffany’s, inching closer to Central Park with each step when we spotted the Wafel and Dinges truck. We spotted this truck five days earlier and vowed the next time we saw it to channel our inner fat kids.
Travis: Maybe you should get the plain waffle.
Me: No way! It’s my birthday! (Gets the de Throwdown wafel, which is described as the legendary and glorious victor of the battle with the Great Flay with spekuloos spread and wipped cream.)
Travis: (Shakes head and laughs.)
We walked to Central Park and found ourselves seated atop a rock overlooking a couple feeding ducks at the pond, the Gapstow Bridge, and children ice skating. Perfection.
Travis suggested we take a picture. I hopped on this suggestion knowing we’d only taken three pictures the entire week. While Travis flagged down a couple who spoke minimal English, I hurriedly moved our waffles and bags out of the way and tried my best to get the powdered sugar off my coat. Hindsight, I just made the powdered sugar worse.
I sighed knowing I would just Photoshop any incriminating evidence of my fat kid birthday party out of our pictures and smiled.
The rest happened so fast. He was down on one knee.
Inner dialogue: “Oh my goodness. THIS is happening. Right now. Oh. My goodness. (!!!!) Brooke, listen to what he’s saying! I’m covered in powdered sugar!!”
To the people who asked “what did you/she say?” – silly people. Did you think I was calling you to say I said no?
Travis is wonderful. He’s everything I never thought I’d ever find or needed. He allows me to be ridiculous and supports my ideas — like solving problems with ‘rock, paper, scissors’ for example. Kidding, sort of.
He’s hilarious, has an incredible (fake) Irish accent and is the most loving and caring person I’ve ever met.
I am one lucky girl. (Whoops. There it was. I’ve gone sappy, y’all.)
It had been 285 days since I first met Travis — nine months, 10 days since I thought to myself, “this guy is completely out of my league.”
While on one knee Travis said, “I waited my whole life for you and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with you.”
In related news, I’m teaming up with Quinn Sharp. We’re starting clinics on how to out kick your coverage.
Thank you for all the well wishes. We appreciate all of you. You guys are fabulous.
Everyone’s life is a whirlwind, right? This month I’ve been on two significant road trips and one amazing plane-trip. Somewhere in the middle I’ve managed to lose a new BCBG pump (just one), cover a Reckless Kelly concert, dress like a superhero, fall in love with Crossfit.
Of all the chaos, the epicenter of my world is my family. This is why I didn’t hesitate to drive for 12 hours to stay for 24 and drive another 12 hours home. Spending a Saturday night at my cousin’s wedding was one of the most memorable nights of August – and maybe my life.
We were raised as a tight group where cousins are more like siblings and aunts and uncles are staples in a lot of life decisions. Even though half way through my childhood my parents moved us 700 miles away to Oklahoma, I’ve found that not every family is as close as we are. As the sixth oldest granchild of 10 (on just one side of the family) life is never dull.
Sitting at the cousins table during the wedding we laughed as we talked about the first time someone got into trouble in grade school, someone driving the odyssey through a garage door and a million other stories that were so ridiculous they shouldn’t make an appearance on the blog.
There were tiny humans. Everywhere. Sitting in the pew was the equivalent of sitting in an all you can eat buffet of candy, crackers and things-that-make-children-quiet-during-weddings.
Am I mature enough to hold in giggles during a perfectly timed “uh oh,” during the ceremony. Absolutely not.
It’s crazy to think that this entire family story started sixty-something years ago when my grandparents (the most legit people in the western hemisphere) decided to make a family. Sometimes I wonder if they knew what they were getting into.
My grandpa restored the first tractor he ever owned just for this wedding. The tractor secured the wedding’s spot as a perfect “Pinterest Wedding.”
Not a day passes that I’m not thankful for this whirlwind of a life – and the characters who make it so wonderful.
While standing on a sand dune overlooking the 12th hole on Kiawah’s Ocean Course, T. asked a question that sounded more like a statement, “You’re just a little spoiled aren’t you?”
The answer is quite simply, “yes.” He’s right, really. My first trip to a golf tournament happens to be the PGA Championship? A course where the final holes overlook the Atlantic Ocean and a salty breeze makes play difficult for golfers but quite nice for observers?
This isn’t a bragging post or a play-by-play of my weekend in the Carolinas, unless that’s what you would prefer? If so, I could whip one of those up for tomorrow. This is a post about my adventures in golf.
No, I’ve never tried my hand at golf; however, after a day at the final round of the PGA championship I sort of get what the hype is about.
T and I worked the back 9 for most of the day. Stumbling upon Dustin Johnson, who I later learned and then witnessed is one of the longest drivers in the PGA tour, we started our adventures. Looking back – what was T thinking? I’ve never even watched golf without a nap being a serious part of the equation. Did I say stumble? Literally. He hit into the wind and then the wind stopped blowing and his ball landed about 40 yards left of where it should have been. (Probably, I could be making this up. Or – T. said this. Either way… read with caution.)
It may have been 20 degrees cooler than it was in Oklahoma, but I am still trying to grasp this humidity thing. Why must it be so sticky? There was a lot of walking. For the first time in the history of our relationship I was really fortunate to have listened during the shoe conversation. Thank goodness I went with the sensible shoes.
Per our conversation, T. is better at me than most things. If they’re weighted. (Note to readers: discussing National Championship totals in regards to wrestling and football with an expert is not for the light of heart, and don’t come to the party without knowing your facts or without google search within reach. ) Given this, he’s really good at helping me buy into something.
For starters, on the way to the course he suggested I download the app. The day before I decided I needed to claim a few golfers to follow to make it interesting. My choices: Bo Van Pelt (Oklahoma State alum), Bubba (He had me at the golf boys video), and Adam Scott (because Rickie wasn’t playing on Sunday). The app let me know who was where and sent me updates of how they were doing.
Then, out of the blue he said, “Do you want to go down to 10 to watch Bubba?”
I’m 99 percent sure I didn’t answer… just started walking.
As a fan of stories, I just swoon over Bubba’s sweet story. His solid foundation of faith, his adorable adopted son (I’m assuming he’s adorable – I’ve yet to confirm this via google search) and the importance of charity organizations to Bubba and his wife, Angie, are more than enough reasons to cheer for him on Sunday.
We followed him for three holes. It was sort of nice to just pick who we wanted to follow. Also, it should be known I used my golf voice to inform T we were standing next to Angie while watching Bubba on the 13th green.
Somewhere between the 6th and 7th stop for water, we found ourselves positioned on a sand dune overlooking the green on 12. From here we watched Poulter, McDowell and Donaldson play through; Tiger and his entourage of red shirt wearing fans; and Rory McIlroy clean house. And – I had a nice view of the marsh for solid alligator watching.
Apparently, Rory was quite impressive. Winning by eight shots, that sounds pretty legit to me. To those people standing three-deep at the rope. The view from the sand dune was better.
For a glorious 45 minutes the clouds graced the course with a little bit of overcast. To me, this meant a break from melting. It was almost cool, even.
I can’t believe I just wrote a post about golf. It’s truly baffling.
Here are my take aways:
Golf can be interesting.
I want to go to the Masters.
I need the temps to drop below 70 so I can wear my new Kiawah jacket.
T. is pretty amazing.
Can I level with you for a second? I mean, let’s just go to that place where we’re besties and we promise not to tell our secrets.
Things I know about golf:
1) Takes a lot of concentration – a lot of skill.
2) It’s really great white noise while I take nap.
3) In my previous life working at the Oklahoma Pork Council I worked our annual golf tournament. Read as: I worked the back 9 with a cooler of refreshments and more award-winning pulled pork than necessary. It was heavenly.
With that said, this is what I really know about golf:
And this:
It’s obvious why I’d be really excited to be at The Ocean Course this Sunday, right?
Have I googled what to wear at a golf tournament? Probably.
I’m I resisting the urge to wear all orange like my Oklahoma State friend Rickie Fowler? Of course.
Yes, this means I’m making another little trip east.
Do you ever look back at your college days and think, “How in the world did I survive that?” I’m not talking about too many nights at the bar, I’m talking about balancing leadership positions, multiple jobs, and too many credit hours. Sometimes I look back and think, “I wish I was still that good.”
Because, if I was… I wouldn’t be so tired.
Don’t get me wrong, my life is completely worth being tired.
Last week was interesting, to keep state it simply. T was in Dallas for work, so made a mini road trip to Dallas after delighting in a few peaches in Stratford. Not a day passes that I’m not thankful for my amazing job that allows me to work from home every now and then, or in this case work poolside in Dallas.
After a few fun days in Dallas, including a Darius Rucker concert, I woke up in the 4 o’clocks Wednesday for a too-early road trip back to Oklahoma City. Our church group meets at our house each Wednesday, so early to bed wasn’t an option. Courtney’s surprise birthday party followed Thursday evening and an Avett Brothers concert Friday. I had a fun work event on Saturday, catching some zzz’s wasn’t an option then, either.
With all that said, Saturday night I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my faded Oklahoma State sweat pants and watch a few hundred episodes of the Golden Girls.
But, as a proud big sister, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch my little sister run barrels while people watching with my little brother. So, I pulled a pair of starched jeans from the closet and headed to a small-town rodeo.
Wait. Hold on. I feel obligated to confess my love for starched jeans. If I’m going to wear boots, I need my jeans to have the ability to stand by themselves. It’s odd, I know, but I feel as strongly about this as I do that spending more for quality high heels is better than mostly everything else.
I love more than anything that after a long busy week of urban living, I can sit in the stands with my dad (yes, those are our bootsand starched jeans) and talk his ear off about things that don’t really matter while he says all of four words.
He didn’t even roll his eyes when I snapped this picture. It’s a Christmas miracle, really.
My little brother, one of my favorite people in the entire world, is going to be a high school senior. I can’t begin to explain how much this blows my mind. This picture taken around 9 p.m. when the sun was still glaring heavily into our eyes and the temperatures were still in the triple digits. Honestly, I don’t care how gross we look because my brother is smiling and this never happens. This, too, is a Christmas miracle.
I will trade all the quality nights of sleep in the world weeks like this. Weeks incorporating everything I love about life – rural, urban, family, T., adventures, family, friends – are exactly how I want to live my life.
I fully endorse dance parties. Dance parties where you’re standing in your living room, firmly gripping a wooden spoon that happens to be doubling as a microphone, and singing so off-key your five pound farm dog looks at you like you’re a crazy person.
Also, I fully endorse sentences that make you stop and gasp for air. You’re welcome.
Because of my love for such dance parties, my eyes lit up like my birthday morning at a certain concert last week. What concert? Coldplay, of course.
Goodness gracious I’m staring to sound like a spoiled brat with all these evenings at the beach and nights with really, really good concert tickets.
Someone is giving me every right to claim my title as a princess. And, I’m owning it.
I met a boy. Boy moved. I visit. Mostly for the tan.
I’ve been to the ocean 5 times in my life. Cross my heart and kiss my elbow. I understand this is strange to a lot of you. Sure, I’ve been to the Eiffel Tower, danced years off my life in Buenos Aires, fished like a boss in Ontario, consulted a local village about poultry in Nicaragua… but the ocean?
Work all day and lounge by the ocean in the evening? sold.
To be fair, the ocean is completely overwhelming. As a newbie, I’ve been told I’m quite entertaining as well as dreadfully awkward. It is what it is. I’ll own that.
This is just a simple case of rural gone urban gone beach bum.
