Deal Breakers

In a new book called "Deal Breakers - When Does Mr. Right Become Mr. Not-On-Your-Life?", two female authors explore the types of situations, or the 'breaking points' that cause women to break up with the so-called loves of their lives. An interesting read, although I only managed to do a cursory flip-through while browsing in Chapters last night. Here's what I found fascinating:

72% of engaged women agreed that the discovery that your fiancee is still close friends with one of his ex-girlfriends and emails her on a regular basis on a regular basis would be grounds for dismissal.

HOWEVER

only 30% of engaged women would break up with their fiancee if they discovered that he had been involved in a one night stand in the first three months of their relationship.

Now, I'm not one to say what is and is not a so-called 'deal breaker', but I'd be willing to wager money that if Steve was still friends with Bridget, it would probably make me happy that he was able to continue a platonic relationship with someone he used to care about. This says good thing about his character, no? But if he f***ed a girl while he was supposed to be in love with me? Call me the minority but that would be a deal-breaker for me.

beginnings

I've always been interested in event planning. My passion was first tapped when I was 10 and saw the movie "Father of the Bride". I decided that I loved weddings. When I was younger, I used to sit in the corner of chapters with bridal magazines, not imagining my own wedding, but dreaming about being in charge of someone elses. This is really stupid, I know. But I don't know how else to put it - it always sounded kind of cool.

Frosh Week was, by all accounts, a practice in event management. I had 4 days, a quarter million dollars, a fundraising goal and a mission statement set by the university that I was expected to exemplify. We used 21 venues and 400 volunteers to successfully pull of the party of the year for 2008.

I was HOOKED. Being in a planning position was like a high for me; now I'm going to do something about it. Humbar College in Toronto offers a Public Relations post-graduate program that includes training in Media, Advertizing, Event Planning and Fundraising. Students get an 8-week internship at the end with companies like Maple Leaf Sports Entertainment and Alliance Atlantis Films, and more than 90% are employed in the field 6 months later. I'm in. My HUGE ambivilence about doing my drama degree has told me that something about it isn't right. I want to make my family proud, but I also want a career that I can be excited about waking up and doing. Like Steve told me - if I'm not ABSOLUTLY SURE, then academia is probably not going to be for me.

So I'm going to be applying for the January intake. I'll work between now and then, probably take the 5000 loan from my grandparents to get started in Toronto and complete the program by November 2006. Am I being impulsive? Perhaps. But I've been SO SO SO SO unhappy lately (even considering what it would be like if I crawled into a hole and hid from the world), and I think that I'm finally doing something about it.

World, here I come!

Goodbye, Walkhome

I have never known how to handle goodbyes, so I generally disregard them. I'm much more a fan of "I'll see you soon". I don't dwell on an end, but try to put myself facing all of the beginnings so that I don't get stuck in the past.

The preamble is to introduce the fact that I am working my last walkhome shift right now, sitting on the familiar couches with the familiar people with the familiar feeling of home. Walkhome was something that I feel into and it literally changed the course of my life. One summer ago I was sitting here with Steve, wondering how I could get him to notice me. Now, I'm calling him to say "I love you" before I sleep. Something about that has to be very, very right. But I'm not sad. Walkhome ended when my undergrad ended, and I am ready to leave Queens and everything that it gave me. I don't want to stick around and see it change, see my memories and my foundations disintegrate as new people coming and old people leaving weaken the things here that made me feel so strong. I don't want to stick around, y'know? By April 21, I was very ready to be done. Working my last walkhome shift is just another step towards being able to close the book on a very incredible and successful period of my life, and another step towards opening a new one.

Walkhome, it's been a slice. You gave me a new family at Queens, -40 degree weather, a feeling that I belonged, amazing conversations, life long friends and a boyfriend that I could have never imagined would have changed my life in so many ways. For that, I offer my thanks. It's been a hell of a ride, and I'm glad I took it, if only to be able to look back so fondly.

-b

turn and face the strange

I need to admit to myself that I have a flair for the impulsive. For example, I quit my job today. I walked into my low paying, demeaning and child-labourish place of work and announced that I was no longer interested in being their bitch. But it didn't necessarily come out in that way. The point is, I did it. And instead of the emotional/tearful pleading, the offer of a substantial raise or the nostalgic sentiments about all 'the good times' they have had with me as an employee, my boss actually used the words "you're easily replaceable". And he used them to try to make me feel BETTER. Which I almost thought was funny - but then I remembered the lack of good-bye fanfare and returned to being angry.

And now I just feel weird. I'm in a freaking STRANGE mood. My heart is pounding, so I know I'm really anxious, but I can't seem to formulate any sort of emotion - I've just shut off. I'm quitting my job and moving to Vancouver and I can't even put two thoughts together about it. You know when people describe an experience as being surreal? That's what I'm going through. I look at the mess that this summer has become and say "this is not my life". 'Cause honestly? My life is now in Toronto. That's where I feel at home. That's where my entire heart rests (fragile, in the hands of one Stephen Johns). So I'm going home and am really ready to be there; as much as people are insisting that I'm going to miss Kingston, this is no longer where any part of my heart resides.

Back to the weird mood. I was playing a set of Pearl Jam songs (Wishlist/Thin Air/Hail Hail/Oceans/Parting Ways/All Those Yesterdays.... if you're interested) and I actually started bawling. I was crying so hard for a few minutes that I started to heave, which was REALLY embarassing because I'm not really sure what I was so sad about. Maybe I'm not sad. Maybe there are lots of emotions that can come out through crying. Maybe I'm relieved and scared and lonely and in love and excited and anxious and tired and triumphant.... and it all became tears. I often cry after sex - releasing the million emotions that it makes me feel (love, vulnerability, tenderness, lust, etc). I'm just so SENSITIVE right now, as if touching me on the shoulder will set me off again.

Everything is so profound. Music beats away in my earphones and I can feel the sound in my entire body... beautiful and strong and meaningless at the same time. Song lyrics are making me cry. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed by the world - by the depth and the abstraction and the beauty and things like spiderwebs that seem both totally insignificant and divinely inspired at the same time. And I don't know what to do. I don't know how to react to things that seem so much bigger than me. To share myself with the world that I take so much from. I have a really hard time explaing to people that I am so deeply affected by everything: words and people and animals and all the different shades of colour and meaning, by moments and ideas and looks and stories. I am changed everyday. I feel like I have the emotional weight of the world on my shoulders sometimes, because everything I encounter becomes a part of me, I absorb it and try to understand and feel the depth of it.

And I just don't know what to do with myself, and don't believe that anyone could every ureally get what it's like to listen to Pearl Jam and cry. Sometimes, I think, I'm crying for myself and for the spider webs and people I meet eyes with on the train that I feel so deeply about. It's all that I can do.

My thoughts on Pulp Fiction (or, "would you give a foot massage to a guy?")

And after all the hype, it could never live up to the expectations that Steve created in my hopeful little heart. Since I was a devout fan of Kill Bill (and less so of it's successor, but still engaged), I decided to round off my Tarantino experience last night with the requisite first viewing of Pulp Fiction. One day later and I don't really have much to say. Is anyone surprised? I laughed, I thought that the writing was strange and wry and creepy and hysterical in that way that it shouldn't be okay to be laughing. I liked the music; I dug the way that the scenes were strung together in an odd time web. I was vaguely entertained. But I'm gonna leave it there - Pulp Fiction has entered and exited my life, and though it may have had some lasting impact, said impression has yet to surface.

I did, however, like the woman who talked about her pot belly. More women should talk about pot bellies. It inspired me to stick my stomach in the air as high as I could and explain "look at the size of this gut!" to which Steve shook his head and said "oh, Bri". I can't help but to feel that he expects more of me.

Anyway, my sincerest apologies to Tarantino and company - I'm gonna stick to the art house love stories, for now.

a weekend of rock and roll fun

this blog could alternately be titled "I don't believe that anybody felt the way I did", which I thought of in a restless sleep the night after the Oasis concert that Steve and I attended with his bestfriend Paul and Paul's lovely girlfriend Laurie. So if I'm going to be reviewing the events of the past 5 days, that seems as good a place as any to start.

First off, it's really important to know that I'm not making any attempt to provide an objective summary of the Oasis concert - so many of my memories and important moments in life are inextricably tied to albums like What's the Story (Morning Glory)? and Definitely Maybe that to simply review the live experience in a musical sense denies how deeply it affected me. I felt like my entire adolescence, from the early morning rides to soccer tournements with star forward Chelsea singing at the top of our lungs, "need a little time to wake up, wake up", to idly doodling the lyrics "how many special people change" on my grade 9 binder in red pen, to gleefully learning all the words to "Rock and Roll Star", promising myself that when I was famous I would thank Oasis in my first Oscar acceptance speech for teaching me how to be a bad-ass celebrity. Their catelogue practically defines my life experience, and although Steve refers to my fickleness with the use of 'favorite' in his blog, Oasis has rarely been out of the top three spots over the last 10 years.

Granted (and as much as it pains me to admit it), the post WTSMG releases have left something to be desired, the Gallagher brothers still know how to energize a stadium and whether they're playing a fully-backed version of "Wonderwall" or pulling out a better-live-than-I-expected version of their new single Lyla, it's hard not to really, REALLY enjoy yourself. In my case, the word enjoy seems a bit bland -- I was light on my feet, head spinning, lights flashing, dizzy with the kind of high that you can only get from falling in love or attending a freaking good rock concert. I sang out loud unabashedly, took as many pictures as I could without getting caught, and was litereally so engrossed in the experience that I felt like the rest of the world didn't exist.

I know what you're thinking - "Oasis?" .. or something like that. And I *know* that they're not the best band to walk on the face of the earth and I *know* that they haven't made any significant or measureable influence on the rock and roll scene in a long time and I *know* that half of their public appeal comes from the so-indifferent-it-hurts act of Noel and Liam, at once confident, engaged yet always letting us know their ultimate surperiority on the basis of being "the best fooking band in the word". I know all this. I'm not disillusioned about their relative limitations; at the same time, however, I feel like I'm in love. And if you heard the deafening roar of 16,000 fans at the Molson Ampitheatre when the first piano notes of "Don't Look Back In Anger" began during the encore, you would probably agree.




more on the rest of the weekend, including a review of the riot grrls of Sleater-Kinney, later on tonight

a note on setlists

Last night, U2 played "All I Want is You" for the first time since August of last year (or, in laymen's terms, the first time on the Vertigo Tour). This means that MOST of the best U2 songs have now appeared somewhere on this tour (although Hold Me Thrill Me is potentially NOT going to make an appearence) So here's what I hope for the Toronto show -and it's not really too much to ask- just in case a valued member of the band happens to stumble upon my blog whilst they're googling themselves:

Dear Bono, The Edge and esteemed company,

Please play the following, in any order:

- Original of Species
- Who's Gonna Run Your Wild Horses
- All I Want is You
- Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me
- The Ground Beneath her Feet
- One
- '40'


Thanks in advance,
Love your fan
Bri Johnson

comments on an action movie from a big-hearted romantic

Quote of the day, for those who are interested (not said by me, unfortunatly): "I'm an optimist. You're like Santa Claus on Prozac...at Disneyland ... getting laid"

I know that I've been writing too much lately about the restaurant, which is understandable once you consider the fact that all I ever do is sleep and act as the corporation of Lonestar's personal bitch. And I'll gladly beg for more, in that 'lick kitchen slop off the floor' kind of way. It's been an interesting experience and it blows my mind to think that the summer is soon going to be half over (I was hired in the middle of April, and am leaving the last week of august). I *need* this job - I need money in the worst way, and have gone to such lengths as willingly closing the restuarant even when I'm not scheduled to, just to pick up the extra 20 bucks.

I started talking about Lonestar only to point out that I talk about them TOO much .. but I have one more interesting point to make. I have a manager (one of 6) who genuinely doesn't like me. She sometimes stands 10 feet away from me during my shifts, looking for things that I may have done wrong. I'm not gonna mention her name, but she's SO NICE to everyone else while I just get the sneer and I almost find it comical. This afternoon, one of my jobs was to clean out all of the but stops and ash bins with a small shovel. Which was lost. When I brought it to her attention, she looked at me, sneered and said "Just use your hands".

Mmmmmmmmmm ... rancid cigarettes.

And I'm done complaining. What this entry was SUPPOSED to be about was some brief thoughts on the movie I saw last night, the long awaited "did-they-or-didn't-they" Angelina Jolie and Bradd Pitt blockbuster 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith". But now I'm kind of not in the mood. My fingers smell like fajitas, I'm getting up in 5 and a half hours to catch a bus to Toronto (I CAN'T WAIT!), and my thoughts on things like movies are usually biased and horribly constructed at best. I'll just say this: as cliche as it felt at times, the movie was 2 things. One: smart. Two: sexy. I had FUN watching it - I loved the way that the typical suburban marriage was underwritten with death threats, knife throwing and sexual innuendos about big guns. The writing was sharp, the infamous sex scene was so hot I almost had to take off my sweater and the premise was layered enough to keep a nerd like me totally engaged. Worth the 7.95? For sure. And with all the lousy movies I've seen lately, that's enough for me.

Next up, reviews of the long awaited Oasis/Jet and Sleater-Kinney concerts that Steve and I are going to this weekend, and a bit of catch up on a bunch of stuff I've been meaning to jot down. For now, I've got to pack, sleep and get myself to toronto in the morning in one piece.

when you know, you know

The latest installment of a certain 20-something female-focused magazine featured a great article if you're like me: in a relationship with someone who really really cares about you, but doesn't ever really say it. In other words, you're living romance free, and perhaps wondering if your man is as in love as you are.

Fear not girls. Cosmo has the answer. And I, Bri, am going to paraphrase it for you.

8 Secret Ways Guys Show You That You're Loved

1. He wants to protect you when you're together, and when you're apart.

2. He's always ready for a photo opportunity with you.

3. You find him wearing clothes that you compliment more often (eager to please!)

4. He lends you his most prized possession

5. He sits beside you when you eat in a restaurant

6. He shares his chow with you (editor's note: feeding someone is SO tender)

7. He brushes the hair out of your eyes (so nurturing!)

8. He makes you look good in front of other people, whether it's commenting on your great job at work, or the way you volunteer at the SPCA on weekends.

And that's that. I'd write more, but again - I'm exhausted. The heat has really taken a number on me, and I spend a lot of time in bed, napping or trying to cool off in front of my fan. More tomorrow, hopefully :D

-b

a bug's life, by brianna marie johnson

Just now, I found one of these fuckers happily crawling on my bathroom wall as I was brushing my teeth.

By found, I mean that I screamed and flailed my arms after seeing something move out of the corner of my eye. man this one was FAST. And I screamed for good reason - these buggers (literally) are about a pinkie finger long, and scary as anything to have a run in with. So I did what any sane person would do. I grabbed the no-scrub mildew cleaner, sprayed the bug until he fell off the wall in a ball of anti-mildew foam, and covered him up with a plastic cup, which I dumped out all of my hair ties from.

Now I'm gonna let the fucker starve under a see-through cup so that I can observe his misery. Also, I'm going to pray to god for the salvation of my wicked soul.

earning my keep

If you're reading this carefully, you'll note that it's 3:45 am, which means that I've either lapsed into my self-injurious pre-Steve days of pulling all nighters for no reason, or that tonight was my first night closing Kingston's largest waterfront patio, which stays open until 2:30 am to host eastern Ontario's drunkest quasi-professionals, creepy men from BC offering to buy me a tequila shot "for later", high school birthday parties (why don't we check ID?) and groups of old women drinking tea at midnight. It was an unbelievable night -as the blisters on my feet are quick to prove- and I'm actually just pretty proud of making it through without throwing a plate at someone. This restaurant is NUTS. I couldn't imagine spending more than a summer there, although for the 10 servers on the patio tonight, the pandemonium was more than worthwhile - they each left with about 150 cash in their pockets.

But the highlight for me wasn't the money. It was a woman who had stumbled over from (the merchant? smidgies? larry's pit stop?) who was clearly skunked, looking for her 20-year-old son and his friends. She noticed that I was wearing a few strings of mardi gras beads (which a thankful customer bestowed upon me in lieu of a tip) and she proceeded to tell me that she was in New Orleans just over a month ago, and she brought back some beads just like them. "And do you know how I earned my beads?" She slurred, grabbing my arm for balance, "like this!" ***slightly overweight 60-year-old woman proceeds to lift up her sweater and show me, and the rest of the patio, her breasts***

That's right. I was flashed. She certainly earned a string of beads from me tonight.

I have so much to write about and so little mental time, although I'm not really doing anything in my life right now besides working and procrastinating about taking my movies back (damn you, no late fees!). I guess I just haven't been in a blogging mood. Hopefully tomorrow, when I wake up at noon well refreshed and sticky from the freaking humidity, I can get back on the bandwagon and start churning out material.

Until then
-b

mis-steps in the restaurant business

Today was my first day back at work after a weekend off, my first day opening the restaurant by myself, and another average day at LS (dare I write the name? I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about my bosses somehow finding my site on google and discovering what a horrid employee I am).

Today:
- an old, hunched over lady dressed in various pieces of silk draped dramatically over her body sat in a table at the corner of the patio and declared to the three other people eating at the restaurant that today -and today only- she would be giving 1/2 price psychic readings. She drank 4 coronas and left.
- one of the awnings caved in on the patio after a downpour hit Kingston. The collected water came crashing over the side, drenching two middle-aged ladies as they were finishing their fajitas
- I broke the LS code of honour and started to hoarde mints, stuffing them in my pockets and into my mouth when the boss wasn't looking, keeping them under my tongue to disguise the fact that I was committing a sin worthy of being fired for.
- a family of 8 (6 kids!) came to the patio all the way from Bath, England. Okay, well - they came to Canada, really. But they would up on the patio. And the kids with the accents were to-freaking-die-for
- a birthday party cleared out, and as I was cleaning up the tables I found that one person had written "Chris sat here, with his boyfriend Miles" and another included (maybe Miles?) "I love men as much as I love your mom". I thought I had found the motherlode, but my shining moment was uncovering a pair of sidewalk chalk brests next to table 122. The kicker? The party was a group of people from a bank, celebrating their boss's 40th birthday. Men. Never. Grow. Up.

And now, I'm cleaning up and taking off to see a movie with friends. When two weeks ago I was feeling miserably lonely, I now couldn't be more busy. I'm hanging out with people from work, hooking up with old friends from high school, going out for manicures with some kids that I was a TA for and seeing my on-campus ladies for lunch as often as I can (and, admittedly, spending time sitting around being lazy, too). Maybe this summer won't be so bad after all? With days like this at LS to keep me busy, I hope it flies by