How Well Do You Know Your Boyfriend?

The idea that it's possible to know someone, *really* know someone, is immensely attactive to me. I'm not the biggest fan in the world of Dr. Phil, but I found this survey on his website and I think it has a lot of merit. It's important to explore and understand the person that you love. So here, in 'public' and live online, I'm gonna see how well I know Steve. I hope, for my sake, that when he looks this one over, he'll be able to tell me that the answer is "pretty well"

* * * * * * * * *

Answer the following questions as honestly as you can. Remember that you need to do this without consulting your partner. The point is to assess how aware of your partner you are now. Make this an honest appraisal.


I can name my partner's three best friends.
Ummm ... I think so! His HLP is Paul, who lives in Liverpool. His alternate HLP is Adam Say, who worked at Walkhome with us. As for #3? I would probably say it's Jamie, a really good friend of his from Thunder Bay.

I know what accomplishments my partner is most proud of.
Steve is proud of a lot of things. The three that come to mind right away are finishing his master's degree (and the awesome thesis that he wrote), beating cancer twice, and landing the senior peer advisor position for S.O.A.R at Queen's

I can identify the happiest time in my partner's life.
I'd be stupid to say that he was happiest when he fell in love with me ;). Probably when the Blue Jays won the world series, when he convocated from Queen's, and seeing Pearl Jam play the first notes of their show in Thunder Bay

I know what my partner considers to be his or her greatest losses in life.
The death of his dad's father, for sure. Perhaps the loss of a beloved left kidney, although this remains to be seen - he seems not to mind too much. I think he misses his old dog Chief, too.

I can describe what my partner considers to be his or her greatest area of difficulty in interacting with each of his parents.
Ummm - I think so. I think that both of his parents have a pretty definite idea of what track their son should be on, and it's hard for him to get them to understand that he's really happy doing what he's doing, which isn't much, right now. He needs a break, and I think that's the hardest thing for them to realize.

I know what will be probably be playing on the radio when my partner is driving somewhere.
Pearl Jam! The Who! Bruce Springsteen! NEXT

I can name the relatives that my partner would most likely try to avoid at a family reunion.
Hahahaha. All of his family are wonderful people. I don't think he actively doesn't like any of them. He's probably closer to some than others though (his dad's mom is a little bit wackers, but that's all I can think of!)

I can describe the most traumatic event that occurred in my partner's childhood.
I would say his Wilm's Tumor, definitely

My partner has clearly identified for me what he or she wants in life.Steve has clearly identified to me that he doesn't know yet what he wants in life, except that he wants to be happy and financially comfortable -- both of which are great aspirations

I can identify the obstacles that my partner believes are preventing his or her getting what he or she wants.
Money and opportunity, at the moment

I know which of my partner's physical features he or she is least happy about.
I'm pretty sure that I do.

I can recall the very first impressions I had of my partner.He was wearing shorts and a red shirt and standing behing the walkhome kiosk. I walked in from the Bagot Street doors and I can remember the whole moment in slow motion. He was tanned and I remember looking at him smiling and being totally overcome with lust - like, pure desire. He's a good looking guy! After talking for a few hours, I was hooked. I went home that night and wrote in my journal about this perfect guy I had met. I had no idea that I would be dating him almost two years later!

I know what section of the Sunday newspaper my partner is likely to turn to first.
SPORTS!

I can describe, in some detail, the home environment in which my partner was raised.
Small town, comfortable house, only child, really caring parents, stable childhood, lots of good friends, a bit geeky but still totally likeable, lots of family around.

I know what makes my partner laugh.
Hopefully I do. But if not, the "I'm Rick James, Bitch" sketch or the Rock Lobster song (with his nerdy dance moves to go with it) never fails to make him bust a gut

I know what my partner's parents would probably say is the thing about my partner that they are most proud of.
Probably his education - my boyfriend is smart beyond belief and I know his parents are really proud of him for that. I also secretly thinks that his mom is thrilled that he's so musical, since she is too.

I can describe two or three decisions my partner made before we met that my partner now regrets — and my partner can do the same about me.
Ummm, I don't think he has a lot of regrets, but I can think of one or two. Does Steve know mine? I have NO idea.

I know which part of a restaurant menu my partner is likely to look at first.
Steve's systematic. He'll read the menu from the appetizers through to the main courses. The first thing he probably looks at is the beer!

I can quote three things my partner says to me that he or she says to no one else in this world.
1. Monkey Monkey Monkey!
2. HEED!
3. Bri-crane, bri-crane
4. It's so hard being Bri Johnson ;)
*NOTE* - I hate all of these sayings. Seriously.

I am thoroughly familiar with my partner's religious beliefs.
I think I know enough to have a fair idea of where he stands on most issues

So - how did I do?

On Gratitude, Again

I'm waiting for the ferry - since it's the end of the holiday, there's a three-sailing wait for cars and a full berth of walk ons, myself included. Since it's so busy, I'm curled up in the corner of the sunny waiting room with my computer, trying to pass the time.

I read through my diary, like the whole thing, last night. A lot of what I've been thinking and feeling lately has been really negative and I was thinking that being unhappy is a really toxic way to be living. I'm sick of waking up at 6:30 every morning and not feeling good - not feeling good about my job or my current situation or my body or whatever. It does nothing but bring me down. So I'm going to try to get back into the habit of looking for and expressing gratitude. I need to come home every night with five things that I am thankful for. Whether or not my day was good or awful, whether or not I find a new job or meet more people in Toronto, looking for things to be thankful for will essentially turn my attitude around; instead of looking for and expecting the negative, I want to focus on the positive. If all I can do every day from now until next september is be thankful for 5 things that I have, that will be enough. If the only prayer I give is thanks, that will be enough.

Today, I'm thankful for the energy to clean, make beds and get organized -- it's not often that you wake up in the morning and feel ready to tackle your literal and proverbial mess. I'm thankful for my mom, who is resiliant and perceptive and strong; she keeps on getting up when she gets knocked down and is an inspiration to me. I am thankful for my little dog Waldo, who curls up at my neck at 6 in the morning, keeping me warm. I'm thankful that I can sleep with my window open, breathing fresh fresh fresh air all night long. Finally, I'm thankful for a beautiful day for a ferry ride. The sun is low over the ocean and the wind feels crisp but not cold, and I am looking forward to finding a window seat and indulging in a good book for the hour-and-a-half trip to Victoria.

It was easier than I thought. I will keep my eyes open for these thankful moments from now on.

Everything that's Already Been Said About Brokeback Mountain

A film like Brokeback Mountain comes along once every couple of years; cinematography that conquers both the Rocky Mountains and the slightest movement of the eyes, acting that makes me forget that I'm seeing Jake so-and-so from the cover of GQ magazine, directing that assumes the intelligence of its audience. I usually go to the movies for the popcorn, but today, I was too busy enjoying one of the most honest and complicated love stories I think someone has ever been brave enough to put on film. I know a lot has been said about this movie and I'm sure it's far more interesting and complete than my own thoughts. But I really want to say this: I like the idea that gay men are no longer being represented on film by characters like Jack from 'Will and Grace', or Queen Eye for the Straight Guy. I like that 'gay' can still mean 'masculine'. I like the idea that a story can be told about a closeted love affair between two cowboys without making any crude jokes about homosexuality. I like that no matter what sexual orientation we tend towards, there is something real and visceral and primitive about falling in love. It didn't matter to me that it was two men onscreen - the passion was evident; I felt it in my toes. Everyone knows what it's like to be stupid-in-love with someone, in that dizzy, frantic, overwhelming way. The fact that two straight actors could create the same intensity on screen was incredible.

You know what's kind of embarrassing to say? The intimate scenes were awkward to watch, at first. Honestly, I don't think anyone expected them to be so brutally stripped down. There was nothing 'sexy' about it - they weren't romantic, there was no swelling music cutting away to an elegant silhouette of two lovers - it was a man, in his most animal form, taking another man. I could hear people in the audience shuffle in their seats and whisper to each other when Jake Gyllenhaal (who played Lone Ranger Jack Twist) fumbled to undo his belt, and bent over in front of Heath Ledger. Presenting himself - it felt like it was too intimate an act for us to be witnessing. I felt like I was being disrespectful. I felt like I needed swelling music and elegant silhouettes. It occurred to me at some point that the same scene between a man and a woman may not have even captured my attention. We've become totally desensitized to man/woman sex. It's still more common to see a romance between two women onscreen than a male/male one. Consider that it's perfectly acceptable for two girls to kiss each other sloppily while dancing on the stage at AJ's Hanger, but if two men engage in the same act, it's 'gay'. A male/male relationship is essentially one of the last taboos, and I applaud the movie for creating something real for us to understand and be a part of. It doesn't hurt that the movie was filmed in Calgary, my hometown. The first half of the movie was filmed entirely in the mountains, and it took my breath away to remember how beautiful it was there (apparently, during the filming of the Fourth of July scenes in Fort McLeod the crew would get the extras pumped up by telling them to act like the Calgary Flames had just won the Stanley Cup!)

All in all, I was better off for having gone to the movies today; I don't know very many films I've seen that I can honestly say that for. And if I can't sum it up with the right words, perhaps the movie's director, Ang Lee, might have put it best:

"In overwhelmingly perceiving Brokeback Mountain as a revolutionary gay love story, the breathless critical apparatus overlooks the nuances that make this as basic and relatable a romance as Romeo and Juliet. Ang Lee has not made a movie about men and men, or men and women--he has made a movie about souls"

Mom with no make-up on :)

Christmas 2005 031, originally uploaded by heybreezy.

My new Christmas hoodie

Christmas 2005 051, originally uploaded by heybreezy.

Waldo and I, reunited

Christmas 2005 011, originally uploaded by heybreezy.

My baba and gido at the dinner table

Christmas 2005 057, originally uploaded by heybreezy.

Cindee's new bangles

Christmas 2005 034, originally uploaded by heybreezy.

My new Christmas fleece (and a funny face)

Christmas 2005 047, originally uploaded by heybreezy.

christmas on the couch

Christmas 2005 044, originally uploaded by heybreezy.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Sometimes, it takes a call from someone who's known you for a long time to make you feel like things have fallen back into their place. I had been having a rough go at it today. After two rounds in the guilt trip ring with my dad and an argumentative and unproductive night on the phone with Steve, I was feeling as though another mediocre Christmas was almost ready to be put into the history books. It might remain so, however, I got an unexpected phone call from someone who knew me and loved me way back when, and an hour later (which passed while my dog patiently waited to be taken out to the bathroom, and ended up peeing on the carpet) I felt like there was someone who really believed in me the way I wanted to be believed in. Someone who thought that I was kind and warm and together and a fighter and a survivor. And it felt good to be believed in tonight, when so many little things had gone wrong. To that person - Thank you. You brought Christmas a little closer back to where it belonged.

Merry Christmas, Baby

It's 11:30 on Christmas Eve and I don't feel inspired to write anything particularly memorable -- I'm still jet lagged today, and am trying to shake off the 2:00am fog as I get myself wound down and ready for bed. I will say that I don't know what I was expecting from Christmas this year, and therefore am totally unsure of whether or not I'll be satisfied or disappointed. I don't know even if it would be fair to be disappointed with Christmas. Perhaps my ideal - Carols and ice skating and big family gatherings and cookie baking, belongs to someone else's life. My reality, today, consisted of going over to Karen's apartment a few floors above us (my mom's best friend), having a glass of champagne and relaxing with them as they exchanged gifts. Tomorrow, my brother and his girlfriend are coming over in the afternoon and we're going to exchange gifts and have a nice dinner together. At some point, I'll make my way over to Victoria to see my dad and my sisters, who are having Christmas together tomorrow morning.

Maybe I still feel the sting of being a divorced kid. Holidays are always a touchy time of year; no matter which parent you spend Christmas with, you know the other one is spending it by themselves, and you feel sad for them. Wherever you are, you feel like you're not entirely at home. Even now, at 22, I'm getting guilt trips from my grandparents for not spending Christmas day with my dad. So part of me glorifies the traditional 2 parents, 2 kids, big tree, stuffed stockings type of Christmas. When I hear about my friends having wonderful celebrations, I feel sad for myself. And that's not what Christmas is all about.

For tomorrow, I only wish that everyone I love, whether I can be with them or not, find peace and happiness for themselves. I wish to be happy where I am. I wish to let go of all of my guilt. I hope for the maturity to understand that even though my family doesn't have money for gifts (even though we all buy one for each other so that no one goes without), that we love each other and are good to each other on a very special day.

My mom just peeked into the room and said, "I wish that I had money so that I could buy you and Regan and everyone I loved things that I saw and wanted them to have". And I told her that there's an infinite number of 'things' out there - like, there's no limit to the material excess that we can indulge in. Sure, there's a lot of things out there that I would love to own, but in the end, 'things' can't make my life better. What's more important to me is the act of giving; the idea that someone has put thought and effort and time into selecting a gift. With this, the gift becomes inconsequential to the giving itself. The key then, when you're in a situation of relative poverty, is to find a way to give thought and effort and time, without adding more 'things' to our life. I don't have the answer, really. But it's more important to give of ourselves, to be open with eachother, to be compassionate and loving and trusting, than to give anything from a store. There may not be much under the tree for me this Christmas, but I have more to give and have received more from my mom and brother than any one of my wealthier friends. I hope that everyone I know can be so lucky.

Merry, merry Christmas, blog world.

Let There Be Light

Hopefully, I won't offend anyone today when I wish them a merry solstice. People have been upset lately with Merry Christmas, which I tend to throw out as sort of a general good tidings thing, only to have people take it personally that I didn't also wish them a happy kwanza (no offense to those who celebrate it). Back to the point: yes, as my housemate pointed out to me while we were eating breakfast and watching sports centre at 6:45 this morning, today is the shortest day of the year (not that we could tell - in our little underground lair, it's dark enough to always be night time). We are at the one polar opposite (forgive the pun) of our astronomical trip around the sun.

In earlier generations (we're talking 30,000 years ago) Solstice was celebrated as the rebirth of the sun, after a long six months of diminishing light. It's interesting to learn that Christmas, or "Christ's Mass" (which is supposed to honour the birth of Christ) was chosen arbitrarily as December 25th when in fact, modern religious scholars have no real idea when his date of birth actually was (although some place it near the beginning of February). December was chosen, in part because it coincided with already existing celebrations for the solstice and the rebirth of the eternal sun. On the roman calendar, the solstice fell on december 25th instead of the 21st - making it a perfect choice. So there you go - Christmas time is not only a chance for us to reflect on humanity/goodwill/religion, etc, but directly connected to the fact that from here, it all gets brighter.

Happy Solstice! Take advantage of that extra time in the dark to cuddle up with a special someone under a big, warm, blanket, turn off the TV, and celebrate in your own horizontally creative way :D

The Domestic Toddler

As I write this, I currently have a four-year-old vacuuming the living room, with the two-year-old toddling behind him, dragging the vacuum cleaner. I'm telling you, this is a fantastic idea for an afternoon activity. Maybe after nap, I can teach them how to arrange the shoes and coats before unloading the diswasher.

I'm going to be a great mom, by the way. Put those kids to work!

10 Steps to a Meaningful Christmas

It's easy to get lost in what's wrong with Christmas. Here's a great article that I came across today to help us find what's really important at this time of year (and I'll save my "don't change the christmas tree to a holiday tree" rant for a later time)

10 steps to a meaningful Christmas

1 Decline all invitations to unimportant parties. You will not miss the room temperature eggnog or the loud co-worker who corners you under the mistletoe. Vow to stay home instead and roast marshmallows with the kids, watch "It's a Wonderful Life", and read "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" out loud.

2 Avoid giving extravagant or generic gifts. Opt for a gift from the heart. Your hairdresser will appreciate homemade cookies as much as an imported box of chocolates. A friend who loves to read will prefer a beautifully wrapped book to an impersonal gift certificate.

3 Schedule a day for yourself - browse in a bookstore, go to an afternoon movie, or enjoy a decadent pedicure.

4 Do something for someone you don't know. Volunteer at a food bank, deliver a basket of goodies to the local fire department, or arrange to read to a senior.
5 Make an anonymous donation to a worthy organization (and don't tell a soul). Many religions consider an anonymous gift to be a divine act.

6 Make an event out of gift-wrapping. Gather all your supplies, play Christmas music, drink apple cider, and get creative. Allow children to participate aim for perfectly charming rather than perfect.

7 Send beautiful cards with photos and a handwritten message instead of a gift to loved ones far away.

8 Fill Christmas stockings with joy - invite family members to drop a special note into each other's stocking.

9 Let everyone contribute to the Christmas meal don't say no when your sister-in-law offers to make the stuffing.

10 Recommit to a focus on the true meaning of Christmas and avoid cynics.

happy holidays and merry christmas everyone

To a Stepmother at Christmas Time

How old was I when I met her – five? six? I was sitting on the floor of the living room in my Dad’s “river house”-the tiny 2-bedroom condo on the bank of the Bow river that he rented when he and my mom split up-this I remember. Sometimes when the river was swollen, water would seep across the lawn and flood the kitchen and living room, and my brother and I wouldn’t be able to jump on the trampoline outside, which was our favorite thing to do. I must have been about 6. She was probably about 26 or 27. My dad was having a party and wanted to introduce me to her, I remember them walking into the living room together. It was very simple, “Brianna, this is Heather”. He didn’t explain that he was in love with her or how they had met or the hundreds of ways she was going to shape me into the person I am today. Just an introduction, and then he left her with me.

Heather didn’t have a lot of experience with kids – in fact, she later confessed to me that I was the first kid she ever really got to know. But instead of asking me where I went to school or what my favorite colour was, she looked at me, started laughing, and threw a blanket over my head. I started laughing too. It took me another three weeks to figure out that she was dad’s girlfriend, and probably a year after that to understand exactly what this meant. In the meantime, we welcomed her into our peculiar, disjointed little family.

Heather was my step-mom for the next 15 years. She taught me about alcohol, took me to see dirty movies (by accident) when I was far too young for them, encouraged me to take major fashion risks, and never, not once, lost faith in me. Faith in my ability to figure it out. No matter what, I felt that Heather was always on my side, that she ‘got’ me. Example: when I was about ten, I started to feel really anxious about my life. I was mad at my mom, mad at my teacher, mad at my soccer coach, and mad at myself. I was awkward and lanky and not at all cool, and bewildered by how my life was changing. Instead of lecturing me, Heather decided that we should go for a drive. She drove me an hour out of Calgary into the countryside, steered the Jeep into a cornfield, and parked. Then, she told me to scream as loud as I wanted, say whatever I wanted, and get as mad as I could at whoever upset me. At first I was reluctant, but them we started to scream together. I got out of the car and yelled at the top of my lungs, “I f***ing hate you. I hate everything. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop”. I remember pulling corn stalks out of the ground and throwing them, whipping them against the dirt. I remember crying harder than I had ever cried before, or since. I had so much sadness inside of me that no one had ever been able to release before that cornfield. Somehow, Heather knew.

She had two children with my dad – the complete and absolute loves of my life, Jessica and Hannah, a family again for me. This year though, after years and years of fighting and uncertainity, my dad and Heather decided to divorce. It was probably best for everyone, but I feel like my heart has been ripped into pieces and scattered across the country. She’s living in Calgary with the girls now and I miss them terribly. My family now consists of my mom, living alone in Coquitlam, my brother, living with his girlfriend in North Van, my dad, living alone in Victoria and my sisters and step-mom (ex-step-mom?) living in Calgary. I don’t know how to reconcile this and sometimes I think it’s ruining me. All I want is to be home, to have one place that is home, to be together, for people to love each other. It was sobering for me, a moment when I finally felt as though I had grown up, when I realized that I’m too small to make this happen. I’ve been trying for so long to foster this love and I just can’t find it. People just keep breaking off. I don’t know how much more of me there is to give before I’ve loved as much as I can, and finally need something back.

View from Balcony

View from Balcony
Originally uploaded by just bri.

The view from the hotel I stayed at last week in the US Virgin Islands, working as a nanny for my employers in toronto

Ritz Carlton Swimming Pool

Ritz Carlton Swimming Pool
Originally uploaded by just bri.

St. John, USVI

St. John, USVI
Originally uploaded by just bri.

St.. John was the tiniest, most incredible island I've ever seen. It was too beautiful for words. 3/4 of the island is protected forests, so it's really untouched

Trunk Bay

Trunk Bay
Originally uploaded by just bri.

Trunk Bay on St. John was a paradise beach - the water was so blue and clear, little seashells scattered everywhere and the sand was white white white.

Ocean Girls

Ocean Girls
Originally uploaded by just bri.

Me and the little munchkin that I look after

Iguana

Iguana
Originally uploaded by just bri.

The iguana were everywhere! This picture was taken in the restaurant - there were about 6 others behind this guy, but he was the friendliest

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Relax, relax. I'm not as materialistic as you might think. On the contrary, it took me almost three weeks to come up with a list of things that I want for myself. It's not that I'm hard to shop for - I could spend hours in the Eaton Centre looking at shoes and jewelry and other female necessities- it's more that I don't know if I want anything badly enough to ask for it specifically. Regardless, my mom asked for a list, and a list my mom shall recieve. This way, she can pick and choose, and I can have a reference to come back to when I get a nice, fat, christmas bonus from my employer (which, honestly, isn't going to happen).

I am a material girl. Go ahead and say it. But indulge me, this once.

1. Hardcover editions of my Favorite Classics:
A Little Princess
The Secret Garden
Little Women
A Little Prince
Charlotte's Web
Anne of Green Gables
Tuck Everlasting
Heidi
Old Yeller
Little House in the Big Woods
*each of these books in intensely special to me for different reasons. I would love to eventually have a library of all my dearest books that I can read and reread as many times as I want

2. A pair of Frye Cowboy Boots, like these ones from Victoria's Secret



3. DVDs
Desperate Housewives Season 1
24 Season 2
Shakespeare in Love
Sleepless in Seattle

4. A nice, warm sweater from the Gap, AmEagle, RWCo, etc

Okay, so the cowboy boots are a stretch ... but could you image strutting down the street in a pair of Fryes? Where I come from (calgary ... yahooooo!), that'd make you TOP DOG. I guess I'll keep dreaming for that big christmas bonus!

In the meantime - thanks, y'all, for putting up with my list :D

Now I Can Die in Peace

The last time I was on a vacation, I was 10 years old and my mom, brother, step-dad and I all went to Mexico and spent two weeks in a resort. The memories that I have vary from awful (I was stung by a jelly fish, my mom and gord fought a lot, I had to wear dorky 1980's hand me downs) to amazing (who doesn't love to boogie board in mexico!). Now, in 10 days, I will be going on my first vacation in 12 years, and I almost don't know what to expect. The family I nanny for is taking me with them down to the US Virgin Islands for 8 days, where I will be responsible for child care, diapers, baths, reading "good night moon" and trying to find kid-friendly food at the Ritz Carlton, where the menu is written entirely in French. I can't wait. I'm going to be worked to death, not paid a cent for it, and happy as a proverbial clam. I always used to be so jealous of friends who went away with their families at Christmas time - now, I get to join the ranks - even if I'm just the paid help.

It's been a long week folks, and it's only a few more hours until I'm done work and I get to see "rent" with my amazing boyfriend and our amazing pal Ginny -- a great way to end a hell of a day (too boring to talk about, but crazy, believe me). Have a wonderful and safe weekend, and I'm sure you'll hear from me tomorrow, Steve and I are celebrating our one year anniversary with an honest to goodness, dress up, butterflies in the tummy date. Saturday night (not to mention my vacation!) couldn't come soon enough.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Tonight, on my short walk from the street car stop to my house, I witnessed a cat being mauled to death by two, large raccoons (and yes, I do live in downtown Toronto). I can't imagine how the argument started, or why the second 'coon decided to step in and help his buddy. I don't know how long they had been scrapping for. But there they were in the middle of the road, two snarling animals the size of dogs, high pitched screams coming from their mouths and a small, brown cat, barely mewing as it was killed. I was mortified. I feel a lot of remorse for not doing something to stop it, for not saving the cat. I feel sad for the family who lost a pet.

It was the first time that I had ever, in my entire life, witnessed something die. I've never seen an animal be euthanized, I've never been in the hospital room while someone was on their death bed, I've never watched one animal kill another. It's a strikingly present image. I can't imagine how I managed to go 22 years, escaping death entirely.

I hope that everyone, and their cats, are safe at home tonight. I'll say a little prayer for the kitten who died, and thank my lucky stars that I don't live in a place where people witness so much death that they are desensitized to it; I am thankful tonight for how little I've actually seen.

-b

A Dog's Life

It's time to get a dog - maybe not RIGHT NOW, but in the next few years. I actually don't think I can imagine my life without a dog for very much longer; as soon as I'm settled into a somewhat long-term living and working arrangement, I'll make an addition to my little family of one.

First, I want to get a nice, big poodle-mix, like a labradoodle or a wheaten terrier-poodle, like this one: Which I would name "Seaweed"

Then, I want to get a pug-mix, like this little pug-beagle and I'll name him "Duckie" ... after my favorite movie character of all time.

At least, that's the plan for today. So many dogs, so hard to choose!

John Orr, in Pictures

On the subway - look at how sexy we make the TTC!


On the bus, slightly drunk, en-route to the wine and cheese at Julie's ... classy!


Steve, forever remembered now as 'the guy who forgot to keep his eyes open" (other wise known as Steve, post-bambino)


Katie, Car, Ginny and Sarah


Steve and E-Way ... potentially my future Vancouver housemate :D


A spontaneous LFO reunion of sorts (and no, Steve, you'll never know)


How's this for symbolism? Queen's Bands: Ghosts of the Past (and yes, I'm the biggest dork on the internet)


Dan Jacob joins in on the fun


A somewhat better pic of me and my red-eyed boyfriend


Classic Steve and Cam .... after they made me take about 14 shots of them in different poses

Back to work I go, I guess. I felt so tired this morning that I barely had the energy to hit my snooze button 5 times. But don't worry. I did it anyway, and was gladly late for work as a result.

Another weekend, another Queen's reunion

I'm now 24 hours into a hangover after going to the John Orr Alumni ball with more total people than I've seen in Toronto since I've moved here (for the record, the posse consisted of Steve, Sarah, Erin Way, James, Ginny, Katie, Kevin D, Julie and her BF Dave, Kristina and Goeff D) It was almost like a high-school reunion - lots of talking to people that you sort of recognized but didn't really have the motivation to keep in contact with, a few genuinely surprising and welcome appearances from people who played an important part in your university life, a lot of crazy Queen's Bands dancing and playing, big smiles, sore feet, lots of booze. It was a classy affair - the first black tie event I've ever attended - and for the first time in my life, I felt as though I had truely achieved adult status. When we all piled into Julie F's apartment, drinking wine, eating little pieces of crusty bread and talking about our jobs and our apartments, I felt as though some part of my life had, without my knowledge, given way to something more polished and refined. Then again, it could all have been an illusion, albeit a welcome one. I felt fantastic, Steve looked like a million bucks, and I was treated like a Queen by the alumni association. I guess there's something to be said for the degree that I have rolled up in my closet somewhere. And something more important to be said for friendships that genuinely transcend the barrier between university and the "real life"; I know now that I have people who I can get together with in 10 years, and still love as dearly as I did last night. I don't feel quite so alone right now.

I'm struggling to find meaning (which I'm sure is a pretty popular blog topic for twenty somethings). I was talking last night to a bunch of people who, regardless of what field they were working in, were overworked, underpaid, and with the exception of my ex-housemate who I ran into, who is currently making almost 100 grand a year- pretty unhappy. Like, straight across the board. And even though it made me feel better ('cause, y'know, misery loves company), I struggled with the idea that life can't be fantastic when you're starting out. That there can't be SOMETHING out there that will make us genuinely excited to wake up in the morning. And maybe, y'know, it can't be an external force. Maybe at this point it has to come from inside of us. I truely believe that young people are idealistic and wonderous and have bright, shiny dreams, because if we didn't, we wouldn't survive this part of our life. Like, the only thing that I can think about right now is how much better things are going to continue to get for me. I am scared of the day where I will wake up and say, "this is it. This is the best that it's ever going to be for me". Humans are creatures of self-renewal, and when we can throw out a husband as easily as we can throw out a broken microwave, maybe we never have to be content with what we have.

This is my goal -- to be content right now. Here, wherever "here" is this year, is good enough. At the same time, I want to make it count in a way that is meaningful either to me or to someone else. Whether I work on my health, start writing poetry, I dunno, just have something that matters to me, I feel like I may just come out of this battle a better person, rather than someone who spent the year waiting for life to start.

Time Stops for No Man

I'm back, I suppose, as much as I was ever gone. After a string of poorly-written blog entries about things that didn't matter (all of which I eventually deleted instead of posting them), I feel like I might as well write something, if only because I had a few kodak moments this week that stood out among the drudgery of cold, wet rain. Like, literally, it's been the type of weather in Toronto lately that makes you want to wrap yourself up in an Afghan in front of a fire place and read some sort of brooding epic, like Wuthering Heights. But I digress.

Kodak moments - beautiful things have been happening to me, things that are so small. Example: today, I thought it would be a good idea to take the kids on an outing to the passport office. Apparently, 1/2 of Toronto also had the same good idea, and we ended up sitting on the floor in the corner of an enormous waiting room filled with hundreds of bored-looking people, eating peanut butter sandwiches with no crusts, and debating how to spend the next 2 hours and 45 minutes we would have to wait before our number was called. I quickly calculated how many times I would have to sing the Spiderman Theme song to pass the time, and JUST as I was about to cut my wrist open with a plastic kiddie knife from ikea and die in the corner, unceremoniously covered in yogurt, tears and dog fluff (and with unwashed hair!) .... are you still with me here?.... a lady walked over and offered to trade numbers with us, effectively cutting our wait to 20 minutes. The woman was so kind, and I was probably not thankful enough, but I am eternally grateful to her for her gesture. I briefly considered posting one of those "thank you" notices in the Toronto Star, next to the obituaries and birth announcements, but decided against it -- honouring her here, instead. If you're out there, wonderful lady, thank you for potentially saving my life.

Sometimes the days feel like they have no real meaning, but when you clump them all together, in the rosy glow of hindsight, you realize that you're already 1/4 of the way through your self imposed "year off", and have somehow been surviving it, despite all of the complaining you do. I hate the feeling of wanting to complain. I mean, how bad is my life, really? I work. I sleep. I eat. Once in a while, when I'm lucky, I get to seduce my extremely seduceable boyfriend. I try to stay in touch with friends and family. I don't really have anyone here on Toronto that I'm close with, but at the same time, I don't really have any time to be close to anyone - I leave the house at 7 in the morning, and am home after 7pm, with just enough time to read a few pages of a good book, or write an email to my mom, before I get up and do it again. I'm alone, but not necessarily lonely, unless I really take the time to think about it. When I REALLY think about it, I'm so painfully lonely that my whole chest hurts and I want to take a bus back to Kingston and feel like I belong again. How I ended up this way, I'm not sure. Everyone important to me isn't in my area code. Maybe it's time to branch out.

My hockey team -- now there's a source of comfort. The game against Detroit is on in the background and I have all of the games marked in my little calendar so that I can keep up with them. Just a side note, I guess. I hate talking about depressing things. I'd rather focus on the Flames' winning streak, or on mine and Steve's 1 year anniversary, which is just a little more than a week away, or on my teacher's college applications, which are finally getting done. Despite the cold rain and my sometimes brooding attitude, there are little kodak moments everywhere. I just need to know where to look.

Today I'm grateful for:

- The lady, obviously, who gave us her ticket at the passport office, for no apparent reason (other than the lucky horseshoe that someone must have slipped in my pocket)

- the Calgary hockey game that is on TV, giving me a great excuse to stay in and veg

- Short cat-naps, caught wherever and whenever possible

-Getting a ride to the subway on a day where I just couldn't bring myself to walk (thanks, sweetheart)

The Pumpkin King, in Pictures

Today, with the playground feeling slightly soppy and an entire afternoon looming before us, the kids and I decided that it would be a good idea to carve a pumpkin. Never mind the fact that I have never carved a pumpkin before in my life (and the kids certainly haven't, as their parents probably wouldn't let them near something to potentially dangerous as a knife, a gourd and a candle) - we were on a mission. I bundled up the littles and headed to the local organic food store; when the parents came home and killed me for making a mess of their children, at least I could tell them that there were no pesticides involved.

We found the perfect pumpkin. A plump, round, 15 pound giant with a nice smooth face for cutting out a design. Getting it (and the stroller) into the store was enough of a challenge -- getting it the 5 blocks home was gonna be impossible. So we came to a solution: Rebecca and the pumpkin strapped into the double stroller, and Peter helping me to push and making sure the pumpkin didn't roll out when we went down sidewalk declines.



The rest of the pictures pretty much tell the story of my afternoon. Take a look and see for yourself:



Rebecca, smiling with a crude version of "cheese"



Peter giving me his Jack-O-Lantern face



The mess that we made (god help us if the parents walk in the front door at this moment)



Look, it's me! And I'm a bit of a slob. (Yes, I let a four-year-old use my digital camera, and yes, I recognize the inherent risk. But it kept him occupied for ALMOST AN HOUR)



And this is the final product - a semi reasonable Jack O Lantern for the family. Boy was I proud of myself :D



So that was my day. Here's a cool link for you all: Try to beat my insane and incredible carving ability by testing your skills carving this online jack-o-lantern: http://www.toilette-humor.com/flash/carve_pumpkin.swf

Murphy's Law

If, IF there was any chance, you have a long, draining week at work where the weather man on the 7am news calls for nothing but rain and you're stuck with two very energetic children who aren't allowed to watch television and have incredibly short attention spans, chances are that you'll also wake up so sick on tuesday morning that you're barely able to walk without rolling your head around and smashing it into the door frame (true story).

This is what my sinuses look like (I found a lot of really cool pictures, but they were a lot more gross...)


And this is what the children were like, in my poor, sick little mind today (even though I let them watch spider man, eat the bubbles in the bubble bath and put nesquik in their milk, all of which are STRICTLY forbidden)


And the worst part is that I have to do it all again tomorrow, and this time, I don't have the luxury of *all-new* chocolate milk and television to keep them occupied.

I shall step off of my soapbox now and stop complaining. And yes, I am fully aware that there are people in earth-quake ravaged parts of this world who don't have televisions ... please don't make me feel guilty.

Turkey Weekend in Pictures

Random pictures from my weekend .....


Peter, 4 years old, hams it up for the camera (one of my nanny charges)



Steve and Lindsey, after the Leafs lost (it's hard to figure out why they're still smiling!)


Rebecca, 2 and a half years old, has fun painting on friday (one of the kids I am a nanny for)


Steve and I, hanging out at the Loose Moose with Lindsey Reed, watching the hockey game on Saturday night



If you're handsome-and-you-know-it, strike a pose in the mirror so that your girlfriend can capture you in all of your egotistical glory


Steve and his cousin Cam in Casa Loma after brunch


Casa Loma, a really neat historical site in Toronto where we had brunch with the Johns family on sunday morning


Steve's cousin Ashley and her boyfriend Jeff (she's my age) outside of Casa Loma


Steve and I outside of CL .... I hate taking pictures with myself in them.

I'm Hopping on the Bandwagon's Bandwagon

With *my* own version of itunes top 8 songs of September (and the beginning of October, since it didn't occur to me until today to see what I've been listening to). Pearl Jam's holy influence is clearly evident. Hopefully, this gem of a list will be enough content to appease the reading public until I recover from being absolutely exhausted and am able to post again.

1. "Hail Hail" by Pearl Jam
2. "Two Steps Behind" by Def Leppard
3. "Can't Keep" by Pearl Jam
4. "Let Me Down Slow" by the Rolling Stones
5. "Nothing Better" by the Postal Service
6. "Crush" by the Smashing Pumpkins
7. "Romeo and Juliet" by Everclear (with the greatest line ever ... "you look so fucking stupid)
8. "She is Love" by Oasis
9. "Oceans" by Pearl Jam
10. "Straight No Chaser" by John Coltrane

I've been doing a lot of nothing in September, save for sitting at my computer job hunting and listening to music; if nothing else, this is a really accurate look at my current musical personality. And since the hockey games *aren't* being shown on CBC tonight, and my cable service ("service"?) only gives me channels 1-10, I have a whole lot of nothing more to do :D

True Confessions of a Popcorn Addict

Tomorrow, I return to reality. After a month of doing what amounted to basically nothing (because really, in the 21st century, 'job hunting' and 'hitting the pavement' amounts to sending your resume via email to loads of companies and hoping it doesn't end up in the junk mail box) I start work tomorrow morning at 8:00am sharp. I hate the feeling of a new job -- one that I liken to the feeling of the first day of school, where you're nervous and excited and worried and have more questions than answers. Yes, I know that I'm looking after toddlers -it's not rocket science- but I'm also going to be in the delicate position of assuming the child rearing responsibilities of someone else's children. And I can bet you that they will want their children reared THEIR way. This means that everything from discipline to baby mozart to frying eggs must be done in particular a fashion. I'll also be taking responsibility for the family groceries, the family dogs, the pre-school activities (music, art, etc) and preparing dinner each night.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it. But thinking about money perks me up, just a bit.

So wish me luck - this is my life for the next 12 months! Let's all hope that in 12 months I don't reduce myself to talking in baby speak and walking around with a bit of spit up on my shirt without realizing it.

This Time All The Stars Were Real

(this will become a real review of Billy Crystal's show "700 Sundays", sometime tomorrow when it's not 2:30 in the morning!)

-b

The Nanny Diaries

Well, I did it. I got myself a job. More importantly, I got myself a job that I swore I wasn't going to get myself. I took a nannying position today, caring for a 2 year old and a 4 year old, the parents of two very busy and rather wealthy lawyers. I'll be making a little more than 1600.00 a month after taxes, which (although less than a corporate position) is fine by me, since I figure that I won't be spending more than 1100 dollars in any given month. Perks? All of my meals are paid for, I get to wear sweatpants to work, and I don't have to deal with office politics, high heels, or any sort of job stress. Drawbacks? I start at 7:45 in the morning, and don't finish until 6 at night. Yeah - long days. But it's not as though I have anything else to do with my time this year, and anything that I would be doing while I was at home (reading, watching TV, going on the internet) I will have ample time to do there -- the kids are in school in the mornings, and take naps in the afternoons.

So this is it - I'm a working girl! I start next tuesday, and although i'm a little bit unsure, in that "what the hell am I getting myself into" sort of way, I'm also excited that I'll be making money. For the first time in years, I am never going to be worried about money -- about having enough to buy groceries or pay the bills. And that, my friends, is a fantastic feeling. Just call me Nanny Bri

Go-Go-Gadget Google(ism)

I've stumbled across a fantastic site (and I'm sure -please don't rub it in- that I'm absolutely the last to know, but I digress) Googlism (www.googlism.com) is a website that searches all of the websites on google for reference to a person, place or thing. Basically, it looks for judgement sentences or phrases involving a word of your choice.

So I went there, and typed in "Brianna". And here, in no particular order, are some of the things that people think and have wrote about Brianna, world wide:

brianna is a modern feminine form of brian

brianna is 100% dependant on me

brianna is the proprietress of blackthorne cottage

brianna is the kind of heroine i doubt existed in the twelfth century

brianna is too proud to ask labelle for help and instead sells most of her possessions at a yard sale

brianna is 3 years 10 months old

brianna is in therapy so she can learn to use her right eye again

brianna is the one with the attitude?

brianna is from arizona state and has just the right personality to work at the fries concession

And my personal favorite: "brianna is the result of an experiment involving science and technology"

But nothing could be so good as the following (after typing in "Stephen Johns") stephen johns is scheduled to be executed by the state of missouri on october 24th

There you have it, folks. Go and googlism yourself, and let me know if people think so positively about YOU!

Face to Face at Last

The underwater ocean world is a scary place -- ever since I was stung by a jelly fish in the pacific ocean in grade 5, I've been rightfully wary of the sharks, plants, fish and other oddities that live under the water. Like, it's INCREDBLE how little we know about what goes on there -- apparently deep sea has been dubbed the "real final frontier"; we know more about our galexy and solar system than we do about some places on our own planet. Case in point: today, for the first time in history, scientists captured live footage of the elusive giant squid, more than a kilometer beneath the ocean off the shores of japan. And this thing is huge - the average giant squid is significantly larger than a city bus ... could you imagine? After hours of struggling, when the squid broke free from the trap, it left behind a 5 meter long tentacle that was STILL FUNCTIONAL when they pulled it up on board the ship, suctioning itself to people and flopping around. And you wonder why I don't ACTUALLY surf. That's messed up. The coolest part is? We have no idea what else is down there.

Here's a picture of a dead giant flying squid ... it's 1/2 the size of the one they found today. Put that in your calamari and chew it!

The photographs that we don't see

her
Originally uploaded by Rosie O'Donnell.

In preparation for a scalding entry tonight on celebrity blogs, I was perusing Rosie O'Donnell's photos on her blog, which lead me to her flickr collection (online photo album, for those of us who aren't blog saavy). And there, within pictures of her getting dressed for her stint on Fiddler on the Roof and shots of her kids going to school, were a collection of pictures of New Orleans. Whether these were sent to her or taken by Rosie herself, it's hard to say.

It's hard to say a lot about this, actually. And graphic as it might be, I think it's really important to know that it exists. The death toll today rose above 1000 people and as more staff are hired to sweep the waters and check each and every attic, closet and basement, more are going to be found. I'd like to reccommend that this photograph, in particular, be used for the 2008 Republican Campaign. Pity the man (or woman, fingers crossed) who has to inherit this backwards, confused and war-hungry administration. This girl didn't get to go to her first day of school this year. There's not a lot that anyone can do to fix that.

Dick Cheney mentioned in an interview that George Bush was "lucky" to have Hurricane Rita roaring towards the Texas coast, because it gave him a second chance to repair his damaged relationship with the american public by providing faster emergency services. But a hurricane, and 1000 ensuing deaths, isn't something that you get a practice shot at. That's why you were hired for the job - for the one-shot deals. The world is watching, and I sincerely hope that after the storm passes this weekend, there won't be any photographs like this one for us to bear.

-b

3 Concerts in Review

And just like that, the era of my life that I like to call "touring steve and frantically trying to secure tickets at the last moment Bri" has come to an end. As much as I've neglected my blog this summer, I feel like it deserves a second chance. Something about the semi-publicness of this space kind of got to me; I couldn't decide whether to take the "fuck-it" attitude and write whatever I felt like writing, or try to please the throng of admirers (usually telling me that they like my blog, keep up the good work, and have I been to their travel site recently?) and write something that might actually be worth reading. THEN, I realized that unlike my word-slut boyfriend, I'm not a writer. Not for other people, anyway, and attempting to write something worthwhile and failing is much more embarrassing than pretending like I don't care.

Where does that leave me? 2 weeks into the new year and 4 concert reviews behind! The blog must go on, if only because I promised myself that it would, and it really has become an exercise in self-discovery. And while I may only aspire to the likes of the blog-greats, I still want to hope that my words could mean something ... even if only to myself ... in 50 years. I constantly think about Ann Frank, who my best friend bears a striking resemblance to; she had NO idea her diary was going to be published in 36 different languages and read by millions of people. Shouldn't I at least be considerate of the possibility?

Right - the concerts. I won't attempt to write an intellectual and well-constructed review, but I do have a few notes about seeing Pearl Jam 3 times on their cross-Canadian tour, and U2 wedged inbetween for good measure. Most of them are positive. My first PJ experience, in particular, was extraordinary. The London venue was gorgeous, small, intimate and packed with genuine die-hards who had an energetic wave going before the show started. It was electric. At that point, not having ever seen the band in concert, everything that I heard was a treat. Seeing the show with Steve made it 100% more meaningful to me -- knowing how excited he was to be there was something that I fed off of. in a strange way, I was really proud of him. He was surrounded by people who claimed to be PJ's biggest fans and he held his own. I was proud to tell the couple sitting next to us that he was sitting 7th row at the Thunder Bay show. I was proud when he knew the names of obscure Bruce Springsteen and Dead Kennedy covers that I had never heard before. I was proud that he knew all of the hand signals to the song Animal. Like, he just glew. Couple that with a blistering set-list, including oft sought after but rarely played "Hard To Imagine" and I was TOTALLY satisfied.

Being satisfied didn't stop Michael and I from being complete idiots, however. He came home from work the following night and asked me how the concert was. After gushing about it to him, I casually mentioned that the Hamilton show that night hadn't quite sold out yet. He eyed me cautiously. "We should go", he said. I tried to gage if he was serious. "Could you imagine how crazy that would be?" I replied. And we looked at each other. After a drawn out silence, he suggested, "do you want to?"

And that was it. We got Alana, who probably could name two Pearl Jam songs, tops, to drive us to Hamilton, picked up 40 dollar scalpers tickets and took it in from the back of Copps coliseum. The set list was solid, I heard a TON of songs I hadn't heard the night before and I was totally fucking proud of myself for being such a bad-ass.

The third show, in Toronto, I managed to get a ticket to from Alana, who decided after the Hamilton show that PJ wasn't her groove. I was more than happy to agree, if not persuade her that she was right. Again, an awesome performance, an awesome setlist, an awesome crowd.

HIGHLIGHTS:
- hearing "Small Town" for the first time live
- seeing Stone, who had been asked to sing, approach the mic and say, "What I really want to do is dance" ... with sexy butt-shaking to follow
- Bono and Eddie, along with a trio of tambourines, ripping up "Keep On Rocking in the Free World" together during the second encore in Toronto
- All of the solid, friendly and gracious PJ fans that I met and had wild conversations with
- Phone calls from Steve from each of the 4 venues that I didn't go to, with his cell held up toward the stage so that I could hear whatever was playing
- Hearing "Hard to Imagine", "Thumbing My Way", "Oceans", "You Are", "In My Tree", "I Am Mine" and "Present Tense"

DISAPPOINTMENTS:
- sitting up in the 300s was a lot different and a lot less special than being on the floor
- not hearing "Long Road", "Baba O'Reilly" or "Last Kiss"

So I guess, in the end, I completed a little tour of my own! More on the U2 concerts later (well, concert singular). I'm off to sleep.

Random Photo #4

The lovely Alex and I on a walk-home shift. As to his head-dress, your guess is as good as mine!

I Can Hear The Bells

There is no feeling quite so giddy as having that 'underwater' effect in your ears post concert, where everyone sounds like they're yelling at you while submerged in a bathtub. The shock of the normal decibel range sounds almost foreign, as though the concert was in technicolour and the rest of the world in shades of grey. That's how you know you had a good night -- if you've damaged your hearing. More than an hour after Bono and Eddie Vedder brought down the ACC tonight during a passionate cover of "Rockin' in the Free World", my ears are ringing and I have blisters on the bottom (yes, bottom) of my feet, either from walking from my house to the ACC (in a cool 47 minutes) or from standing in section 321 for a solid 2.5 hours straight.

It was a strange and unexpected way to end what was already a strange and unexpected day for me. Beyond the fact that I was somehow able to catch the Pearl Jam craze before it moved east to the lovely city of Quebec ... City (and ending my lovely boyfriend's obsessive, 2-week string of PJ shows in 7 different cities, thus returning to me a much more normal, if slightly exhausted Steve), today was also notably the day that I dropped out of graduate school.

It was such an easy thing to do. And I feel like a bit of a biter to be writing about it here today, because Steve and I actually resigned from our respective University of Toronto programs within hours of each other, but it was a legitimate decision for each of us. And yes, we're probably going to start picking out matching outfits and power walking in the mall together, now that we have all of this time on our hands and have evidently decided to make all of our decisions jointly, but I digress. I am no longer registered as a masters student at the Graduate Centre for the Study of Drama and I feel as though I maybe never was -- as though it was merely a typo on a long list of good decisions with positive repercussions. Coming to Toronto was a good decision. Deciding to enlist in higher education was a good decision. But drama, for me, was no longer a good decision. Part of me applied for the program because there was nothing else that I could see myself doing this year. Part of me applied just for the excitement and honor of getting in. I like challenges. I like to see how far I can take myself. I was proud to tell people that I was going to graduate school - it was something that very few people in my family (2, that I can think of ... My dad and a great-uncle) would be able to say. But I never really made the distinction between being passionate about getting a grad degree and being passionate about committing myself to 5 full credits of graduate drama.

Right away, I think, as soon as I went to my first class (which happened to be taught primarily IN Italian) I knew that I was in the wrong place. The things that I wanted to study in detail and the way I wanted to contribute my knowledge and passion no longer had any real connection to this community. I don't care about dramaturgy or directing or women in 20th century theatre or Canadian history ... or anything. I felt so indifferent that I debated attending my second class, and my third. I was in the wrong place. I want to teach and work with children and make decisions about curriculum and get people excited about art. So I went in today, explained this to my graduate co-ordinator (who sent me on my way with a big hug and a promise to stay in touch, bless her) and I'm done.

What next? I have no idea. I also, as of today, have no child support, no more interest-free student loans, no disability income from my mom's pension, no health insurance, no flight benefits, no money in my bank account and no job. And yes, I did happen to have a bit of a breakdown yesterday. But I'm so excited about the idea of spending a year on ME: making money (soon, soon), exercising, reconnecting with friends, volunteering for a group that I care about, getting to know Toronto, and most of all - NOT going to school, that my positives seem to brightly outshine any obstacles that I'm going to have to overcome. I have nothing but choices and therefore nothing but opportunities, all of which I can't wait to be a part of. I'm reminded of my favorite Jann Arden line, which I come back to every time I feel lost:

"feet on ground/heart in hand/facing forward/be yourself"

and I think to myself that I can really do it. It has been a REALLY big day for me, but like Steve told me last night, maybe it was the day AFTER I dropped out that I was really scared about. Hopefully tomorrow, when things are inevitably tough again, I won't forget how 'right' I feel right now.

Look ahead in the distance

I don't know why I've put this off for so long. I've been waiting to find a punctuation point over what has quickly become the chaos of the last two weeks here in Toronto; I need a moment where I feel like I've achieved enough to be able to comment objectively, or even subjectively, about anything. But everything feels like it keeps looping over itself -days, nights, to-do lists, worries, excitement, change- and I can't get far enough away from my life, disentangled maybe, to be able to write about it.

So here I am. The current scene doesn't appear, to the casual observer, any different from the previous two weeks. My music is playing (softly, because Michael's asleep), I've got a bowl of dry cheerios in front of me (the milk went sour), I've cleaned my room and wrote some emails and made a couple of phone calls and checked for text messages from my boy friend (there were none), and worried a bit about bills and people and other things that are really hard to worry about because you can never really make things right. But the difference tonight, the big difference and the reason why I'm able to sit down and spill my guts, is that I've found my punctuation mark, as it were. I'm coming up for air. Today, I pretty much made the decision to drop out of grad school.

But saying "dropping out" sounds so ugly. It makes it seem as though I've failed somehow, when I truly believe that it was the program that failed me. Okay, maybe it didn't FAIL me, but it certainly didn't live up to my expectations. And honestly, when I give it enough serious thought, I'm not even that emotionally invested in it. Like, it doesn't bother me that I won't be going, don't want to be going. I kind of just feel numb, really.

I tried to explain it to someone tonight by likening it to sexual attraction. When you meet someone with whom you have chemistry, you want to get to know them more. They excite you and intrigue you and make you nervous and you want to get to know them better. Sure, they may turn out to be a horrible match for you, and you end up burning pictures of them over a garbage can, but at least you gave them a chance. At least there was that spark. But with me and grad school, it was like there was no spark at all. As soon as I became a part of the graduate program, I realized that it and I didn't have a future together. There was no attraction, no interest; I was even somewhat repulsed. I think that it might be better for both grad school and I to end things now while we're still able to be amicable, rather than delaying an inevitably messy and expensive divorce down the road. No hard feelings, Drama Centre et al. ... I'm just not that into you. It's not you, it's me. I'm sure you'll make someone very happy one day. I'm also sure that one day I'll be able to love school again - I just need a little bit of time right now to figure out who I am.

Speaking of which (or not, really, but a segue of some sort seemed necessary), have you ever met someone with a defeatist attitude when it comes to relationships? Their attitude is, "every relationship that I will ever have, with the possible exception of one, will end in a break-up" ... so why bother at all, right? I always hated when I was in junior high and high school and would have to field comments from people about my relationships like "you know you're not going to get married, right?" Of course I knew. But eventually, you find the person that you ARE going to get married to, ergo you have to treat each relationship as though it might be the one. I mean, we have no idea, do we.

Just some vague and rambling observations, I guess. I'm trying not to get into the gritty detail of my life in the past few weeks, because it's just as boring as it is complex to me. I moved to Toronto, painted my bedroom, bought a bunch of Ikea furniture, drove a UHaul around for a day with Steve-as-wingman, got organized for school, started school, hated school. I dunno. It all seems so average and uneventful and meaningless. I feel homesick, but I'm not sure what for. Queen's? No - I was ready to leave by the time I was finished, excited to move on to new things. Vancouver? Vancouver isn't really home for me. I dunno. I guess I just want something that makes me feel secure. I act as though I can easily accomodate change, but the truth is that it throws me into a spiral that I struggle to get out of. I like constancy. I like knowing. I like security. I like routine. I don't like feeling scared and lonely, and I dislike writing about it even more.

A couple of days ago while I was organizing my files, I came across a large stack of thank you letters, love letters and friendship letters that I had accumulated over the last 10 years or so - everything from a valentine that I got from a boy in grade 4, to a letter from Alana at the end of university that still puts a lump in my throat to read. Spreading out the cards and letters, looking through old professions of love from boys I had once kissed, christmas cards from junior high friends ... made me feel like if I could somehow wrap up the security and affection from them, I would know how to be happy. I love writing letters, although my letter writing project went a little bit astray. I am reminded of how important it is to tell other people that you appreciate them. My collection is now in a special box, ready to be pulled out any time I feel like no one knows I exist yet in this big city.

It's getting late ... almost two hours after I started (and after various inturruptions). I'm not sure if this is what my entry was supposed to be like, or if I meant to swing it towards sports and shows and concerts and other things that are a little less about me and a little more about my world. But this will have to do. Once I get things figured out, you'll be the first to know. Until then, thanks for listening.

-b

Animal Liberation

If you're looking for a really controversial topic to bring up around the water cooler in these last days of the summer job, take a look at PETA's "Animal Liberation" website, and try to understand the basis behind some of their arguments. Pictures of elephants in chains being compared to pictures of african slaves in chains. Get it? We're bad people. We chain up the animals and the animals deserve to be free. Pictures of animals being housed like cargo, likened to pictures of immigrants being housed like cargo. The insinuation that the lynchings of hundreds of thousands of black people are somehow equivelent to the slaughter of a bull for meat. And the message? Liberate the animals. The cows, chickens, Indians and African Americans alike. Love them all, and let's treat them all like they deserve to be treated. Just because they're animals doesn't mean they don't have feelings ...and get yourself a vegetarian starter kit while you're at it.

I don't know what to make of it, other than that while radical underground rumblings are usually heaving society in the right direction, sometimes they make me question how far we've really come.

Katrina lurking

I've had a hard time sitting down at my computer and writing a complete and coherent blog entry. I have at least three files on my desk top right now labelled "unfinished blog entry (1/2/3)", one dating as far back as my trip to Calgary and Thunder Bay in July, but I can't seem to construct an entry that reflects the emotional rollercoaster that I've been on lately. By the time I get half way through writing, my mood changes entirely, my thoughts invariably follow, and I have to start all over again.

So here I am at midnight, stuck on the North Saanich penninsula of Vancouver Island due to a ferry malfunction (which, admittedly, isn't a horrible place to be stuck) and I've been thinking about hurricanes and weddings. And the more I think about it, the less possible it seems to incorporate both of these thoughts into a blog entry that can really frame my state of mind. Like, I'm completly random.

But I thought you should know that although I've never been in a hurricane, I think that they're fascinating. I also get a little bit excited when one starts building in the Atlantic, the tiny low pressure centre spinning and becoming darker and darker in colour on the radar map. Is that morbid, to be excited about natural disasters? Sometimes when I'm walking on the beach --which, in BC, isn't the miles of white sand that you see on the Club Med brochure, but a rocky, wild, coastline-- and I imagine that the waves could crash down and pick me up, carrying me off. I like to think about how powerful they are. I used to let myself get tossed in the waves when I was younger, afraid and awed at the same time. Hurricanes, I suspect, are just bigger, more powerful and more awe inspiring. There's something extraordinary about a cloud, a mass of air that we can see on our radars but can't stop, inching towards a shoreline and systemically wiping out our carefully planned cities, our houses and our shopping malls and our climate controlled sports arenas and making everyone realize how trivial everything is. It just makes so much sense. I mean -- we've put people into space. We've cured diseases. We've conquered the living planet, but all that we can do when a hurricane rolls in is board up our windows and wait for it.

The knowing is the wildest part, to me. Earthquakes and tornadoes, fire ... these are all so unpredictable -- it seems more tragic somehow, in their randomness, that they can be so destructive. But everybody knows when a hurricane is coming. Meteorologists can predict, sometimes days ahead, almost the exact hour that the storm will make landfall. Unlike other disasters, this one seems calculated. Inevitable. People board up, pack up and ship out. The tragedy, therefore, is the people that we see on the news (and there's always a few of them out there) that look right into the camera and pronounce, "my grandpaw survived the hurricane of '48, he built this here mo-bile home with his two hands, and I gots me some good strong wire to secure her down. We ain't goin' nowhere. This is our home and it's my american right to stay.... sure, I been hearin' dem warnings. I'm not scared of no storm. God is with me, I'm saying. I don't need to pack up when I've got Jesus Christ"

And the mobile home gets shipped out to sea in pieces, three days later, along with the rest of the Florida panhandle. Nature asserts herself again, and I, from my vantage point in the interior of British Columbia, follow on my computer and feel both stunned and excited to be a part of it. Morbid, but true.

And my thoughts on weddings, you ask? Many, and complicated -- best saved for another entry. I managed to make this one work on its own, anyway.

My 200th Entry

It’s amazing to me how different each day can be. I am sitting at my desk, watching the branches of the tree outside my window sway, lifting up and down in rhythm as though propelled by a pair of lungs. The phone rings in the background, but since I’m not on reception today, I don’t have to answer it. There’s nothing wrong with today, per say. I’m not sick, or working at a horrible job. I have no reason to be feeling blue, and I’m not, exactly. I just don’t feel like I’m here. I’ve been sitting at my desk for two hours now, picking at a blueberry scone and trying not to watch the clock every time the minute hand clicks forward. It’s exhausting, being bored.

Yesterday, time flew by. I felt bright and cheery, got my work done on time and was surprised when Stephanie came over to remind me to lock up, surprised that it was 5pm and I had been happily occupied the entire afternoon. I was lucky to have a day like that. Today, on the other hand couldn’t go quickly enough. Time is a funny thing, isn’t it? When you’re looking forward to something, when you really want time to pass quickly, it drags on; however, if you’re enjoying yourself, relaxing or otherwise having a good time, time flies. I know that this isn’t some sort of epiphany. I just wish I could figure out a way to trick myself, so as to make the next week and a half of work feel like it was over in a flash. All of my energy right now is looking forward – I came to Vancouver, achieved what I needed to get done (which, essentially, was make as much money as I could while spending as little as possible) and I feel not only ready but also overdue for the next step. Part of me, therefore, feels like I’ve already left here; my body sits at my desk for 40 hours a week, but my mind is on September, on starting classes and new friends and on Steve.

No one ever really explained to me how hard a long distance relationship could be and I’m not sure I gave it any thought the first time Steve and I kissed, thereby cementing the crazy attraction between us and launching us into couple-ness. I had ‘done’ long distance before – my ex-boyfriend lived in Tennessee and I spent summers working in Kingston, so with the exception of one summer living together in Mississauga, we spent 8 months of our 3 years apart- but it always felt temporary. For Steve and I, distance has been the rule, not the exception. When you’re not actually ‘with’ somebody, a lot of what is so wonderful about a relationship is intrinsically lost; no cuddling, no doing Sunday crosswords together, no sitting on the front porch for late night talks, no making dinner or doing errands, no “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by”, no meeting up for lunch between classes, and obviously no sex.. No one tells you how hard it is not to be able to have any intimacy like that. And it’s hard, we’ve found, to keep the sense of relationship intact when really, all we do is talk on the phone. I’m sick of it, and I’ve tried to be so patient with myself, I have. But the next … (counting) … 11 days couldn’t pass quickly enough. I’m so tired of waiting for it to get here.

11:17am. I’ve managed to pass 15 minutes. Someone needs to come and save me soon – I seriously don’t know how I’m gonna survive until 5:30 tonight.

Random Photo #3 -- "Sisters"

Sometimes we look really alike! These two girls are my heart and soul