cheers to the nap

I got back from Toronto today - a week (well, three days) of hanging out in front of the fireplace, riding the subway, watching movies, intimate nights (quietly - there were parents present, which is always an interesting challenge), crib playing, late night talks, music listening, soccer watching and completly enjoying Steve's company has come to an end. I'm still firmly embedded in the everything-is-beautiful stage, the can't-get-enough-of-you stage and the are-you-for-real? stage of the relationship - happily, I might add. Has anything in my life been this simple before? The answer, easily, is no. Nothing has gone so right for me in a long time; if it means that I stay in the honeymoon stage for months to come, dizzily coming to terms with the fact that I am in an extraordinary relationship, well - I'll take it.

So I came home and took a nap, exhausted from three days of doing nothing. I'm working a 6-2 walkhome shift and after learning that my partner ALSO took a solid nap this afternoon, we started on a fast-paced back and forth about our craziest nap stories ever. In honour of the nap, quite possibly my favorite pass time and one that I openly indulge in on a daily basis, I'd like to cover the basics of the nap. Feel free to add your own, if you can think of any.

The Classic Nap
The sun is streaming in through your window, you have an afternoon with absolutley no commitments and come to think of it, you're pretty sleepy. You stretch out in your favorite nap position (for me, it's on my side with my knees pulled up to my chest) and you let'er fly. Bonus for deliberately napping through your afternoon classes, or napping on really snowy or rainy days.

The Couch Nap
Sometimes, couches are even better than beds. You grab an afghan, you sink into the worn student-couch pillows (or in my case, Steve's leather loveseat) and you blissfully pass out. Bonus points for having a fireplace that you can sleep in front of.

The "I'm Just Studying in Bed" Nap
You're sitting at your desk and you realize that your bed looks a whole lot warmer than your drafty chair. You stack up your books, pile them next to you and crawl under the covers. You might change into sweat pants for good measure, if you're not already wearing them. At some point, you put the book down next to you and close your eyes to 'think about what you're learning'. You might go so far as to turn out the lights to eliminate distraction. The next thing you know, it's 6pm, your housemates are banging on the door and you're lazy shouting that you've been, uh, reading.

The Tandem Nap (alternatly called 'the Post-Sex Couple Nap"
As I told my partner tonight, napping is always better if it's done in pairs. There's something about napping with your significant other that is both lazier and more intimate than anything in the world. The perfect way to spend a Sunday morning, in my opinion.

The Waking Up When It's Dark and Being Really Disoriented Nap
Napping at night time can be killer. Not only are you setting yourself up for a complete inability to sleep at a regular hour, but you also feel REALLY WEIRD when you wake up and it's dark outside. I find 7pm to be particularly disorienting - it often takes me about 20 minutes to remember why I'm waking up in the first place and that it's not already the next day. It's like the napping black hole - your housemate could ask you what your up to when you stumble into the kitchen after and you look at them blankly and say "I actually don't ... know".

The In-Class Nap
A dangerous one. Sometimes there are classes that it is physically impossible to stay awake in. In my first year art history lecture, the professor starts the class by dimming the lights so that we fade into relative obscurity and I swear that I can literally hear people's heads hitting the desk. This is the kind of nap where you wake up with a handprint on your face at the end of class and have no idea what the lecture was about. I also call this the head snap - you find yourself jerking awake every time your neck muscles relax, snapping your head back to attention.

The Car Nap
A personal favorite of mine. Marcus and I used to do a lot of driving back and forth to his cabin in Ontario which is about 4 hours away from school. We would get into his Jetta, put in one of our road mixes and without fail I'd be out like a light before we got to the 401. There was something about the combination of a)being in a car with the person I felt more comfortable and safe with than anyone in the world and b)turning his seat warmer on 5 so that it warmed up my whole body and c)he blues music playing softly in the background, that put me to sleep like a baby. I have countless memories of him shaking me gently and saying "we're here, sweetie".

The Middle of the Night Power Sleep
I've pulled more all-nighters in University than I could count on all of my fingers and toes - it's just the way I've operated. Healthy? No. Effective? Yes. And always interesting. I've become particularly good at the 3:00am knock out. One minute I'm furiously typing away, the next, I'm contemplating how absolutly blissful it would be to sleep. Yes, just for 10 minutes. Or maybe an hour. Before I know it, I'm face down, fully clothed on my bed, with all the lights on - and it's seven in the morning. We give a collective "oops" and then move on.

The PMS Nap
I'll make this short, since I know that the boys are cringing already. But is there anything, ANYTHING better than curling up and falling asleep with your body wrapped around a really hot water bottle? I didn't think so.

Honourable mentions in my napping repretoire: going back to bed after a shower to 'warm up' and falling asleep for an hour, sleeping between classes on the couch in the drama department, taking naps in John Andrews office this summer when I couldn't stay awake to answer frosh phone calls any longer, napping on the beach in the summer - lying in the hot sun on the warm sand, napping in the park on a blanket, napping in the back of marcus's car at the drive-in theatre in Wasaga Beach because I was too blind to see the screen, napping with my sisters - they look so angelic when they sleep, nappping with waldo, who is always up for a good sleep :D

Speaking of sleep - I have a lot of work to get done before I go to bed tonight. This week has been good for me- my life is starting to come together in very tangible and attainable ways and I feel like I'm figuring out what needs to be understood along the path. More on me later, as usual. For now, I'm going to go and play Dutch Blitz with my walkhome friends.

I just want someone to say to me, I'll always be there when you wake

Positively nothing to report. Geek as I am, I have a list running in my day timer of possible blog topics, which I jot down as they occur to me. Thus far, you can look forward to entries about:

- Oprah and the multiple letters I've written to her (have you SEEN her "Oprah's Angels" show, where she buys new houses for people?)
- The nature of 'time' ... to what extent it would exist without human construction (a quote from my lunch date with Steve and Laura today: "I'm in college. I'm deeeep")
- the fact that it is possible now to exist ENTIRELY on the internet. Like, not to have a body at all. Or at least, sometimes it feels like it. Do people even talk to each other anymore? I call him the iGod. And he is so, so good.
- top 5 pet peeves (number 3: people who listen to objectively bad music. Number 2: people who say "I know exactly what you mean. When MY family had a rough time...", or "you think that's bad, when that happened to me...." when you just need them to say "I hear you")
- men in the USA report an average of 20 lifetime sexual partners (can anyone say seven degrees of incestual separation?)
- the gameshow that I like to call "Bri's Future". Door number one: masters/phd @ UofT. Door number two: staying at Queen's for another year, upgrading my courses and working on letting people into my life. Door number three: getting a "real" job and working for a year. Door number four: teacher's college at UCalgary. Door number five: shacking up with my mom in her bacholerette pad. Possibly living there on my own whilst she sails the world with schooner Bill.
- The fact that I have a lot of friends in my life but no one who really knows and loves me. This is my fault. I'm always going to be scared and never going to be ready - so I just need to jump in with both feet.
- a long, rambling blog about the fact that I'm in love with the most phenomenal person I have ever encountered. OR - I could write about my relationship with Steve :P

And yes, you can hold me to all of this. It will all come. This week has been amazing: Steve and I are going to see Phantom of the Opera next Sunday in Detroit, Wicked in Toronto on April 19th, and Oasis in June. I bought a MEC backpack (where we ran into his ex-girlfriend's best friend, who is also a friend of mine), and went to Steve's dodgeball game, after which I sat around a table drinking with a bunch of *really* old OC's. So I have nothing to complain about - I feel so at home here. And with Steve's designs on my time, I better cut this short and get back to loving my boyfriend!

I have wished for so long, how I wish for you today

It would be easy, given the title of this entry, to blog about Steve. About the rollercoaster ride which I affectionatly call the "LDR" - Long Distance Relationship. And after spending the next few days in toronto with him, I'm sure that I'll have amazing new things to say - new moments, new memories, new things to be excited about or look forward.

But the person I'm wishing for right now isn't Steve (well, it's always Steve, but I digress). It's my dad.

We are so close to reconciliation. I am really, really, really scared. Because I don't know if I can trust him. I don't know if I can believe him. There are these shining moments, on msn or even in person, where I feel like he's looking at me and noticing me, REALLY noticing me, for the very first time. But he starts to spout off things that make no sense to me, and I get scared again. With my dad, I never know who is talking - if it's him, or his therapist, or his illness. I don't even really know who my dad is; the sadder part to me is that he has no idea who I am. I don't know if he's actually able to love me in the way that I always wanted him to. And it wouldn't be fair to say that I loved him in the way that he wanted me to either. After someone causes you that much pain, it's hard to open up your heart again.

But I had a really big moment. For the first time in my life, I told my dad that it was NOT okay. I told him that I needed more from him. I said to him "Dad. I'm scared and I don't know where to start". And he replied with "this is where we start". And the man who has been wrapped up in clouds of narcisism and alcoholism and depression for my entire life somehow reached across the cracks and made me feel like a daughter. I haven't felt like that in so long.

I don't know what a dad is supposed to be like. I don't really have a model to build this relationship on, or even something stable to start from. I don't even know if this is what I should be doing. My mom has been telling me to walk away since I've been old enough to understand that my dad doesn't love me. And trying to make him love me has almost destroyed me. But here I am, feeling so close to actually having a DAD -- what do I do? I'm shaking. I have so many war wounds that I feel like it's almost impossible to ever trust him again. I feel closed off. I can sense myself putting up walls.

But I have to remind myself that I am not the one who has the right to judge him. And I don't have to invest my emotional happiness and my self-worth into him. My dad needs someone to believe in him and I need to believe that he won't let me down. I don't know where my next step is ... this is all new for me. But I feel like just the act of forgiving him, or starting to, is a move in the right direction.

I forgive you, dad.

A Soundtrack for my Life

opening credits: "Mr. Blue Sky" by Electric Light Orchestra (it's as close to 'me' in musical form as I can find)

waking up: "Morning Glory" by Oasis (with the line - "need a little time to wake up, wake up")

average day: "Kate" by Ben Folds Five (it just feels so right sometimes!)

falling in love: "You're So Bad" by Tom Petty (one of my all-time favorite songs and one that holds special meaning to me) AND "Baby, It's Cold Outside" by Ella Fitzgerald

love scene "Book of Love" by Peter Gabriel (so gorgeous that it turns me into a bonafide girl)

breaking up:"Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" by Bob Dylan

getting back together:"Up in Arms" by the Foo Fighters

secret love: "You Don't Know Me" by Ray Charles (unrequited love was a pill that I have been happy to swallow in the past. If there's anyone who knows about I-wish-you-noticed-me music, well - it's me)

life's okay: "One Headlight" by the Wallflowers (Oh Jacob Dylan. You make me want to get in my car and sing along)

mental breakdown: "Time Time Time" by Tom Waits (this is my song for rock bottom)

driving song: "Surf Wax America" by Weezer (for it's surfing amazing-ness)

learning a lesson: "Landslide" by the Smashing Pumpkins ( "I've been afraid of changing, 'cause I built my life around you")

deep thought: "Secret Garden" by Bruce Springsteen

flashback: "The World I Know" by Collective Soul (I just imagine someone standing on a cliff, talking stock of everything that has ever mattered to them. If there were cliffs in Ontario, that's what I'd be doing every time I listened to this song)

partying: "Work It" by Missy Elliot (just because the kids in the music video are so damn cool)

happy dancing tune: "Canned Heat" by Jamaroquai (I personally can't sit still when I hear this song)

regret: "Present Tense" by Pearl Jam

long night alone: "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab for Cutie

death scene: 'Dust in the Wind" by Kansas

closing credits: "When I Come Around" by Green Day

************

It's interesting, 'cause I made this list for fun while I was at Walkhome tonight, but when I look it over, it really gives you a good idea of who I am and how I see the world. So in the spirit of ego-centricity, I present for your consideration, the sound track to my life, pending a movie ever gets made, or that any one really finds this sort of thing interesting except for me :P

Bri's list of things that feel good

napping in the sun, washing my face until it's squeakly clean, sinking into a hot tub, sinking into a feather pillow, having someone wash my hair, having someone brush my hair, being kissed on the forehead, the first big drop of a rollercoaster, a really powerful shower, floating, holding my sister's small little hand, going barefoot, spooning, when the dentist uses the water shooter after filling my mouth with gritty toothpaste, pulling out really deep weeds, sinking my feet into mud, swinging, when my eyelids are kissed, handing in an essay, singing, being hugged from behind, scoring a soccer goal to win the game, surprises, pulling out a sliver that's been stuck for a long time, the little toe spacers you use when you get a pedicure, running, holding a baby, having someone massage your hands, being loved.

'cause tonight, I want to be with you

A trip down memory lane: roaming the mall aimlessly with a friend, flipping through movies in HMV, discussing the merits of cats versus dogs in the pet store, staging a fashion show in American Eagle, sharing fries in the food court, sitting cross-legged on the bus in a heated discussion on the merits of summer romance ... well, it's enough to make me feel like I'm in junior high again.

but the best part of my day resulted from my favorite saturday afternoon activity - tucking into the chapters near my house, and leisurely strolling through the store, sitting on the floor with my back against a shelf and flipping through a stack of books, sipping a hot chocolate and writing in my journal - it is these saturdays at the bookstore that make me feel so sweet and warm and 'right' in the world, somehow. I spend a lot of time in the music section, reading about the beatles and led zepplin and muddy waters. I like the poetry shelf with all of the words and spaces arranged like art ... I almost bought a book of ee cummings', an impusle that I had for at least the tenth time, but left without making the purchase. Leaving cummings on the shelf is like leaving the puppies at the pet store: they do not belong in the store, but at home, being loved (or in this case, read). I like the travel section (I've never been anywhere), and the biographies (people are fascinating!), and the books about sports - some of which are interesting and others which don't attract me. I read about theatre and then about movies and then about art and then about photography. I spend at least 15 minutes at the wall of blank journals, wondering what I would use each of them for, how I would fill them. I am bemused by the self-help books - each one promising some goal that we are all fruitlessly chasing after; happiness, love, success, motivation ... I even saw a book called "How to Change Anybody" which struck me as being sad. I wonder if it is as simple as being a truly good human being; if everything else would just fall in to place. I wonder where I would fit into a bookstore like this - what shelf or category I would be filed under.

Thanks to a gift certificate from my brother, I left with two books:
- "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire, which I am v.excited to delve into
- a small, blank journal to fill up with thoughts that are too personal to post on my blog

And with "Jersey Girl" playing on itunes, I just might be happy as a clam, stretched out on my bed, enjoying what has truly been a day off.

this poem caught my eye today:

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

ee cummings

closure

I just wanted to point out, for the record, that I will officially be finished my undergraduate degree at 5:00 pm on April 15th, which is when my one and only exam is finished. With classes going until the 8th this year, it's going to be a tight squeeze, but I should manage to get a week of quality 'hell-time' in, if anything for old-time's sake. This fortunatly early date also gives me two whole weeks to pack up my house, sell my furniture and visit my family in BC, who I haven't seen in about two months. You're right - the light IS growing brighter at the end of the tunnel.

back up to heaven all alone

I did one of my favorite things to do today - bought a new magazine and a bag of wine gums, curled up under my red throw blanket, turned on some cat stevens and forgot about the rest of the world for a while.

This is going to be a change of topic, but there's no real segue from wine gums to God. What has been on my mind recently is that I want, or maybe I need, something spiritual in my life. I feel as though I am on a quest for the divine. I was raised in a household that didn't have time for church - I've never read the bible or attended Sunday School. No one has ever asked me to make a choice about religion, which has suited me as well as it could have, I guess, but now I'm kind of at odds with it. I mean - how do you know what to believe? What is the right choice for me?

Organized religion is never going to be my niche. I just can't buy into the "children of jesus" thing, heaven and hell, god's will... the more educated I become, the less I can believe that there is one religion that is better, or more true than any others. Each are created to connect a community of people under a set of moral doctrines. Each religion is valid in its own existence. I think that the values that christianity is based on are sacred, for example, but I also think that the organization of the church has corrupted its own intentions. At the core of everything, we are all looking for meaning. We all want direction. We all want to know that we are not alone in the universe, that our short time on the planet is part of a larger plan. That we mean something, each and every one of us.

It doesn't have to be about God. It can be about the individual. I want to teach my children how to be good people. I want them to respect themselves and to respect the world around them. I want them to learn humility and selflessness. I want them to give what they can to those who have less. I don't however, believe that a church is a vital part of this education.

What I am looking for is a manifesto. I am looking for values that I can strive to embody, morals that I can abide by, a way of life that affects those around me in a positive way. I don't think I'll find this in a religion, or in the bible, or in a church pew. I don't think that my life will change in an extraordinary way if I choose to start believing in God. but I also won't find it on the self-help shelf in Chapters. I am trying to find my way and it's an intensely personal journey.

Where do I begin? What inspires me? How do I get away from the superficiality that I feel as though I've been dragging myself through recently? How do I become a better person?

In Drama, Grotowski revolutionized theatre in the 1960s by taking away sets and costumes and lighting and stages, leaving only the actor, the body and the space. The larger point that he was trying to identify was: if you strip away everything about art that is non-essential - what remains? It is possible to utilize Grotowski's methodology here, and begin to strip away the parts of my being that are impeding me from actualization. What would be left of me if I took away everything that didn't matter? If all that was left was my heart - what would it look like? What kind of person would I be?

It's not that I necessarily want to do this. I just think that it's an important question to ask, and to always be aware of that which is of consequence and that which is superficial. I want to focus on developing the former and placing less emphasis on the latter.

My quest to be a better person begins.

rage, rage against the dying of the light

my soul is still right now. I feel a sense of awareness of the weight of the world. After wanting things for so long, I no longer have a plan that makes any sense, or a friend who I always thought everything would include.

Change is not easy. We resist it until our own resistance causes renewal. Change is never slow, but comes in heaving, startling gasps and we all have to scramble to find our bearings. There is nothing that feels good about not knowing, nothing that is comforting about fear, but I am learning that it is in this moment - this semi-darkness between life stages where you feel like you're fumbling for illumination, that you begin to learn just how strong you are. And this is where change originates, where people break down walls and life moves in new and wonderful directions.

In honour of change, I propose a thought: allow the next stages of your life to struggle into being. Fight your convictions and test your own morality. As Dylan Thomas writes, "do not go gentle into that good night". Allow things to hurt. Allow yourself to be scared. Find strength in not knowing. And most importantly support each other along the way - in the end, friends and lovers - those that we can hold hands with when it's dark- are all we've got.

b.

nobody knows the trouble I've seen

I paid Marcus another chunk of the 'relationship debt' that I still owe him today, which made me feel as though a tiny weight was lifted off of my chest. But with 4.16 in my bank account, and owing 96.00 to Marcus, 362 in rent, 115 in bills that Courtney covered for me, 45 to Rogers, 560 to Visa, 3000 to the university and a trip to Toronto later in the week that will set me back 100 - well, sometimes I think that the only thing that I ever have time to think about is money.

I am worried about next year. I am worried about the summer. I could stay in Kingston, but can't think of anywhere that would hire me - my marketable skills right now are nill, outside of the university community. I've never waited tables, done landscaping work, or been a secretary. I would go back to Vancouver, but with my parent's divorce and my mother's plans being unstable at best (as she currently is flying around the world to spend a month living on a boat with bill)... well, where would I stay? My dad won't have me and my mom can't afford for me to live with her - they've made this clear. Vancouver has the added benefit of being a place where I know absolutly no one, which is always a plus. If I found an apartment in Toronto, I would barely make enough to cover rent, not to mention stashing something aside for grad school next year.

I think a lot now about staying an extra year at Queen's and applying for WH manager. I know that I have the skills and passion for the job, and I have a strong chance of being hired. Being a part of WH has changed my life and the pay would easily cover another year at the school to upgrade some of my credits for a minor. But do I really want to stay here? What is left for me, after I've given everything I have to this school?

I could take a year off and work, which seems like the most realistic approach. But then I would lose the child support money that my dad periodically gives to me, as well as my flying priviledges, as well as the disability income that I receive from the government.

I guess what I'm saying is that I've never felt so alone and afraid in my life. The idea that there is no one in the world who is willing to or able to help me makes me feel like I could sink under the weight of my burdens and never surface again - and maybe no one would notice. I think I need a hug. More so, I need someone, anyone, to step in and say "I'm going to help you, and it's going to be okay", Because sometimes I realize that I can't always make it on my own.

An ode to Tarzan

Tarzan was a 1982 Toyota Tercel that I inherited from my great grandmother Mabel, when she died in 1998. I will never love another human being as much as I loved that car, and I'd like to take a minute to pay homage to my best friend, my wheels, and the constant source of inspiration for mean jokes from my friends, with a top 5 Tarzan moments list. Without furthur ado:

TOP FIVE TARZAN MOMENTS

5. I was at a New Year's Eve party at my friend Sam's house (whose crazy pot-smoking mother was ALWAYS out of town) and my buddy Dan, who I had known since I was 11, had had a fair bit too much to drink. Knowing that he couldn't go to his parents house (they would have killed him), and not wanting to leave him in the care of Sam, who had smoked one massive joint too many, I drove him back to my place while he puked in the back seat of my car. I mean this kid RECHED. And since it wasn't a four door, it wasn't like he could open up and puke out the side. The funniest part is that we got stopped at a ride check, and the officer pointed his little flashlight into the back seat at my drunken friend, who had thrown up everywhere. I had a LOT of explaining to do that night. I also spent 3 hours cleaning out my car the day after.

4. The general abuse that my car took on a daily basis was amazing. Seriously, I think that my friends truly believed that Tarzan was invincible. When I got Tarzan, I stuck a band-aid on the hood of the car for good luck, but at times, it didn't do much good. People used white-out to write me messages, Andrew 'accidently' fell while trying to climb over it, causing the delicate tin roof to cave in, and Zach once proudly proclaimed that my car was indestructable and proceded to kick the side panel, which collapsed into the inside of the car. I had to go into the back seat and punch the panel back out. Adam used to push the window down, put it into neutral, and roll it into the middle of the school parking lot - just to freak me out. Yes, Tarzan, king of the jungle.

3. In 12th grade, 7 of my best friends and I shared a spare, which gave us from 11:30-2:20 off of school every wednesday for a semester. Each wednesday we tried to do something fun together, and to round off the year we all went to Mike's dad's house downtown, made margaritas and sat in his hot tub. I was the DD and was necessarily sober, but by the time we climbed out of the tub and got back into our clothes, everyone else was right drunk, which ruled out Mike driving 1/2 the group back in his Saab. So we all piled into my 2-door refrigerator box - 4 girls in the back, Rob lying across their laps, Mike in the front and Lise straddling the gear shift. 8 people, 7 drunks, and lo and behold a cop decides to spend a solid 15 minutes on our tail. Everone ended up putting blankets over their head, so he could never really tell that we were breaking the law, but it was the scariest 15 minutes of my life.

Editor's Note: The most people I have ever fit into my car was 9: 5 in the back, 4 in the front. It was a proud, proud day.

2. As I was pulling out of the parking lot on my way to soccer practice one day after school, my crazy friend Ian ran up towards me and jumped onto the hood of my car. This was normal for him - usually I would stick my head out, tell him to grow up and then continue on with my day. But this time was different. Ian came flying onto the hood of my car, lost his footing, and fell onto the ground in front of me. As I frantically tried to pull over to avoid bumping him, I actually ran over his foot (I know, it sounds bad). The funniest part? It didn't do anything - my car was so light that his bones withstood the pressure, although he certainly never tried that again.

1. The classic story, which Adam likes to repeat over and over at dinner parties and family functions. I had lent Adam my car to go out for a while after school. He was going to pick me up at my West Side Story rehearsal and we had plans to go shopping together. Imagine my surprise then, when Adam and Zach sheepishly walk into the rehearsal half-way through, rolling a tire in front of them. Tarzan's tire. Adam said to me in his most convincing voice, "Bri, I am so so so so sorry. it's icy out and we were driving down Glenmore, and we took a corner too fast, and ... God Bri. I'm so sorry. Tarzan fell into the resevoir. This is all that we could save." Adam then handed me the tire, and I proceeded to hit him as hard as I could followed by my bursting into tears. After consoling me and assuring me that the insurance would cover it, Zach said, "Nah, we're just kidding".

Then I hit HIM as hard as I could, and made him put the wheel back on to my car (which had fallen off when adam took a fast corner ... go figure)

an open letter to Stephen Johns, bless his heart

After careful deliberation, I am reformatting my argument about Ray Charles winning the award for album of the year. My point, however, is valid. History has shown us that the various award academies are easily seduced into using an award that is supposed to honour a single piece of work as an homage to an artist's entire career. This is fact, whether you want to agree with it or not is beside the point. Probably the strongest case I can make to support this is to ask you to consider Mr. Randy Newman of Toy Story fame, who wrote the academy award winning song "If I Didn't Have You", from the movie Monster's Inc, in 2001. Have I ever heard this song? No, I haven't. In fact, I don't know a single person who can recall the song at all - it was that forgettable. Newman was up against Sir Paul McCartney and Sting, among other artists; there was absolutely no reason why he should have won. However, he did. Why? Because he had previously been nominated for 15 Oscars, and hadn't won a single one. The man was getting old, and the academy made a tired move: they gave him the Oscar for a lousy song as a way of commemorating his entire career.

I'm not in a position to say whether or not this is "right". But I'm asking you to consider that major award academies commonly use awards to pay homage to actors and artists - not always on the basis of their movie or album. With this in mind, my revised argument is as follows: Ray Charles may not have given us what was the best album of 2004 by your definition. That's fine. I would whole-heartedly support you if you wanted to develop your own awards show. I've also heard both 'College Dropout' and 'American Idiot' and agree that they truly did something phenomenal for music. That being said, KNOWING that the academy is going to act in a specific way and frequently uses the award=you-died-and-look-at-how-great-you-were tactic, Charles deserved to win. He deserved to win this particular award. Your argument about Zevon is fine, but he wasn't even NOMINATED - his cd couldn't have won, so it's irrelevant. If you want to talk about who is nominated for awards, that's a completely different ball-game. We're talking about who wins them and in this case, Ray is having the last laugh. Green Day and West, I suppose, can always try again next year.

'till I hear it from you

"So don't dive shallow in deep dark waters,
Cause we're cradled in no beginning and no end"
Hawksley Workman

I am beginning to think that I understand the extent to which someone is capable of loving another person. But it's funny, because maybe I still have no clue. I am hyper-aware of the fact that saying 'I love you' to someone is actually the beginning of an amazing journey and not the representation of some sort of finality. It's not like you love someone and that's it - in fact, it's the opposite: feelings begin to grow in different shades, filling in parts of your heart that you didn't even know existed. Saying 'I love you' is almost like a declaration that you want to start feeling these things for someone else, that you want to discover and understand them.

So maybe I have no idea the extent to which I am able to love someone. Maybe I can continue to surprise myself.

In November, I had a conversation with my once-best-friend Adam about my blooming relationship with Steve. Knowing that it was coming on the heels of a 3-year epic with Marcus, Adam gave me what I thought was good advice about how to proceed with someone entirely new: don't fall in love. He reminded me that I had just turned 18 when Marcus and I started going out and I was now 21 and in what he referred to as 'my prime'. He made me solomnly promise him that I would enjoy getting to know Steve, would have fun when we were together, nay - might even really LIKE him, but that I would not fall in love. This, appearantly would protect both me and him: me from having my heart broken, and him from a girlfriend who fell in love. But Adam, I realized over my trip back to Calgary this past christmas, doesn't really know me any more. And my relationship with Steve is more real and more dedicated than I ever could explain to him. And so I abandon this advice with passion. It's Valentine's Day, and I'm in love.

I knew at Charity Ball (2 weeks ago?). He walked down the stairs in his suit and red tie and I felt as though my chest was going to explode. We had an night that couldn't have been described as anything but perfect. When we were together, we laughed, danced, held hands, whispered into each other's ears. When we were apart, I felt comfortable knowing that no matter how many gorgeous girls wanted to dance with him or spend time with him - we were going to go home arm in arm, together. I was so proud to be there with him, proud to know that everyone who had ever met Steve Johns loved him from the bottom of their heart. That night, I became one of those people.

So here I am, at the end of a weekend that changed everything, yet nothing at all. Knowing what I know about how I feel, but excited to love him more every morning that I wake up. This - Steve and I - is going to work because we don't have unrealistic expectations about what either love or romance is supposed to be.

Love is hard work. Loving someone and understanding them (truly understanding them) takes patience and time and dedication towards another person. It takes a lot of communication and a lot of trust. I don't really know where I'm going with this - where I'm going with anything, really. But I found these in Steve. No one has ever fought so hard to understand me before. No one has ever trusted me the way that he does. Never have I wanted to burst with pride for someone in the same way that I feel about him.

I've got no witty conclusion. This topic may or may not weave back into my blog over the next few weeks as I try to stay grounded in the work that I have to do, when all I really want is to be looking into the eyes of someone else. I don't have a single answer right now - no way of knowing that I'm going to be okay, or that this isn't the scariest thing I've ever done. But all of that's okay. I just want to feel it all, y'know? And try to understand how I could ever be so lucky.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone. Take the time today to let someone know that your life is truly better because they are a part of it.

An open letter to ICBC

Chair transition (I still need to update about that) was a week ago today, and I have yet to recover my lost driver's license. Yes, I've called the Cocamo (shudder) and I've called Casa, and I even called campus security (god bless their lost and found program) - nothing. nada. nil. I just thought that I would take this moment to memorialize my own stupidity. I. Lose. Everything.

So the good folks at ICBC are mailing me a certified picture of myself so that I can board the plane to go home and have my license replaced. I think an impromtu reading week trip might be in order? Thank you Lisa, from ICBC, wherever you are.

a touchy subject

What is the worst present you have ever been given? If I had more of a memory, I might be able to think back to the birthdays and christmases and pick something out that I could really laugh about. I'm sure, over the years, I have had my fair share of bad gifts. My mom was dating someone named Hans a few years ago and I remember quite clearly that he bought her a scarf for christmas, and then dropped the bomb that he spent a hundred some-odd dollars on a set of Henkel knives for his ex-wife, who had happened to leave him for another woman. Scarf for the new girlfriend, deseperate attempt at reconciliation for the lesbian ex. That was pretty bad.

The most meaningful gifts can never be practical ones. I got a set of hangers for my 16th birthday and while the need for them clearly existed, the sentiment just wasn't right. Gifts can be such an extraordinary thing if they come from the heart and are somehow able to be worth more than just their monetary value. The best gifts I have ever received haven't necessarily been the most expensive ones, but they have always been the most meaningful. The necklace that my dad bought me to wear for my valedictory speech is probably the most valuable thing that I own, followed closely by the ring from Hong Kong that I wear less often now that the sentiment associated with it has changed. The cards that I've gotten from friends have had a huge impact on me - something about the written word is so much more powerful than anything you could say in passing to someone. A little Flames stocking that Steve picked out for me is currently high on my list - the fact that someone paid attention to what I was interested in means so much more than any gift ever could.

I want to be a good gift giver. I slaved this christmas to find the right things for everyone on my list. I get terrified that the recipient isn't going to like it, or that the meaning that I am trying to invest into the present somehow doesn't come across. Writing to people and picking out meaningful gifts, I think, is one of the more important things that I try to do.

But - the topic isn't me. The topic is bad gifts. Have you ever received a truly inappropriate present? Have you ever given one? Just something to think about, if you're like me and don't feel like getting dressed and going to your 4:00 class :P

*Editor's Note* - Now I remember: the worst gift that I have EVER EVER EVER received was for my 20th birthday, from the family that I was a nanny for. I spent a year and a half helping to raise their children, loving their children and sacraficing so much of myself for them. For my 20th birthday, they got me a box of store-brand microwave popcorn. A three pack. The worst part is that they wrapped it, and then just looked at me expectantly as I opened it. Actually, the true worst part? They were a 'healthy' family ... and didn't even own a microwave. Please, someone, try to top that.

to complete my life

there's no business like show business

My crazy passion for the theatre seems to be reaffirmed to me every day. There is nothing more that I want to do with my life than to spend it onstage as an actor. I want to read about drama, write about drama, teach other people about drama, watch drama and be involved in the theatre in any way I possibly can. I am so happy here.

Does anyone else feel passion like this, I wonder? Feel so intensely about something that they think their chest is going to burst and they're going to overflow with emotion? I feel that way when I go to see a show, or when I work with kids in their classrooms, or when I sit in my lectures every day and am literally blown away by the amazing things that I'm learning.

I want to talk about passion more. I want to talk about what drives me, what motivates me to stretch and grow and what I reach for every day. I've got ten hearts full of energy and love for the things and the people in my life. I will blog madly about it, I'm sure, when the time strikes me as being right.

The best feelings I have ever felt are the ones I get from being onstage. Nothing for me trumps what theatre is able to do. If only I could somehow articulate how happy my life is making me right now, I would be satisfied :)

... to give me back my black tee shirt

How quickly moments are created and embedded in your day. My trusty side kick Marcus called me tonight and asked if I wanted to run out and get Wendy's with him. He joked that we live less than two blocks apart and see each other less often than we see our parents. And so I threw on my touque, grabbed some cash and waited for him to come and pick me up.

Now, 2 hours later, I'm glad I decided to go. I don't know why I keep expecting things to be awkward between us. What we have now, three months after breaking up (and almost a year since the emotional death of our relationship), is everything we had before, minus any sort of attraction or physicality. It seems almost better in a way; we can now joke about things that used to be taboo. He teased me about my excessive sensitivity, and the fact that we got "too married, too soon". I told him that I hated his belt that had skulls on it and that he probably already said 'I love you' to his new gf of a month. Everything was easy. We talked a lot about our new relationships and how happy we were, in general. We can still finish each other's sentences, but now it's in a casual, comfortable way. We parked outside of my house, and talked for almost 2 hours, but when we were done we didn't hug goodbye. There wasn't really a need to.

At the end, we had the following conversation:

Bri: "Marcus, are you glad that we broke up?" (pensive silence follows)
Bri " I didn't mean to ask such a loaded question. I guess what I wanna know is that you're happy again. That you aren't upset with me in some way, y'know?"
Marcus: "I am happy. And I'm better being me than I was being 'marcusandbri'. But, like, I miss your presence in my life, and your companionship. I just don't miss ... everything else. I don't miss the way that we didn't fit on big issues. Logistically, this is what needed to happen so that we could stay friends"
Bri: "I miss having a movie date on Wednesdays, but I don't miss feeling guilty for not being able to fully be IN LOVE with you"
Marcus: "We can still go see movies - I'm just not going to watch your stupid chick flicks or buy you your popcorn anymore"
Bri: "Done"

And then I shut the car door. And I thought to myself, is this the end of an era, or the beginning of a new one? It's hard to tell. I'm just so surprised sometimes that we aren't mad at each other, that we still genuinely respect each other as people and want one another to be happy. Isn't that against every rule of ending long-term, emotionally invested relationships?

Or maybe I was never so emotionally invested that I would allow it to hurt me.

Either way, I had a really cool night with a good friend. I almost feel motivated again to get back to work on this paper that's due at 11:30 tomorrow. Almost.

Song of the Moment: "Nothing Better" by the Postal Service
Best Lyrics: Tell me, am I blind to think that there could be nothing better?

Raindrops keep falling on my head

When you first meet someone, you form a one-dimensional impression of the person that they are. As the relationship progresses, and you get to know them more and more, things become more complex. You learn that the way someone acts on the outside isn't necessarily the way they feel on the inside. People move on a continuum of highs and lows, and you begin to understand the different shades of their personalities. Instead of just knowing the person at their best, you also start to know their fears and their confusions and what's important to them.

It's like looking at a painting. The Postal Service sings that "everything looks perfect from far away", and I am inclined to agree. From a distance, a work of art looks perfect, and when you know someone on a casual basis, it's easy to see them in the same way. But when you get close to someone, or close to a painting, for that matter, you begin to notice the scratches and cracks and eraser marks. Things are not as perfect as you thought they were. What's really cool is that instead of being turned off, however, you are more intruiged. You want to look closer and to know more.

The idea that someone is as human, as dynamic and as flawed as you are is the most interesting thing in the world.

What is even more beautiful, or I guess what I am really sucked in about is the idea that because of the cracks and eraser marks and imperfections (not in spite of them), someone can become perfect in your eyes. It would be really great if everyone could take the time to understand one another, and then accept them and love them because of what they found.

Its raining today, and I feel like curling up with someone and sharing secrets and a blanket. But there are assignments to be done and laundry to be washed and weekends to plan - so I'll put my hood up and brave it. I just thought I would share this note while it was on my mind.

nicknames I've had

Bri (pretty much everyone in my life calls me this)
Breezy (adam's name for me, and I really like it)
Breezo
Breezo-Wheezo (I had athsma as a child)
Ug (short for Ugly)
Bri Bri (my close friends in high school called me this)
BriJohson (as in, one word - inented by DP)
HGBJ (short for Head Gael Bri Johnson)
BJ
Beej (short for BJ, and only ONE person in the world is allowed to call me this)
Brimarie (my soccer mates, cause there were two Brianna's on the team)
B1 (how my best friend Beth alluded to me - she got to be B2)
Brimarie Butter (yeah, like Creamery Butter, but not. Ha)
Febreeze (it was cute for a while)
Johnson (Steve's affectionate name for me)

... then you can start to make it better

I can't help but to think that if I marry a man who makes me feel as good as I do when I'm listening to Paul McCartney sing "Hey Jude" live, then I might be doing something right. He is, bar none, one of the sexiest men in the world. My opinion of the performance is that content aside, the spectacle of the superbowl half-time show seemed misguided. I was saddened that something as simple and human as listening to one man sing could be cheapened the way it was, with fireworks and a giant, flashing stage. Still, the show (at least from my living room advantage) was satisfying. It made me want to disappear into my beatles music, or go and buy a DVD of a McCartney concert.

But then again, music is meant to be live. Listening to a CD, or watching a show on DVD can almost be likened to sitting in a movie theatre, as opposed to witnessing something take place on a stage in front of you. Part of the magic of music or theatre is in the spectatorship of their creation. When you listen to a recorded song or watch a movie, you are experiencing something that took place in history; while the recording process certainly has its benefits, it is unfair to compare it to the live experience, to sharing space with art as it is being formed and then fades. The evenescence of liveness is striking, as though art crested and fell in your presence and will never be felt by anyone in the exact same way again.

We are all trying to describe ourselves, I think - we just have different venues. Theatre, music and art work as a triptych of human expression; three ways in which we try to explain and understand the world around us, the human experience, the core of our existence. I am drawn to music in the same way that I am drawn to drama, understanding both as tools for a greater mode of expression than words can accomplish. I guess some people look at music and find beauty in the melodies and the beats and the synthesis of instruments in a cohesive whole. I can't hear music in that kind of subjective way ... to me, it always MEANS something.

For example,
- when I hear "Hotel California", I will remember New Years Eve 1999, lounging with my friends at some point between midnight and sunrise, bumming around with a guitar and a couple of voices.
- "What's the Story (Morning Glory)?" was my soccer song. Chelsea, Linds, Hillary and I used to drive to 7am practices together in my car, blearly eyed, balancing boxes of Tim Bits and bottles of peach juice on our laps, belting out "I need a little time to wake up, wake up".
- "I Alone" by Live reminds me of walking through the rain, holding hands with my first boyfriend Mike, going back to his house before his dad came home and cautiously kissing, learning, believing that we were ready for feelings that we didn't even have words for.
- I used to listen to "Clumsy" on the sidelines of my soccer games, standing with my bulky yellow diskman hidden in the pouch of my hoodie, hoping that my coach wouldn't catch me.
- The song "In the Meantime" by Spacehog was what Adam and I danced to at his 11th birthday party in his unfinished basement. I was wearing make up for the first time - lip gloss, I think, and it was the first time I had ever felt a boy's confident hand rest gently on my back. When I hear the song now, I feel 10 years younger, 10 years more innocent and I can't help but to grin.

I guess the idea is that most of the major moments in my life can be connected to music in some way. Most of the major people in my life can be connected to music in some way. I don't, however, have music yet that reminds me of Steve ... it's not that we don't have many shared musical tastes, and it would be easy to say something like Pearl Jam or Soundgarden connects me to him, simply because we spend so much time talking about it. What we haven't shared together yet are many musical experiences (althought that being said, I'll never hear "You Can't Stop the Beat" without thinking of our first date). I don't even connect Green Day with him ... the context wasn't right. I'm still waiting, patiently, for the music that might define our relationship to seep out of the cracks and make itself visible.

I suppose I should get back to work. This wasn't meant to be such a rant, however, I am hoping that putting my ideas down means that they won't be in my head any longer, clogging things up :P

Somewhere Only We Know

I keep typing and deleting the first sentence of this entry, unsure as to why I decided to open up blogger and make my fleeting thoughts permanent. Maybe it's not that important. I don't really have anything specific to say, but I feel as though there is so much that I want to write down.

My thoughts are incomplete tonight. I worked a busy 11-3 and as I slowly unwind, I find that fragments of ideas land at my fingers. I collect little bits of conversation, brief moments in the day where I was struck by something, and keep them in my head until I can come home and write, trying to figure out the world around me, or the world within me. I don't think I can put together anything cohesive tonight, so I think I'm just gonna make a list and get some sleep:

1. Everyone thinks that they have potential, that there is something unique and amazing and beautiful about them - if only 'real-life' didn't get in the way, or if only people would look beyond the superficial impulses that we are all a victim of. I do, I know, and I would assume that my belief that I am unique is, ironically, quite common.

2. I felt out of place tonight, walking three girls home from a houseparty. They were a) very drunk, b) very high, c) very beautiful (in that southern California sort of way) and d) talking about sex. I was wearing my roots sweats, had my hair in a pony tail and was makeupless. I don't know what it means, but I was struck by the fact that I am SO FAR from being cool that I don't really know what to do with myself when in the company of cool royalty. I felt awkward. I felt that liking puzzles and writing in my journal were no longer worthwhile pass times. Isn't it interesting when worlds collide like that?

3. I like the idea that I have a lot of potential right now, like a spring that's been carefully pressed down and is ready to uncoil. I could, if I had the perseverence or the desire, be anyone and do anything. 12 months from now I might just as easily be roller blading with my dog on the seawall in Stanley Park as I could be stopping for a drink after work in Toronto. I feel as though I am on the brink of everything. I am excited for my life to start.

4. It is really important to be there for your family when they need you. I don't really know how I feel about the state that my family is in, but the deep sense of love and responsibility that I feel towards them cannot be dislodged.



Beautiful things are happening in my life right now, that I may not deserve, but I will appreciate and treasure. I have options for my future, I've been blessed with a relationship in which I spend hours in easy and intimate conversation with the smartest and sexiest person I know, I have friendships with people who I would do anything for, I have a family who would sacrifice their own happiness for my own, and I think, most importantly, I have an appreciation for the world I live in. I feel as though I've been hyper-sensitive lately, noticing and recording thoughts and sensations and emotions.

Maybe now that I have all the pieces ... I just have to put everything together.

Okay - it's 4:19 now, and I'm officially not even making sense to myself. I'll try to pick up the threads in a later blog - until then, I'm going to crawl under my covers and dream about really wonderful things.

A New Addition

I would like to point out, for public record, that my computer's name is Fleur.

It was up in the air - I have been hanging on to Fleur for the name of my first dog, however I feel as though the fact that my mom (who is on DRUGS) called me out of no where and offered to buy me a lap top warrents the use of my favourite name.

Fleur. Fleur the Mac. iFleur.

She's so pretty. I'm so in love (and yes, I'm such a biter. I now own the EXACT same computer as my best friend, but I digress).

I was thinking of calling her pomme. Would that be too much? I kinda thought it was cute, in a Gweneth-Paltrow-y kind of way.

I indulge in the little ways

I think at some point, I just have to do it. The week, although I missed a chunk of classes on Tuesday, and, well, Monday afternoon, has been almost productive. Or has it? I;ve been too tired to pay attention. But I have completed my art history paper, my camps application, my grad school application and my 348 seminar. I still have my psychology essay (548 words done out of 1500), my 401 performance memorial project that I'm presenting at 8:30, 2 modern staging responses to readings that are SO FAR beyond me, and a 318 essay that is already late.

And THEN I can start getting ready for chair transition.

But like I said - it's useless for me to rant like this. I think that Steve's just getting sick of me calling him all the time whining, so I've reduced myself to whining in my blog and pretending like my blog cares. This is just weak. But I felt the need to update and understandably, all I have on my mind is how good it will feel at some point in the next two days when I get all of this work done, and can entertain fantasies that involve A) my boyfriend, b)a queen sized bed c) a huge comforter, and d)20 hours of uninturrupted sleep, from which I will awake only to drink iced tea and eat orange slices, and MAYBE enjoy a foot rub, or having my hair brushed. Yes, yes that is bliss.

Now if you'll excuse me - I have another, like, 16 hours of hell to go before this is all over.

PS: thank GOD for itunes and a set of headphones :D

An Update on my Vital Stats

1. What color pants are you wearing right now?  pink PJ pants with sheep on them
2. What are you listening to right now?   Live Forever by Oasis
3. Last person you talked to on the phone?  Steve, which isn't unusual
4. Favorite drink? I am absolutly addicted to Nestea. I drink it the way that some people shoot up.
Alcoholic? Tequila Rosee
5. # of siblings?   This is a bit ambiguous. I have a brother (Regan, 19) and two sisters (Jessica and Hannah, 11 and 9). I might also be gaining a stepsister who's 15, but I don't remember her name.
6. Favorite month? December. I really love the holidays.
7. Favorite food? Caesar salad
8. Favorite day of the year? I love the last day of school (a leftover sentiment from my high school days). There is no better feeling than to know that you've completed something.
9. Favorite car?  1995 Volkswagon Cabrio, baby blue. But when I'm older I want to drive a Saab or a Volvo. Like, I've given this a lot of thought.
10. Can you juggle?  I actually had to do a unit on juggling in my program ... kind of cheapens my degree, doesn't it?
11. Would you rather read or watch TV?  I'd rather read. I'll read anything I can get my hands on.
12. As a homemaker, what job do you hate the most? Taking out the garbage. I hate garbage, I hate having garbage juice on the floor, and I hate when you tie up the bag and a blast of garbage air hits you in the face. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it. FYI Alana - laundry is one of my favorite chores to do (right after mopping!)
13. Do you trust the current president enough to re-elect him? Ha. After the election this year, Steve and I made a pact to hide in our rooms until November 2008
14. What time do you get up?  As late as possible. I'll get up for class if I have to, but my body usually wants to sleep until about 11:30 in the morning (can anyone suggest a good career that can accomodate this?)
15. Gold or silver? silver
16. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Coach Carter. But I'm dying, seriously, to see the Aviator and Closer.
17. What are your favorite TV shows?  The OC, Curb your Enthusiasm, Desperate Housewives
18. What did you have for breakfast?  Plain Raisin bagel, toasted, from the Common Ground with a Nestea. I used to get one every morning in the summer, and Gabbie would call it 'The Bri"
19. Who would you hate to be stuck in a room with? Nahri's korean alarm clock that we used in first year. The duck would quack, and then this horrid anime music would blare while it quacked and opened it's mechanical beak in time to the song. I can't even describe it.
20. What inspires you?  Music, to every degree. Writing and receiving cards. My brother and sisters.
21. What is your middle name?  Marie (as in, Brianna "insert 80s filler name here" Johnson)
22. Beach, city or country?  Beach. When I walk along the coast in BC, I feel like I could disappear into the waves - it's literally awesome.
23. Favorite ice cream flavor? Rainbow Sorbet
24. Butter, plain or salted popcorn?  a bit of butter, a bit of salt, nice and hot :D
25. Favorite color?   Red
26. What kind of car do you drive?  In high school I drove a 1982 toyota tercel named Tarzan. I used to race my best friend Kerry-Anne in her 1991 Oldsmobile. Sweeeet.
27. Favorite sandwich?  Peanut butter and banana, or toasted cucumber (like, just bread and cucumbers)
28. What characteristics do you dislike?  the "fake" popular (when people are just really insecure), people who are really bad listeners (the classic, "I know JUST how you feel - when that happened to me ...")
29. Favorite flower?   tulips and daffodils and hydgrengas ... please don't make me choose!
30. If you could go anywhere in the world where would you go? 53 Ted Reeve Drive. South America would be a close second.
31. What color is your bathroom?  Daphne Dean's classic tan
32. Favorite brand of clothing?  JCrew, by far. I drool when the catalogue comes, imagining myself in preppy khakis and bright coloured blazers. I also like Billabong, for their amazing hoodies.
33. Where would you retire to?  An island off the coast of BC, where I could run a bed and breakfast
34. Favorite day of the week?  Saturday morning. I never have a care in the world.
35. What did you do for your last birthday?  I downplayed it :(
36. Where were you born?  at the Holy Cross Hospital in Calgary, Alberta
37. Favorite sport to watch?  Ohh, hard question. hockey for sure, and football. I love watching soccer when it's on, and volleyball (which is even more rare)
38. Who do you least expect to send this back?  Hmmm... well, I'd venture to say no one!
39. What fabric detergent do you use?   Tide, and I always put too much in cause I feel like it'll make my clothes "cleaner"
40. Person you expect to send it back first?  I already got it from CJ!
41. Coke or Pepsi?  Cola is the smoking of the future - right now, we think it's doing nothing to our bodies, but pretty soon people are going to start realizing how gross it is. That being said, Pepsi :P
42. Morning person or a night owl?  Night Owl. I'm a wreck before noon.
43. What size shoe do you wear?  7.5
44. What do you most like to hear?  Rain, piano music, my sister's laughter, the words "I love you"
45. What do you least like to hear? My alarm clock. It kills me.
46. What profession would you like to have if you did not have your own? I'd love to run a restaurant, act in art-house movies, coach professional soccer, be a professor at a really beautiful school and be a mom to a big and loving family.
47. What profession would you least like to do? I'm not meant for a desk job - I just can't do it.
48 What is your favorite word? Celestial. It makes me feel like I'm flying.
49. What is your least favorite word?  I hate sex slang ,,, it makes me want to cry.
50. What is your favorite swear word?  bitch - I use it in every conversation I have with both my mom and Alana, I think
51. What is your favorite candy?  Wine Gums
52. What is your favorite restaurant?  The Keg. I dream about it while eating macaroni and cheese or cereal for dinner